#no yeah i think that's exactly the sort of thing i can liken it to now that i think of it

[talkorsomething]

genuinely tried to Be Asleep for like two hours this time and just couldn't. I think i'm cursed [unwell]

[aemiron-main]

Henry Creel, Seizures, The Exorcist, and Roland Doe: Did Henry Creel Have Epilepsy?

So! I’m wondering if Henry had epilepsy. And before we dive into it, a few things to note:

Not all epilepsy is photosensitive epilepsy/triggered by flashing lights

Not all seizures are grand mal seizures (the ones where people are laying down jerking). Absence and temporal lobe seizures are far more subtle & can just look like staring into space.

Some people have a combination of grand mal seizures and other more subtle types of seizures.

So, first of all, “The Exorcist” is namedropped regarding the Creels:

And we also have Will’s S2 seizure on the field where he has SO many Direct exorcist parallels during both that scene & his cabin scene “exorcism”

Which, those Will exorcism parallels made me think “well what if Henry had a seizure during his exorcism- but what would cause it? he’s not possessed the way Will was” but then it hit me: what if its the other way around and the seizures caused the exorcism?

And we’ll come back to Will’s seizure later, but focusing on The Exorcist for now, Reagan, the girl in The Exorcist, has a seizure.

And historically, exorcisms were frequently done on kids who had epilepsy/seizures, which were mistaken for demonic possession. But rather than speaking about history in a broad sense, let’s look at a specific example- Roland Doe, the boy whose story literally inspired The Exorcist.

And hell, The Exorcist was specifically inspired by the NEWSPAPER ARTICLE about Roland's exorcism, which has me staring DIRECTLY at the Weekly Watcher article that talks about the exorcism at the Creel house.

And get this-

This is EXACTLY what happened with Henward- his parents hoped that moving to Hawkins/a change of scenery would cure him, but it did not.

And after all, what were they trying to cure him of? What symptoms was he exhibiting? They never actually tell us what was “wrong” with him. Like, sure, he’s autistic, but there’s not many “symptoms” of autism that Henry displays as a child that are disruptive enough to have him sent to doctors & moving to an entirely new town in the hopes of curing him.

What actual event/symptoms made Virginia and Victor go “okay, yeah, this boy needs to see a doctor” AND also had them move to a new town (JUST like what happened with Roland Doe as a result of his seizures) in hopes that a change of scenery would cure Henry???? I wouldn’t be surprised if it was seizures.

And his powers don’t seem to have activated until he was in Hawkins, so it likely wasn’t those.

And also, Henward says that all of the teachers and doctors claimed he was broken:

Which, epilepsy can cause issues with learning and retaining information, and if Henry was having something like absence seizures in class, too, that would also likely freak teachers out/have them see him as “broken,” because he would seem outwardly fine/just be staring into space, but wouldn’t be able to respond to them calling his name/asking him things.

And going back to the talk of being “cured,” Epilepsy is also referred to as The Sacred Disease, which would also tie into all of the religious imagery with the Creels.

And we also have the auditory and visual hallucinations that can often be part of epilepsy. Starting with the auditory hallucinations, those are often likened to sounding like radios- which would be an interesting connection to all of the radios in the show, especially the radio with the Creels.

(And this is speaking from personal experience, but, it definitely does sound like a radio like not just “a radio is the closest comparison” but instead “i genuinely believed it was the sound of a radio/sounds like what we heard with the Creel radio malfunctioning where you can't quite clearly make out any of the channels”. I was actually scared of the sound of radios/radio static as a kid because I used to hear this sort of stuff all the time as a result of having epilepsy.)

And there’s also these drawings of visual epilepsy hallucinations, which James @henrysglock pointed out to me.

And when we look at Henward’s shadow monster drawing and all of the elder brain/brain imagery in the show and the mindflayer being named, well, a mindflayer, and DND mindflayers being controlled by an elder brain & the whole "cutting the brain off from the body"/directly referring to the mindflayer as a brain.... the vibes are definitely very similar.

It's also very interesting to me that the drawings of the tunnels that Will draws before having a seizure/draws as a result of what was CAUSING his seizures are directly paralleled to Henry drawing the mindflayer (Henward's mindflayer drawing style & the medium he uses actually resembles the tunnel drawings more than it does Will's own mindflayer drawing, especially with Will's frantic scratching during the tunnel drawings and Henward's frantic scratching during the mindflayer drawings).

And like I said, Will's tunnel drawings were caused by the same thing causing his seizure- so many Henward's mindflayer drawing was caused by the seizures as well- was Henward seeing epileptic hallucinations that would later inspire him to shape the mindflayer/shadow monster the way that he did?

And again, this part is personal experience, but as a kid, part what I would hallucinate was silver spiders hanging down from door frames (and also spiders crawling all over me but those only happened at night whereas the hanging spiders were throughout the day/constant and yes, I'm 1000% sure they weren't just nightmares). Which, of course, the Duffers aren't inspired by me/don't know about what I saw, but I'm not the only person with epilepsy who's reported seeing spiders (here and here and here), which makes me wonder if it was something they came across when researching seizures/epilepsy for the show & may have influenced the decision to include all of the spider imagery with Henry.

And going back to Will’s S2 seizure, we also have Will's "now memories," which, interestingly enough, they chose to have Mike ask Will if he sees anything in his "now memories" RIGHT before Will has a seizure. Which is interesting because strong feelings of deja vu tend to precede seizures, and "now memories" are very similar to deja vu/feeling like you've seen something before but can't quite place where/aren't really sure if it's Your memories.

El also has a seizure in NINA (this is before her cardiac arrest scene) and in Surfer Boy Pizza, which are both paralleled to Will’s seizure (and yes, El was also choking, but her body did seem to be having a seizure, and it's shot with the same sort of pose and rotating camera movement as Will's seizure and El's NINA seizure).

And we also have the stroke imagery with El and the fact that strokes can cause epilepsy AND people with epilepsy are at a higher risk for strokes.

Which has me staring at Henward’s “it almost killed me” scene and how his fainting scene is paralleled to El fainting in 1979 & then El waking up without her memories/with the sort of stroke stuff that Brenner talks about.

And the focus on all of the flashing lights in the show too?? NGL, I would laugh a bit if Henry’s powers started flashing the lights during his exorcism & that triggered a seizure. It would also tie into him just. Staring sometimes/being seen as weird for that because that’s also often a part of epilepsy/absence seizures.

And even if I’m wrong about the seizure thing (which again, it’s not smthn I’m super firm on), the Duffers DEFINITELY know about Roland Doe. Roland DEFINITELY inspired Henry- that bit about what happened to Roland with his family moving towns to cure him isn't in The Exorcist but IS identical to what happened with Henry, so it's not even something that the Duffers could've just pulled from The Exorcist, because it's actually one of the parts of Roland's story that didn't end up in the Exorcist movie.

And speaking of movies, we also have One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest on the S4 board. And in One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest, Sefelt has epilepsy and has a seizure:

And also, we have Henward’s straitjacket, which I talked about in this post.

We literally see him wearing the straitjacket on screen- but why was he wearing it? Why not just drug him if they wanted to keep him under control? And what good would a straitjacket do against a child with psionic powers anyway? It wouldn't have even worked to keep him under control! UNLESS the powers weren’t a concern (because he was unconscious/seizing) but the flailing/jerking from a grand mal seizure was making him difficult to transport/deal with.

And this is more of a minor sidenote, but something that's interesting to me is how quick Victor is to picking up Henry, almost like it's a habit. We see him pick Henry up in the dining room AND the foyer, and it's not something we ever see him do with Alice, so it's not just something that Victor Does With His Kids. But if Henry was prone to seizures and fainting, it would make sense that Victor is used to picking him up/carrying him around.

And Victor was also told that Henry was in a coma after fainting and then died- and again, speaking from personal experience here (and research), having a seizure can put you into a coma which may result in your death. So, I wonder if that's the explanation that they gave to Victor/if that was the official cause of death for Henry. Which would also make sense if, like I said, the straitjacket was put onto Henry because he was seizing, and Victor saw it happen.

I also wonder if Victor saw Henry still just sitting at the table staring & thought he was having another seizure (an absence seizure rather than a grand mal one, which would mostly just look like blank staring/exactly what Henry does in this scene) & grabbed him, especially since stress can trigger seizures, and well, watching Virginia die would've been stressful. I'm not saying that Henry was having a seizure in this scene persay, but rather that Victor may have believed he was/may have mad the connection that Henry's "fits"/moments of blank staring are connected to stress.

And the jerking motions and rolled back eyes during Vecna visions/his attacks are interesting considering how they resemble a grand mal seizure. Like, look at how Fred is posed the same way was Will was during Will's seizure:

And the same gaping mouth imagery:

And then the jerking motions:

Long story short: I won't be surprised at all if Henry/Edward had epilepsy and experienced a mixture of various types of seizures.

[beepbeepbeepjeep]

previous / next

[cw: experiences that can be likened to dissociation, panic attacks, and hallucination(?)]

/— 1: Abrupt Awakenings  —/

"Are they awake?" 

"Hey, don't poke them!" 

"Everyone shhh, they’re waking up." 

Savannah opens her eyes, and is greeted with the sight of five strangers staring at her. She quickly surveys her surroundings, before realizing that she's in a jeepney. 

Feeling groggy, she wipes at her eyes, before looking at the one in the black T-shirt sitting nearest to her.

"W-what happened?" 

"Well, you fell asleep," they replied in turn. 

Savannah nods, albeit still extremely confused. They didn't remember falling asleep. And they definitely didn't remember falling asleep in a jeepney flying through the air- wait. 

Flying through the air?

"Where are we?" she asks, casting nervous glances at the strangers. The five share a look before shrugging. 

"We're not exactly sure," the one in the hoodie said. "We woke up just a few minutes before you."

Savannah, ignoring the uneasy feeling gnawing away at her gut,  tries to fully soak in each of their appearances.

She focuses on the first one. The one in the black shirt. Most noticeable of them was their large wide-framed glasses, clearly visible even when hidden behind their coiled blonde bangs. 

Perhaps a ‘black shirt’ was too simple of a description for their clothes, because there was clearly some sort of decal on it that Savannah didn’t recognize.

She’s beginning to get tired of mentally referring to this stranger as ‘the black-shirted one’. 

She opens her mouth to ask their name but, as if on cue, they start speaking. Maybe the weight of her stare was heavy enough that they felt the need to. Yeah, that’s probably it.

“My name is Beau.” He holds out a hand, Savannah hesitantly shakes it.

“AND! Before you ask, it’s spelled B-E-A-U.” 

“...Oh I- I wasn’t going to ask.”

Ah. After hearing herself say it, they realize it came out a little more rude than they had intended it to be. Hopefully Beau doesn’t notice. 

Someone clearly does though, because the next thing she hears is a loud snort from across where they were sitting. It had to have come from Hoodie man.

Beau, however, seems to pointedly ignore this, and instead carries on with a new air of passive agressiveness. 

“I apologize for the rude awakening. Some of us clearly left our manners in the 5th grade.” He says coolly, sideyeing Hoodie man.

“Manners-?” Hoodie man laughs incredulously. “Have you seen where we are right now? Manners left the discussion five star clusters ago.”

“Listen redhead, I don’t care if we’re in the depths of space or in the Bermuda fucking Triangle, you don’t get to poke people when they’re clearly asleep!”

He laughs again, this time a little amused. “Redhead? That’s the best insult you could think of?”

“I hadn’t even met you until five minutes ago, so forgive me if I don’t have a lot of material to work with.”

Savannah, sporting a quickly-developing headache, decides to stop the argument before it progresses any further.

“What is your name?” they ask the ‘redhead’ in her best attempt at a placating tone.

Both men seem slightly taken aback, but neither protest the obvious redirect in conversation. Savannah considers this a win.

“Tauny,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “Tauny Hep.”

“Like the color?”

Tauny snickers. Savannah frowns.

“Oh, no- sorry, I wasn’t- it’s just, I get that a lot.” He explains. “Glad to know that some things never change. Even when you’re…”

“Flying through the Bermuda Triangle?” she supplies.

“Um,” Tauny shoots a glance at Beau who’s resigned himself to silence ever since their argument. “...sure.”

“To answer your question though,” he continues as if nothing happened. “It’s Tauny with a ‘u’, so, not like the color.”

Savannah nods. “Okay.”

…

Everyone looks at her expectantly. She blinks, confused.

The one sitting next to Tauny– the one with the apple-red hair and oversized sweater, she notes– clears their throat. “Um, this is the part where you, uh, introduce yourself? You know, like, your name…”

Ah. Yes. Of course.

“I am Savannah Dean. You may call me Ann, if Savannah is too much of a mouthful.”

“Cool. I like Savannah better though. More unique,” they smile. “I’m Ascot.”

“Your name is also unique.” she tries at a compliment. “I’ve never heard it before, your parents must be very creative.”

“Why, thank you!” They look delighted, beaming proudly. “I picked it myself though, don’t give my parents the credit.”

Oh. She could tell they meant it as a light hearted joke, but that didn’t stop her from feeling at least a little bit guilty.

Though before Savannah could apologize, her attention is drawn to a head of colorful bubblegum pink hair.

“Who picked your name, Savannah?” the pink one asks excitedly, fiddling with the sleeves of their college sweatshirt.

Savannah’s already begun to formulate her answer when, without warning, her head begins to spin in dizzying circles.

A wave of overwhelming nausea ensnares her senses and all of a sudden she’s somewhere completely different. Somewhere with disheveled warehouse walls and old rusty carnival games. Covered in dust and left out to rot.

Distorted voices echo and bounce painfully in her mind.

You could call yourself Savannah.

What’s a… savannah?

She can hear them. The voices. So far away and distant, yet undeniably there. They feel familiar yet she can’t recognize them. Perhaps part of her doesn’t want to recognize them.

She’s drowning. Or at least they think they’re drowning. She doesn’t know. But all of a sudden their eyes are swathed in a void of inky black. Sinking further down into the abyss. Detachedly, they realize they can’t breathe. 

The voices continue, but gurgled and unintelligible. In the same way the sounds of the surface get more and more slurred as you fall deeper into the sea. The painful pounding in her head pales in comparison to the agonizing sense of guilt burrowed deep within her soul.

Desperately she holds out an arm, grasping at nothing but murky black. She can’t reach them.

She can’t-

Someone is shaking her.

She’s face to face with the last of the five people. The one still yet to say a word to her. Well, their mouth is moving so she assumes they’re saying words now. She just can’t hear any of it.

Her ears are still ringing. Strange.

As if a switch were flipped, the commotion of the jeepney comes crashing around her. Loud and unwarranted.

“Oh god. What did I say? Did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry-”

“All you did was ask about her name, you didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t-”

“Would you all stop yelling? You’re only making it worse.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Well you certainly aren’t helping, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, ginger, maybe it’s best you shut up.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!”

“Guys,” the man in front of her says, effectively silencing everyone, “I think she’s back.”

He turns to face her. “Hi, my name is Cato. Cato Linn. To my knowledge, you just experienced some kind of traumatic episode. I don’t know anything about you nor your past, but I can assure you, you’re safe. You’re here. And you’re real.”

The words are soothing, reassuring even. Though Savannah can still hear herself struggling to breathe, like the darkness is still there with a chokehold on her lungs-

“I want you to copy me, okay?” 

Snapped back to reality, they watch Cato inhale, urging her to follow along.

She tries. She really does. The erratic heaving slows, but it doesn’t stop.

Cato exhales. Savannah follows.

Cato inhales. Savannah follows.

Cato exhales. Savannah is beginning to get the pattern.

It takes at least five (maybe six? She hadn’t been counting) more rounds of this before her heartrate feels like it’s lowered to a reasonable pace.

“Good?”

“good…” her voice came out raspy, but the fact it came out at all was a huge improvement from the clogged feeling obstructing their airway, barring their ability to breathe let alone speak.

Cato nods, satisfied. This entire time his poker face hadn’t shifted even a centimeter. Unnervingly calm, he returns to his seat in the very corner of the jeepney.

previous / next

[exhausted-archivist]

Early Thoughts and Feelings...

So, we got a look at the table of contents, the introduction, and a total of 13 recipes from the upcoming cookbook. I'm going to delve into my thoughts and preliminary feelings. I'm super excited but I have noticed a few things and I am excited to see how the book in its entirety pans out. This is going to be long so I will shove most of this under a cut cause it's long and yeah.

So lets start with the cover, easy, entirely picky of me and opinion based. The left is the final and the right was the early concept. We see that the red soup in a wooden bowl along with the gold font is really the only thing that stayed with the two covers.

Personally, and I know this is picky, but I like how the early concept reads better: "The Official Dragon Age Cookbook", versus the new one "Dragon Age The Official Cookbook Tastes of Thedas". The listing on Amazon has changed and the final wording is very clunky "Dragon Age: The Official Cookbook: Taste of Thedas".

It really comes down to how they arranged the words on the final cover, and there is probably some logistics to it and maybe some polling. But I think "The Official Dragon Age Cookbook: Tastes of Thedas" reads better and the arrangement would have looked nicer if they kept with the old formatting and added Tastes of Thedas below it. It's how my brain keeps trying to read it anyways.

Other than the title, I'm not a fan of the whole 4 blocks showing the individual dishes - images that are likely the same as their recipe page. It's definitely an improvement from the mock up which has a Lord of the Rings prop in the top left image. But I would have liked something more unique and interesting, whether that was a full table spread of all the dishes or something similar to the Critical Role cookbook where it's an illustration of a feast. But Insight Editions publishing does have a certain look with their cookbooks, and this is one of my more preferred ones out of their previous works.

General Page Layout and Structure

I do like the page layout over all, it's easy to read and fun. Little iffy on some of the font choices because they aren't too accessible. But overall, it's not too busy and is styled enough that it fits the theme and focus I think.

They also did this fun thing similar to what they did for the God of War cookbook, though less of the fun sketch style but still nice none the less. We see an outline of the map created for the Tevinter Nights anthology on the pages for the Starters and Refreshment contents list.

The images for the food are also charming in their own way. Some are very clear photoshop - the crab cakes with the photoshopped flames and smoke, the "lyrium" rock on the cave beetles spread. But I think it adds to this books charm and sort of whimsy.

Other than that, I noticed something within a couple of the recipe entries. The recipe blurb, essentially the section between the title and the recipe instructions, is rooted in lore. The recipes however are not. Best examples of this are the Eggs à la Val Foret and Fluffy Mackerel Pudding.

Here are their respective blurbs, emphasis text added by me:

Eggs à la Val Foret

Ah, yes. Tons of cream! Exactly what I've come to expect from Orlesian cuisine. Do I have any tips for creating the perfect poached egg? Well, ever since I heard that Solas's bald head was once likened to an egg, I simply try to make my eggs just as round and shiny! So far, it's worked wonderfully and never ceases to put a smile on my face.

Fluffy Mackerel Pudding

Can it really be Feast Day without fluffy mackerel pudding? No! In fact, there's no dish I associate more strongly with the holiday than this unique combination of mackerel, onion, celery, and eggs. Granted, I've heard stories that, several decades ago, someone once attempted a diet consisting entirely of fluffy mackerel pudding. Now, that I certainly wouldn't recommend. It stops being Feast Day Fish if you eat it every day, no?

When compared to the recipe given just below the ingredients don't match up. Eggs à la Val Foret is a play on eggs Benedict - which I will note there is also discrepancies between the image and the recipe; the image of this dish has bacon/ham, eggs, and hollandaise sauce on top of a pancake where as the recipe calls for an english muffin. Kinda funny honestly, but on top of that, this dish isn't one I would describe as having a lot of cream. So why would it be described as such? Well because of the note in Trespasser:

Yes, for Our Lady's sake, there was an official menu for the first day of a visit from the Inquisitor during an Exalted Council, but the paper was so old it fell apart in my hands! Our so-famous sous-chef needs to come out of her sulk, because we ARE doing Eggs à la Val Foret, and we WILL need enough cream sauce for tonight's course! The Council of Heralds and the Fereldans are in a pretty fit after the Inquisitor abandoned the talks. Dinner must be tremendous, or we'll hear about it.

Hollandaise sauce is described as a "creamy" sauce but it doesn't actually use cream, butter yes but not cream. It's mainly egg yolk, lemon juice, and melted butter with salt, white pepper, or cayenne pepper. There is a derivative called Sauce Bavaroise that does use actual cream as well as horseradish and thyme. There are also a few other derivatives that use cream and are considered a cream sauce.

Then with the Fluffy Mackerel Pudding, the recipe in the cookbook doesn't actually have onion or celery. It has egg and mackerel, but it also has potatoes in it. Something the original recipe, derived from the weight watcher recipe, didn't have. The original ingredient list we see in Origins is: celery, pepper, mackerel, diced onion, mustard, salt, Antivan pepper, ground mace, cardamom seed, eggs.

Now, it's obvious why they didn't keep the exact same recipe, but it is a little funny they didn't mention it to be a derivative of a classic recipe or the like, as they did with the Crab Cakes from Kirkwall - which are just fried shoft-shelled crab instead of your typical crab cake.

I'm not complaining about the differences though, I'm grateful and pleased to see the recipe blurbs being used as something to share more lore and create an atmosphere with and then have the recipes be a little more grounded in the realm of not only realistic, but also convenient for time, abilities, and skill. Eggs à la Val Foret even directs you to use store bought hollandaise sauce and the Snail and Watercress Salad calls for canned snails, I appreciate that it is going for something more realistic for the instructions and not being overly thematic and such. After all this should be a functional cookbook before its a lore book.

The way everything is organized and the recipes we see are really well varied to me, they're also not something one would consider "typical" western cookbook food - nettle soup, lamprey cake, blood soup (though I think this is likely the red, beet looking soup on the cover). These three have my big interest so I'm eager to see them. But they're also seemingly well varied in catering to not only different skill levels - beginner to more advance (One recipe is grilled chicken and another is a rather elaborate cake called blancmange.)

My initial impression is that this book is a step away from what this publisher has usually put out and I hope that remains true when we have access to the full release.

I think the only other thing I wrote down when reading the sample was that: I will continue to "not my canon" travel times provided, even though Devon was using a carriage, traversing all of Thedas in a year? Sus.

The other thing is in the Stuffed Deep Mushroom recipe where Devon is citing an example of why to be wary of lyrium being consumed by people without resistance, they cite Fenris. Who... I understand why they might have made that connection but also, that was a choice of ingesting lyrium and I just feel like using the templars would have been better? Especially Cullen, or if tying to Devon's hero worship and adventurer streak, King Alistair would have been a good example as the BioWare default has him as king and also taking lyrium again.

Fenris just felt like an odd choice on the whole "example about why ingesting things too close to lyrium is a bad idea" angle. Not wrong, just not the first one that comes to mind for me personally.

[dawndelion-winery]

They're So-

How they talk about you

Ft. Arlecchino, Capitano, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone

Arlecchino:

She speaks fondly of you, almost as if she were talking about family

She smiles softly, and anyone can tell you're the most important person in her life

Her words are curt, though, because she doesn't like other people prying into your lives

She'll only speak of you when asked

Unless she's with Columbina, then she won't shut up

Columbina finds it funny, probing every now and then when Arlecchino seems almost done only for Arlecchino to speak of your achievements with vigour once again

She's always so proud of you

And the fact that you're dating her? You have impeccable taste in women

She probably has a while presentation on why she loves you and Columbina has heard it at least seventeen times

The other harbingers have probably heard it at least five

Even the Tsaritsa isn't spared from hearing about how pretty your hair is, flecked with snow as light reflects off it

"Arlecchino, how are things with you?"

"All is well, my s/o recently-"

Yeah, she just goes on

Capitano:

He talks about you like he's your knight who's helplessly pining for his master but cannot admit he's in love because that would be preposterous

Which is ridiculous because you're sure you're way more into him than he is you

Wrong. You can never love him more than he loves you - he will always love you more and shower you in it

He thinks you're beautiful in every sense of the word, and he makes it known to everyone

"Are those the new uniforms? Oh, it's nothing, I was just thinking the colour would suit y/n. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, lor-"

"Yes, yes, they'd look good in anything, what was I thinking"

There is only one person willing to listen to him and that's Childe because the ginger gets to spar with him in exchange

Cue Capitano effortlessly pinning Childe down as he rambles about how you once stepped on his chest in a similar way and looked stunning while you did it

Childe:

Anything and everything he sees will be likened to how amazing you are

He just tasted some really good food? Hey that reminds him of that meal he shared with you, all good tastes better when it's eaten with you

^^has offered to invite subordinates to meals with you but they know better than to accept

That's his special time with you and if they encroach on that time...they'd be goners

So all anyone can really do is smile and nod along in agreement as he sings your praises

He's lucky Pulcinella sees him as his adopted kid of sorts or he'd have hit him upside the back of his head for never shutting up

The old man only ever sighs at his youth, shaking his head at the devoted, passionate puppy love Ajax had for you

He even keeps a stack of photos of you in one of those folding wallet things that he flips open when he wants to talk about you

Which makes for very exasperated subordinates who have to listen to him ramble about you at meetings because he insists they're not as awestruck as he is because they haven't seen you in the moment

"That's fine, here, let me help you understand" *whips out pictures* "So you see here, this is them-"

Yeah, they're in for a long story time

Dottore:

He seems so nonchalant that anyone would think he had no interest in you

He barely speaks of you to anyone except to mention your input which makes it seem like you're just another poor sod who works under him

Until someone dared to voice that thought

"You could treat them better?"

"Lord Dottore, I-"

"Go on, do elaborate. Exactly what can you give them that I don't already? What can you provide that could possibly measure up to my y/n's worth?"

Oh they're in for an earful, because he'll criticise everything about them, from appearance to talents, their fears and beliefs

All while praising how you could never be compared to such scum

It's a wonder how they were still standing at the end of- nevermind, they dropped to their knees the moment Dottore walked off

He's just a teeny bit scary like that, y'know?

Pantalone:

It's hard to catch him talking about you without you there because,,,well he takes you everywhere

After all, how could he not want to show you off to everyone?

So yeah, he will just straight up fawn over you to others in front of you

Embarrassed? Deal with it, you're free to hide your face in his chest as he hides you in his huge coat, but that's all you're getting

No, you can't leave without him, what's he going to do without you there to hold his hand?

Surely you wouldn't deprive him of the warmth he can only get from holding you close?

He especially likes to praise you when shopping

New shipment just in? Well those jewels really bring out your eyes, he should have them made into a ring for you

You'll never have nothing to wear because he insists on getting you something new whenever he can and then telling everyone how incredible it looks on you

Of course, shopkeepers and merchants aren't going to disagree with him when he says you look stunning in their wares

So you've practically everyone reminding you that you are indeed the loveliest partner for Lord Regrator, what a darling couple you make etc

With the man himself fueling it all

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[a-queer-seminarian]

So sorry if this is breaking news to anyone, but: the Bible is ableist. Its pages hold some really shitty stuff about disabled persons.

...AND it’s also affirming of the goodness and wholeness of disabled persons, just as we are!

it turns out that among the many authors of the many texts collected into the Bible, there were differing views around what we now call disability!

so whenever disability comes up in a given passage, i can’t keep my brain from immediately trying to sort it: is it a Good Text for disabled persons, or a Bad Text?

i try to resist that easy binary, because the answer is usually somewhere in between. that certainly seems to be the case for this week’s lectionary reading from Mark 9.

there’s so much wild stuff in Jesus’s little monologue in this lectionary passage, but let’s start with verses 43-47 (my rough translation incoming):

If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it all the way off; it is better for you to enter into The Life impaired than, while having two hands, to go away into the gehenna, into the unquenchable fire.

And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it all the way off! It is better for you to enter into The Life limping than, while having two feet, be cast into the gehenna.

And if your eye should cause you to stumble, cast it out; it is better for you to enter into the Kingdom of God one-eyed than, while having two eyes, be cast into the gehenna, where their worm does not die, and the fire is not quenched. For everyone will be salted with fire.

oh lord, not the hell talk!! anything but hell talk!! this whole passage bristles with a million ways to misuse it. (homophobia cw: anyone else ever get told “if your sexuality causes you to sin, cut it off — this passage is proof gay people should be celibate!” just me?)

now, my focus is on what Jesus says here about disability, but as we talk about that, better ways of reading the text will come up. for instance, that last verse about how everyone will be salted with fire? to me, that suggests Jesus’ vision of this “gehenna” place does NOT = the standard Christian idea of hell. first off, it’s a place not of punishment, but purification — which is a word heavy with baggage these days...what if I say “reformation” instead? And if that’s the case, i imagine one’s stay there isn’t eternal — why bother reform people who are gonna be shut off in a fire-filled jail forever?

once those fires “purify” you, i imagine your stay is through and off you go into “The Life,” because you’ll finally be ready for it. so that’s one option for getting ready for The Life / The Kingdom of God — or, Jesus says, you can opt instead to get rid of the things that “cause you to stumble” in advance by......cutting off a limb or gouging out an eye??

now. i could be wrong but. if we start by taking this text as literally as possible, with physical stumbling and a physical limb-removal taking place......wouldn’t it be easier to avoid tripping if you’ve got two eyes to see obstacles with, two feet to step over potholes with?? even today when prosthetics are sometimes an option, there’s an adjustment period where you have to relearn walking.

so it seems that Jesus is making one of his trademark statements meant to subvert expectations -- the last will be first, the foolish are proven wise, and those with two feet are more likely to stumble. chances are, he’s not speaking literally. it’s not your literal foot or hand you should be chopping off -- it’s a metaphor for something else.

but before we consider what exactly it’s a metaphor for...where does this ironic little twist leave actually disabled persons? is it shitty of Jesus to be using disability in this way? is this like his “blind leading the blind” & “spiritually blind” comments elsewhere in the Gospels, where he stamps a disability with a moral judgement?

yeah, i do think it’s kinda crappy to use real disabilities for an object lesson, for hyperbolic effect, for shock value. “better to be impaired” (even tho, the subtext seems to be, It Sucks To Be Impaired) “than end up in Gehenna. Trade one terrible thing for a still bad but not as bad thing!” My impulse is thus to throw this passage right into the Bad Text box —except!

Except, i feel like this text holds some positive implications about how Jesus viewed disability, too. 

First off, there’s the implication that one can enter into “The Life” — abundant life, “the world to come,” God’s Kingdom — while disabled. (i wish that were just a given, but it’s not; it’s actually exciting to hear confirmed!)

In the Hebrew Bible (the “Old Testament,” the scriptures we share with our Jewish neighbors, the texts that Jesus would have read and known), the most common assumption about disability is unfortunately that disability = imperfection, and imperfection is something that should be kept out of contact with God.

Now, there are authors & stories within the Hebrew Bible that offer a counter-narrative to that assumption! Two quick examples: Exodus 4 establishes Moses as having a speech impediment, yet he has many close encounters with the Divine. Meanwhile, in Isaiah 56:1-8, God not only welcomes in eunuchs — whom Deuteronomy 23:1 forbade from entering God’s Assembly — but even gives them a place of honor there!

So Jesus’s perspective is not brand new; he simply continues the counter-narrative that other Jewish rabbis and prophets established before him. Still, it is significant that he takes the status-quo-subverting perspective that actually, disability and wholeness are not at odds!

While Jesus’s primary aim with this little passage is not about disability, his weird self-disabling metaphor does imply an attitude of welcome for disabled persons, in that he seems to take it for granted that disabled persons are not barred from The Life of wholeness and abundance he’s talking about.

It’s obvious to him that they don’t even need to be made not-disabled to get there! (Plus, there is no suggestion that once there, one regrows one’s lopped-off limbs or eye / becomes abled again.) This isn’t the only time Jesus expresses this idea of disabilities present in God’s Kingdom, either — my fave is the parable of the banquet in Luke 14 (i have a whooole video about that passage, if you’re interested).

Moreover, Jesus’s closing remarks about salt — which at first glance seem to be something of a non sequitur — can be linked to the Gehenna fire stuff when it comes to the theme of im/purity. Let’s look at that last verse of the lectionary reading, which follows right after Jesus’s claim that “everyone will be salted with fire”:

“Salt is good; but if salt becomes unsalty, with what will you season it? Hold salt in yourselves, and keep peace with one another.”

Another weird little riddle from our favorite riddle-master. unsalty salt? instructions to stay salty?

One way to read this is to focus on the purifying and preserving uses of salt — the way it can keep food from going bad, which was particularly important in a time before refrigerators. in the previous verses, Jesus told his disciples what to cut off — anything that impedes them on the way into abundant Life. Now, he tells them what to hold on to — the stuff that, like salt, clean out harmful things and preserve helpful things, thus enabling abundant Life.

So yeah. In naming something culturally considered an imperfection — disability — as something that can easily enter The Life, no problem, Jesus is making an argument for what is truly impure, what truly impedes wholeness. And it’s not disability! ...So what is it? What are these stumbling blocks that Jesus likens to feet, hands, and eyes?

To find out, we have to rewind to the start of the lectionary reading, a comment from the disciple John that actually kicks off Jesus’s whole spiel:

John informed him, “Teacher, we saw someone throwing out demons in your name, and we stopped him, because he wasn’t following our way.”

But Jesus said, “Do not ever prevent him! For there is no one who will do a powerful work in my name, and will be quickly able to speak evil of me. For whoever is not against us, is for us. Whoever might give you a cup of water to drink because you are in Christ’s name, amen I say to you, that one will not utterly lose his reward.”

The disciples have a certain way of seeing the world, and their actions against someone who is not one of them, but still using Jesus’s name to cast out demons, show us what that way is. They see the world in terms of us vs. them, in vs. out, one right way and many wrong ways. It’s this perspective that impedes them from supporting other people’s kin(g)dom-building work when it differs from their own.

But Jesus tells them they need to stop thinking this way, and start recognizing that there isn’t just one road to the Kin(g)dom, but many — and to quote Jesus’s words from other parts of scripture, you’ll know that someone’s work is good when it produces good fruit. This dude might be doing things differently from how they do it, but the fruits of his efforts are good — the casting out of demons, which frees people up for new life. So don’t stop him — support him! Be glad for his work!

To sum up the entire passage now that I’ve laid it all out and shown how the seemingly-disjointed parts of Jesus’s speech connect, I see his argument as something like this: “That dude you tried to stop is not against us; we can see that by the consequences of his actions, which are positive! His goals are the same as ours, so don’t hinder him just because his path is different from yours! Now, here’s an example of people/behaviors that ARE against us: people who cause little ones to stumble. And you know what you should do with such stumble-makers (or else the stumble-causing behaviors/attitudes)? Cut them off. Let go of anyone or anything that keeps you from abundant life, from the liberation God intends for all. Meanwhile, hold on to the things which purify you like salt — the things that liberate you to enter wholeness. Do it now of your own accord, or accept that it’ll happen later, and it won’t be very fun.”

To reiterate what all of that has to do with disability theology, I’ll share what my friend Laura said when I brought all these ideas to them. (Laura is the host of the Autistic Liberation Theology podcast, which i highly recommend for anyone who wants to hear more Bible stories told through a disability lens!)

Laura noted how common perspectives around dis/ability lead people wrong today, impeding our liberation. Our society teaches us that in order to function as whole persons, we need to be able-bodied (and neurotypical), and that the kinds of accommodations that disabled persons require limit their quality of life. When those ableist assumptions are the lens through which we view the world, that can “cause us to stumble” in the metaphorical sense — can impede us from loving ourselves and one another fully, and from fully participating in the diverse Kin(g)dom of God.

They offered two examples:

When a person with a mobility impairment that could be improved with a wheelchair avoids using that wheelchair because of internalized ableism, preferring the increased suffering that walking more than their body can healthily do over being “wheelchair bound,” that internalized ableism is a stumbling block keeping them from abundant life. Learning to let go of those beliefs, to use a wheelchair when they need to, will — contrary to that “wheelchair bound” language — bring liberation. 

Their next example imagined a parent who puts their autistic child through ABA therapy in order to get them to talk, make eye contact, and otherwise behave like a non-autistic person, due to the belief that autistic persons are missing elements of a full personhood, or that they can only live a happy life if they learn how to mask their autistic traits. However, in reality, ABA therapy brings the child pain and trauma — it impedes rather than enables their quality of life. Letting go of that need for your child to communicate through spoken language and otherwise behave like an allistic will make room for celebration of who they really are!

As Jesus’s comments in this passage imply, a disabled person can enter into “The Life” of wholeness and kinship that is the Kin(g)dom of God just as they are. To try to sever their disability from them would be the hindrance to that liberation. To deny that there are many ways to participate in the Body of Christ  impedes the incoming Kin(g)dom.

So let’s take this message to heart. Let’s consider what points of view, what assumptions about what is necessary for wholeness, are currently keeping us from abundant life, or causing us to stop others from their abundance-bringing work. It’s time to learn how to let those harmful assumptions go — and hold tight to the things that bring true wholeness.

For more on this text, check out my translation notes, which include a lot of commentary from D. Mark Davis’s own exegetical work.

For more on disability theology, you might enjoy my #disability theology tag on tumblr or my Disabled AND Blessed YouTube series. This video exploring the many different perspectives on disability found within the Bible is particularly pertinent.

Finally, what do you think? What good news do you hear in this Mark 9 text? What parts of it feel like a stumbling block for you, dredging up hurt or confusion?

[youarejesting]

Mania.8

[MASTER LIST] [Mania Master list]

Rating: Mature 18+ Pairing: BTS OT7 Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Omegaverse Words: 1.4k Blood types: Namjoon, Jhope, Jungkook, Yoongi (A) Taehyung (AB) Jin, Jimin and Yoongi (O) (Jimin in real life is an A blood type)

Summary: At eighteen everyone takes a blood test to find out their blood types. A, B, or O. Each blood type represents the person’s secondary gender Alpha, Beta or Omega and can be Dominant (+) or Recessive (-).

When small thin Yoongi receives his letter he doesn’t expect A+. There was no way he was an Alpha especially not a dominant. But as time passes he shows no Alpha nor Omega tendencies and frankly he doesn’t care. Working in his father’s electrical business helps pay the bills but Yoongi’s real passion is music.

One very hot day in the roof space of a luxury apartment that Yoongi is rewiring an intoxicatingly pleasant smell churns his insides and he finds himself in need of something to quench his thirst.

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Yoongi was unsure how he felt about the affection he received from the other omegas. He didn’t exactly have time to refuse their advances before he was soaking in a huge bathtub with the other two. It was nice to have company and someone to talk to. The two omegas were quick to offer him something to drink and helped wash his hair with gentle hands.

It had been almost twenty years since Yoongi had had a bubble bath and he had to admit it was a lot more fun than a normal bath. The bubbles were so soft and foamy they smelt like lavender and it was making his eyes heavy. 

Kim Seokjin gave a soft chuckle pulling Yoongi’s back against his chest and letting him rest his head on his shoulder. Yoongi was ready to leave the bath, he was starting to feel old with the wrinkles appearing on his fingertips like a prune.

Stepping out first Jimin wrapped himself in a robe, Yoongi thought he would leave but was surprised when he grabbed another robe and held it out. Yoongi went to get up to let Jin exit but when he moved Jimin’s hands followed him with the soft robe.

Yoongi looked back at Seokjin and saw him pulling on another robe and smiling, “You don’t like the robe Hyung?”

“Sorry, I thought you were offering Jin Hyung the robe.” Yoongi lowered his head and obediently put his hands into the sleeves. “Thanks, Jiminie.”

Jimin under all the spoiled and bratty tendencies was such a sweet charming boy who cared a lot about others and Yoongi was happy to get to know this side of him. That he had given the younger boy a chance to open up to him and show his true colors. Or, maybe it was Jimin who took the time to let Yoongi relax and open up with him.

“Do you want to go for a nap, we are going to cuddle in the lounge and watch a movie, you can join us if you want?” Jimin asked, looking hopeful. Yoongi almost gave in not wanting to disappoint the young omega. Maybe this is what they meant by omega’s nurturing other omegas.

Yoongi patted the younger boy's wet hair and smiled softly, “I have some work to do, I was wondering if I could borrow someone’s laptop or computer or something?”

“Of course, Jungkook has one you can use,” Jimin took Yoongi’s hand. It was such a small hand, though he was younger, Jimin was much stronger than Yoongi. “Here it is, I will tell Kookie that you are in here, he is watching a movie too, so you can work undisturbed.”

“Thanks, Jiminie,” Yoongi patted his head again and Jimin beamed at the praise before searching for some clothes to steal from his mate.

Yoongi opened the website he had been using for his mixtape. Selecting his latest opened his newest creation, trying to reach for where he usually kept his headphones but coming up empty and the song started playing. Face red and heart hammering nervously he paused the music and Jimin’s head poked out of the walk-in wardrobe.

“What was that?” Jimin asked, curiously he was slipping on a pair of sweatpants with his athletic build on display. Yoongi took note of the ‘Nevermind’ tattoo on Jimin’s rib cage and wondered to himself what it meant. He and Jungkook were the only two in the group that he had seen tattoo’s on.

“Uh, it was a song that I wrote?” Yoongi muttered embarrassed, “Does Jungkookie have headphones at all?”

“Yeah, I can go ask him.” Jimin smiled, “Can I hear something you have written?”

“Sure,” Yoongi nervously played the song. The beat was kind of old school and Jimin heard some of Yoongi’s adlibs but they weren’t explored fully yet. Jimin was bouncing on the bed to the beat enjoying the sound and vibe. He liked the word play of ddaeng and the ‘one-eight, one-three, three-eight.

Yoongi watched Jimin intently wanting to see his reaction, a little embarrassed when Namjoon’s head popped into the room he was nodding to the beat listening, Hoseok and Taehyung appearing enjoying the sound greatly.

Yoongi had made a guide which was quiet in the background with what he thought the lyrics fit the song, but he had one completed verse. When he first wrote the lyrics he didn’t think it was first verse worthy but he really liked it. Not wanting to waste some dope bars. He kept it for the second verse. As the second verse began his voice came through the room and his cheeks went red.

“Ddaeng.” Yoongi’s voice was strong, accompanied by his deep hum “Mmm…”

Taehyung was hyped by the verse and began jumping around the room excitedly, Hoseok and Namjoon were both sitting there with thoughtful faces repeating chorus’ and enjoying the wordplay. Namjoon began freestyling a small bit at the end using his own play on words for the sound ddaeng, likening it to a cash register, a game of tag, and more. 

“That’s really dope, did you write that yourself?” Jimin asked excitedly looking at the screen for any sign of another name or some sort of program that could have helped him.

“I wrote the lyrics or what little lyrics I have and I made the track using my software. I have a bunch of tracks I produced and have written for but these are the latest ones I have worked on.” Yoongi explained “I made a trap beat with some eastern instruments to basically diss the community for saying that rap music doesn’t fit with Korean culture.

“Can I get you to look at something?” Namjoon said and brought him down the hall to a makeshift studio, “Listen to this…”

Yoongi stood in his robe feeling out of place while Namjoon began typing away on the computer bringing up a program and a file, he pressed play and Yoongi paused it. “I need headphones. I need to hear the layering and everything in depth”

Namjoon nodded, handing him the headphones, and began listening, Hoseok’s voice came in rapping about being a psycho rapping a cypher. Yoongi enjoyed his flow, it was unique, quite colorful, and fun, Namjoon was very intellectual and full of wordplay. They both had their strong points but they were missing an element that most rappers had.

They didn’t have the raw anger that was needed, sure Hoseok and Namjoon were mad but it was lacking. The cypher was amazing, the third verse they wrote together was quite odd and didn’t really bring the anger that Yoongi wanted it to. Almost a letdown.

“The third verse is shot, cut it out.” They nodded “It needs something rougher something to wrap it up, get the final hype. Hoseok has some serious teasing at the start, Namjoon gets real smart but the end needs to be rough. Make the people mad with raw emotion and power behind the delivery that just wasn’t there.”

“He is right,” Hoseok said and Yoongi made a face as he listened to the last verse again taking the lyrics sheet and began making changes adding entirely different lines in places.

“It is good though you just need to deliver it better, get exasperated on the track, that shit sounds like you are fucking proving a point.” Yoongi stood up from the computer and played the track into the tiny soundproof booth. It was a little portable box insulated just like any other booth Yoongi had rented before to work on his mixtape. 

Even though the booths were different sizes they worked the same and Yoongi stepped inside it had just begun Hoseok’s verse and he was reading over the lines getting ready to record when it got to the third verse he took the lines running putting as much gravel and emotion into the lyrics.

He rapped like he was trying to argue with someone about his worth as a rapper. He delivered the verse as if it was his own cypher he let things flow he got to the section that Namjoon had previously performed and the pace picked up, he didn’t let up the whole time and as he hit the last line he let out a loud laugh he was embarrassed to rap in front of anyone. “Hahaha….. YA!”

 Tags: @staerryminimini​ 

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[teyvattherapist]

A-Z for the oc asks (:

Help okay this is going to be so long it is under a cut.

A. Annoying: What is your OC’s most annoying trait?

Sandrone

Always monotone. Which, as his creator, I'm legally obligated to say I speak exactly like him about 80% of the time. Very dull, monotone, steady at all times. It's annoying! Or at least, I've been told. So, yeah. That.

Ohm

Puts his work first always. Those who know him only know a small smidge of the work he does and it would seem like there's no way in hell he has SO much work regarding that one section. But yeah, he's a workaholic who does just.. a lot.. behind the scenes.

B. Best: What is your OC’s best personality trait?

Sandrone

He's very observant! He can be dense regarding romantic stuff of course, but other things he's hella in the know. Sulien remembers or notices everything somebody he cares about says or does regarding things they like. So yes, he will always have your favourite takeout and snack ready before you even realise how sad you actually are. He knows.

Ohm

Like youngest like eldest I suppose. Ohm is also incredibly observant. Ohm is a bit more annoying with it because he will know you're injured even if you try to hide it. But beyond that, he's like a dog. You're sad? Cool let's go do something! Literally contradicts his above annoying trait but I mean, Ohm is weird as hell, he manages too many two faced traits. Anyways have a lollipop.

C. Child: Your OC encounters a crying, lost child. How do they react?

Sandrone

Ooh.. He's confused.. Sulien doesn't do well with people crying in general, let alone kids. He's had some practice with Tartaglia's little siblings, but that's not very much. He's kind of a yk criminal, so he'll probably bring the kid to the nearest location that looks like it'll be able to help them find their parents. He won't stick around for all that long, he's so awkward.

Ohm

He is on a fucking mission. Ohm is a doctor, he's a very good doctor, he's crouched down talking calmly within seconds. Always has lollipops on hand for this, and for himself, but mostly this. The kid's hand is in his while they're chewing away happily within moments. Then he'll find the parents, and they WILL get scolded on losing their child. Captain Ohm is not pleased ):<

D. Desire: Your OC has the opportunity to get the thing they desire most, but it means betraying a friend. Do they do it?

Sandrone

Yes. He does. A natural infiltrator, Sulien is known as a betrayer for a reason. Merely a job for the most part, a business transaction if you will. All relationships can be sacrificed in exchange of Freedom. He doesn't care. Sulien is tired, he has few friends as is, sometimes people need to go.

Ohm

No. Because betraying a friend for what he desires means to throw away everything he's ever signed his own life away for. Ohm can't do that, no matter how much he craves Death or Peace. One is obtainable if he makes a mistake and the other is unobtainable. He'll get there in the end without betraying somebody.

E. Excellent: Which of your OCs is the most virtuous?

This one will surprise people who don't as intimately know their stories. I mean come on, you have the Medical Captain of the Knights of Favonius vs a Fatui Harbinger, right? And yet, Sandrone is the more virtuous. Curious, isn't it?

F. Forgive: How good is your OC at apologizing? Do they own up to it when they’ve made a mistake? How easily does your OC forgive other people?

Sandrone

He's so condescending without meaning to be.. Mostly because the times he's apologised, it's been while arresting or killing somebody and he's saying sorry for betraying them. He makes an effort once he's realised he's hurt somebody he cares about, stumbles over his words, but he'll try. He always owns up to mistakes though, especially since he makes so few and he needs to be a good impression to his subordinates so THEY don't make any mistakes. It would depend on what they've done to him. He doesn't forgive nor does he forget sometimes.

Ohm

Very good! He's a fantastic liar :D! Ohm knows that sometimes to appease people, you have to do what you must, and he's a king with words for a reason. Another one who leads people and needs to show up as a good leader, Ohm always owns up to his mistakes. There are though.. Some things... In his personal life that he's only ever told two.. maybe three people.. Those mistakes.. They run so deep. Hurt too much. Ohm may be a very forgiving person, but he never forgets. Never.

G. Guilt: Does your OC often regret their decisions? If so, describe a decision they regret.

Sandrone

Conditioned to not feel, he ignores things like regret or guilt. He isn't programmed to feel them. He can't afford to. So it isn't often that he'll regret a decision. But when he does, he thinks about it forever. What he could have done better, what would have changed the outcome, he's supposed to be the best in his field at analyzing any given situation and yet.. Sulien just thinks too much sometimes.

Ohm

A lot of the things he has done he regrets, even if he deems them necessary to choices to make. I suppose Ohm is interesting like that, outwardly, he keeps going, keeps pushing forwards. Inwardly, it's a constant blizzard of guilt. I've always likened Ohm to a man damned, so his feelings about his decisions and the guilt he feels when he makes a bad one definitely fits into that.

H. Honesty: How often does your OC lie? Do they believe lying is ever justified? Describe a time your OC told a lie, or told the truth even when it was difficult.

Sandrone

His job is to lie. Head of Reconnaissance for the Tsaritsa, the puppet's function is to infiltrate what he needs to in order to gain the information he needs. Always adaptable, moldable, he's a liar at any given time. Even if he'd rather tell the truth, he never does, in Her name everything was justified. To tell a time he lied would be just looking at his work history. To tell a time he told the truth even when it hurt, would be more interesting. To compromise; in /almost/ all of his voicelines, he's actually telling the truth. Try and figure which are actually the lies..

Ohm

Ohm is clever, cunning, his personality handcrafted, perfectly put together piece by piece. Unlike his younger brother, Ohm is a natural liar. It comes easy to him, every honeyed word spoken from a tongue of silver. He has sins to hide and karma to beat back, if that means lying? Well. So be it. His most obvious lie that's revealed throughout his story quests would be that he's almost never on expedition to a nation for medicinal supplies, but rather he was infiltrating Snezhnaya to try and find his brother. A lie very few people knew the truth of, most notable being Varka, who gave his approval. Some hard truths are better off buried for Ohm Ambros.

I. Individuality: Is your OC’s morality more influenced by the society they live in, or their own critical thinking?

Sandrone

I mean... I'll just be honest, Sulien got tortured into utter compliance by way of forcing him to forget everything he ever knew. He's smart as hell, but if he has no frame of reference, then yeah... It's influenced by the people around him, his environment. Sulien is getting better about it though.

Ohm

His moral code is a roulette wheel and he's not sure where the bullet is. But hey, it's fine. Literally, I have nothing else to add. Ohm kills people, like, straight up disposes. But he's also a very nice man, so..

J. Jealousy: How often does your OC get jealous of other people? Do they keep their jealousy in check, or does it influence their behavior?

Both of them aren't very jealous people, one because Sandrone doesn't even fucking know he's jealous. And two, Ohm is just kinda dense unless someone is like.. uncomfortable, then he'll notice.

K. Knack: What is something your OC is skilled at?

Sandrone

Sulien's skill that I like to talk about the most is the fact he personally repairs his mask(and other things) with Kintsugi! It requires a lot of patience and technique and he is very good at it. Takes him forever though ngl.

Ohm

He loves his origami. He's very talented with it and can make pretty much anything. A lot of stuff he can do either one handed or without looking, but the more complex stuff he actually needs to concentrate on. He has a nasty habit of folding his briefing papers into cool little pieces.

L. Loathe: What qualities does your OC loathe in other people? Do they tend to be judgmental of others, even when it isn’t warranted?

Sandrone

He doesn't like super whiny people. It's just a personal pet peeve of his, he'd rather not. Like the whole high pitch "hmf!' kind of whiny? Yeah. Despises it. Otherwise Sulien isn't very judgemental! He's pretty respectful in general.

Ohm

Lmao Ohm is a hypocrite. He dislikes people who are reckless and put others in danger. He'll willingly put himself in danger, but not his team, which is the only real difference. It's weird, he's best friends with Kaeya and yet- ahem anyways. Call it the Doctor Vibe or w/e.

M. Mistake: Describe a time your OC did something bad, or was wrong about something.

Sandrone

War Criminal! Congratulations! He was behind the scenes making sure the sigils of permission were done correctly. I mean, he's a war criminal in general though. Personally, good dude. His work? Mm.. He's done things!

Ohm

I can't even be like "this dude killed two people when he was fourteen! that's bad!!" cause it was sort of warranted. I think, to Ohm, his biggest mistake would be "failing his parents' one task to him" which was to protect Sulien. And he failed to do that and lost Sulien for pretty much eleven years. It haunts him constantly.

N. Negative: What does your OC believe is their worst flaw?

Sandrone

Sulien has a bit of a thing where he hates how emotional he can get. He's been equated to machine so often that when he feels, he doesn't feel real. He dissociates and he hates that feeling. To him, it is his worst flaw. The puppet being emotional? What's the point? But he also doesn't know how to express his emotions in a healthy way, and I think it makes it all that much worse when he feels so strongly sometimes.

Ohm

Somebody who has a low outlook on themselves, there is very little Ohm likes. Though his inability to feel like he belongs or perhaps the karma attached to him would be the worst ones. To be haunted by demons, among other things, it is utterly ridiculous to him. And yet, here he is. How one can find comfort in somebody like him is just, beyond him.

O. Outlook: Is your OC more optimistic, pessimistic, or realistic? How likely are they to believe a bad person can change?

They are both Realists. To take a situation upfront and deal accordingly is who they both are at their core. Sandrone is more likely to believe somebody bad can become good, because /he/ wants to be good. Ohm is less likely to believe this, no matter how much he may want it to be true. But at the end of the day, products of environments that were so truly unkind, they are both realistic of the grim world around them.

P. Positive: What does your OC believe is their best personality trait?

Sandrone

For some odd reason, Sulien thinks how blunt he is at times is a good personality trait. I mean, like, I guess? He believes it at least. Sulien just thinks that being blunt is a good way of dealing with things without any communication problems or misunderstandings, and that's true to an extent.

Ohm

A man bound by contracts, it'd be how dutiful he is. Diligence is the name of his game, ultimately. He's been doing this since he was a child, he better be good at what he does, and he is. He always fulfills his duties, always does his role, always plays his part. His work is who he is.

Q. Quirk: Does your OC have any (minor) bad habits? If so, what? (Biting their nails, sleeping in, procrastinating, etc.)

Sandrone

Honestly most of his work takes place at night or the evenings, so he usually sleeps the day away. It isn't the best for a person, but he does what he must.

Ohm

Due to his insane alcohol tolerance, he definitely drinks way too much. But it never really hits him...? So he just kinda drinks those lil fruity drinks of his cause he likes the taste haha

R. Respect: What qualities does your OC admire in other people?

Sandrone

Honesty. He admires honesty the most. Sulien has been lied to a lot, had things taken away from him that nobody should ever have taken away. He just wants somebody who will tell him the truth, even if it hurts.

Ohm

Surprisingly, Ohm likes people who are resourceful, a little bit cunning maybe. He likes people who are useful to him, and being useful means being able to think fast on your feet.

S. Success: Describe a time your OC did something good, or was right when others were wrong.

Sandrone

Most of the time LMAO bye. Sulien functions on one perfected line of code. "Analyse the situation, filter what is appropriate, narrow the results, speak." He tells Pierro straight to his face that he's a better information gatherer because "the difference between your recruits and me lies within step three." He's not often wrong, the other Harbingers hate him for it.

Ohm

He does his best to do good things to make up for all of his bad karma. A doctor, a captain, an adeptus. He sacrifices his own vitality to heal others. I mean the list goes on. He tries, very hard, to make up for the things he's done.

T. Troubled: Which of your OCs is the most flawed?

They're both flawed in their own ways that I can't really compare them.

Sandrone was broken down into bits, had literally every sense of self or shred of dignity stolen from him, and then he was turned into a tool and used time and time again. That trauma will never go away, nor the problems or flaws that arise from it. Then you have Ohm, who was forced onto a path of bloodshed and slaughter in the name of Celestia. A pawn that has lost everything, everyone. Who failed, time and time again, and has to live with that, with himself. That also doesn't ever go away.

And I think to compare them would be unfair. Especially when the more they learn of each other's pain in their separation, the further they fall into that guilt and pain for their twin. They always blame themselves for what happened to the other.

U. Upgrade: Does your OC strive for self-improvement, or are they less concerned about becoming a better person?

Sandrone

He does what he can with the circumstances he's in, if that makes sense. There isn't a lot that Sulien can do to change himself or the things around him. But he tries to learn better life skills(like cooking) or pick up new hobbies and stuff like that. He really does try though.

Ohm

I don't think that Ohm sees the value of self-improvement. He knows he isn't a good person, and I think he knows, deep down, that he can't really change that.

V. Value: Is your OC more selfish or selfless? What would they sacrifice for a loved one? What would they sacrifice for a stranger?

Ooh they're so similar haha.

Sandrone

Selfless, he is always doing what other people want. His opinion always comes second. For a loved one? He will lay his life down. For a stranger? Well he'll do his very damn best if the situation calls for it.

Ohm

Selfless, following a set path laid out in the stars before him, he has no choice. Fate has called and he has answered, what he wants does not matter. But put his loved ones in the firing line? He'll die before they do, he can guarantee that, and he has the power to ensure that. An innocent stranger will receive very close to the same treatment, too.

W. Worst: What is your OC’s worst flaw?

Sandrone

He accidentally gaslights people a lot.. Like he lies to lie at times because he's so used to it? And if you've never been gaslit you are so lucky, its such an awful feeling. A lot of the time when he does it to people he cares about, he really doesn't even notice. And I think that's pretty much his worst one. I mean and he kills people but w/e.

Ohm

He's self destructive. It's such a big part of his character and just who he is and it shows a lot about who he actually is. Ohm can't stand what he's been pushed into doing and yet he continues to do it. He'd do anything to wash himself of these feelings and it leads to incredible self destructive behaviour. He also kills people but w/e.

X. X-ray: Does your OC believe that they’re a good person? Would you consider them a good person?

Sandrone

No, he doesn't believe he's a good person. I, as his creator, know that he's a genuinely good person put into a bad situation and forced to make bad choices to survive. He just doesn't see it that way, he can't, he's been conditioned to believe whatever they need him to believe to get him complacent.

Ohm

Also doesn't believe he's a good person. And I, as his creator, know that he's bad at his core, but he tries so hard to do good things. He wasn't given a chance, not really. He tries to make up for it, tries to cleanse his sins, but that blood never washes off..

Y. Young: How has your OC been influenced by their past? Are they a better person because of their past, or a worse one?

-looks into the camera-

The answer is the same for both of them. Heirs to a clan favoured by Celestia, paths set in fate, destinies controlled by stars. They are influenced by things even further than their own pasts. Sandrone was allowed to forget his past, forget who he is, and what he means. Is that good? Is that bad? Who knows. But when he did remember as a child, he was very much influenced by it. Then Ohm, well.. Past mistakes and failures are who he is, right? The last thing he remembers is his father's words too him regarding destiny and given how ingrained that is in their family line. Well..

The past means everything to them.

Z. Zealous: Does your OC have any guilty pleasures? If so, what? (Watching reality TV, drinking soda, reading cheesy romance novels, etc.)

Answered here

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

It’s seriously frustrating to try to read PJO on my phone in pdf format I WANNA READ FAST

So I’m transferring to a Drive so I can read it all at once before I get down to work

I just finished the bus attack in Lightning Thief and I’m DYING TO READ WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

also I love this concept that the “gods” are the centre of “western civilisation”, how it’s technically their civilisation that they influence and how Western civilisation is a fluctuating thing outside of their influence as well but that these Greek gods are almost…. Motifs throughout iterations of Western civilisation?

I love that we’re SHOWN different iterations, from Greece to Rome, to Britain and modern day America and how each of those civilisations are the same, just different ages, it’s a perspective I’ve not really thought of before, nor have I thought of the idea of the gods taking on different forms within each civilisation (how Venus and Aphrodite are the same for example which definitely intrigued me)

It’s…. Like it’s very interesting and kind of weird how they’re just treated as another type of humanity, not something beyond comprehension or knowledge, they’re just another sort of human with a power unseen but still felt. In a weird way they make me think of aliens in Doctor Who, all these beings present and society mostly unaware as private battles are fought on Earth… specifically Moffat’s iteration

But like the idea of Olympus being at the top of the Empire State Building? Screams bigger on the inside energy, like it reminded me of SOMETHING in Doctor Who- MISSY AND DEATH IN HEAVEN

St Paul’s

Same ideas, the “entryway to the underworld” only in PJO the entryway to the underworld is apparently Los Angeles (interesting… that makes sense because desert, and therefore drought and death)

Idk it’s just a very unexpectedly concept of the way gods are used… it’s more like Avatar in fact and the way there are spirits, not gods. Yeah I think that’s exactly what I would liken it to. This other part of, other side of humanity, not above them, just parallel.

[mydisasteracademia]

Random Shigaraki Headcanons

This boi. This grubby boi. I love him so much but at the same time he would probably literally dust me so... (oof this one kinda dragged on and on... lol)

Literally has no idea about real-life relationship dynamics outside of what he’s observed in his own parents, in Sensei, and in Kurogiri. All he thinks in the beginning is that people who claim to love you will stand by and let you be hurt, that villains took care of him better than any damn hero, and that he can only truly rely on himself. (And Sensei.)

It takes a loooooooong time of interacting with other people to break himself out of this mindset, and even then, sometimes it comes creeping back if bad things happen.

Getting into canon territory with this one, but really, really, reeeeeeeeally hates heroes because they didn’t even bother to help him when he was going through a whole mental breakdown. Literally one of the only reasons he hates them so much. I know this is pretty much canon, but I doubt he would ever grasp Stain’s ideology of ���maybe some are good’ because in his eyes, not even the underground pro heroes even bothered to see if he was okay. Remember the scene from the manga with the old lady when he was a child? Yeah. There were bound to be heroes he bumped into, even off-duty ones, and nobody even gave him another glance.

Has extremely bad abandonment issues. If he likes you, he’s gonna want to keep you because he didn’t really have anything nice to call his own while growing up, and Sensei kept him fairly isolated so he literally tolerates nobody else other than him and Kurogiri at first. Reacts horribly when his friends want to break off the friendship. Goes through a whole depressive episode for a while, his old insecurities pop back up, and he really thinks he’s worse than trash and not worth anyone’s time or attention for a while. Prime time for Sensei to further twist his mind.

On that same note, if you’re dating, for the love of everything still good in this world do not break his heart. He will never forgive you. Literally will go to the grave before he forgives you for doing what you did (whether it be cheating on him or completely dropping him like a hot potato). Although this might also extend to little issues that make him feel like you don’t love him enough, he’ll forgive you if you show him plenty of attention and apologize for whatever he was upset over. If you cannot remain patient through his toxic mindsets, it’s best not to get into a relationship in the first place with him if you want to still remain friends afterward, because breaking it off means instant heartbreak.

Anyway! Back to happier, funnier hcs!!

The whole embodiment of the “Wears black in summer because I look good and am willing to suffer” vine. Will not give up his comfy black shirt and sweats for anything because yes, he does look good in black, and yes, he is willing to suffer. He’ll switch to a v-neck tee though. Even he’s not that masochistic.

Really prone to dry skin. I know that’s canon, but just... this poor man can’t keep moisturized to save his own life. Constantly has to apply a special moisturizer that’s specifically made for ultra-sensitive skin and has no scents whatsoever.

Will gripe about having to spend so much money on ointment and moisturizer for both him and Dabi. It’s one of the very few things they bond over, other than having a shitty father and pushover family... and their hatred of All Might.

Shigaraki 100% would be Dabi’s alibi if he actually managed to kill Endeavor. When it comes to the shitty dad club, he’s a fuckin’ ride-or-die.

Kinda sensitive over the fact that both he and Midoriya have the same sort of red shoes, but he loves his pair too much to throw them out. Purposefully aims for Midoriya’s shoes every single time they meet each other on the off chance that they get ruined enough for him to get different shoes, unknowing that he literally can’t just... get differently-colored shoes due to him being originally Quirkless (yes, The Shoes™ theory strikes again)

Literally never forgets a single thing about people he cares about. He’s the type of person who will remember every single thing you tell him about yourself, and especially birthdays. While he doesn’t exactly show his affection very loudly, he would be the type of person who tell you “happy birthday” on the day of as soon as he first sees you, and would treat you a little nicer all day that day.

This boy just has the biggest, scarred heart for his ‘good crowd’. I cannot stress enough just how much like Midoriya he could’ve turned out if he hadn’t been abandoned by society. This mf would give the green bean a run for his motherfuckin money.

“I really just hate the world and everything in it... except for you, maybe I could make an exception for you because you’re nice to me and I appreciate your company too much”

Even though I hc quite a few League members to be like cats when it comes to affection, Shigaraki’s spirit animal is a cat. Likes to lounge about in off-moments, slow to affection and very quick to remember exactly how people treat him, yet if he likes you he shows affection quietly enough that it’s not obvious at first. Like “oh, you’re in the same room as me. It’s not like I missed you or anything, me sitting right next to you at the bar when it’s totally empty means nothing. The fact that I’m looking right at you when you’re talking doesn’t mean I like you.”

LOVES HUGS. If you hug him and he likes you, you’ve probably made his whole day. Depending on how things are going, probably his whole fucking week. Just please hug him, he needs positive affection so bad

Major tsun-tsun. The most tsun-tsun. Grumpy until you get to know him, and if he likes you he’ll show you in little ways: listening to your ideas more, letting you stay closer for longer, maybe getting you something like food.

AFRAID OF TOUCH. I REPEAT, AFRAID OF TOUCH. Not from anyone he likes, of course; this baby is so touch-starved that he deserves a thousand hugs. But if he likes you, he will not initiate physical affection because he’s so afraid of accidentally dusting you. The memories of his family dying (except for his father, because #FuckKotaro2k21) haunt him almost every time he dreams (and if that doesn’t, then other traumatizing events certainly do), and he absolutely would not forgive himself if he dusted his favorite League member/civilian.

Definitely likens the rest of the League to his MVPs after a while of knowing them. Knowing how he operates, it’s adorable.

Would begrudgingly let Toga play around with his hair. I can just see him sitting blank-faced, staring at the mirror as she talks about whatever while brushing and braiding it into a cute plait. He would be hesitant to undo her hard work afterward, no matter how much he grouches that it “ruins his boss vibe”.

The kind of person to go to McDonalds at 3 AM just because he was craving chicken nuggets and ranch. Yes, ranch. He’s an old-school mf who don’t got no time for no barbecue.

Gets really irritated over Toga mooning over Uraraka and Midoriya, but doesn’t stop her from talking about how much she wants to ‘be’ them. (Encourages homicide. Advises homicide. Spinner has to stop her from actually getting ready to commit homicide.)

Disgruntled™

G L O A T S about the time he took away Overhaul’s chance to use his Quirk. “Yeah, we would’ve been satisfied with Compress taking his left arm away to be petty, but then Overhaul had to be a sentient piece of dick cheese, and well, y’know I couldn’t let him get away with that”

It’s becoming a problem. The others have learnt to tune him out once he gets going. Compress just smiles under the mask when he remembers it. Nobody knows what he’s really thinking.

His damn crowning moment. His apex point. There’s no going further beyond that (until he finally defeats Midoriya and takes over Japan as the world’s most feared villain of all time).

“Shigaraki, I’mma let you finish, but AFO still holds the record for being the most infamous villain of all time! Of all time!” <-- let the boy dream okay, he’s been waiting for this moment his whole damn life

Can you tell that I’m still horribly salty over Overhaul being an ass? Because I’m still horribly salty over Overhaul being an ass

Chronic emo phase. Hears the G note and just sighs heavily

Has probably seen hentai. Doesn’t really get the appeal of high-pitched feminine screams. Probably more of a tiddy man than an ass man. Just... boobie

His first fictional crush was Aeris/Aerith. Legitimately lost his shit when she died.

Man Crush Monday is Sephiroth all the way. Especially his one-winged angel form. Wanted to cosplay him for Halloween but didn’t because the cosplay was too costly.

Will make “That’s what she said” jokes in the most deadpan voice. At least Mustard kinda snickers at them.

Probably would’ve been pretty patient with Eri. Her traumatic past certainly would’ve pitted her as a kindred spirit with him, and he would think her Quirk would be a powerful asset if used right. Probably would’ve practiced it by destroying something and then telling her to rewind it so that he can break it again.

Shigaraki, holding Eri by her armpits: “I’ve only had her for ten minutes but if anything happened to her I’d dust everyone in the room to make her feel better”

The rest of the League: “???????? Okay?????”

Legitimately holds a powerful grudge against parents who abuse or neglect their children, especially against abusive fathers. Almost as powerful as his hatred for All Might. Will actively go after someone he sees is abusive to their children and will not let them live.

Would probably adopt an orphan after killing their abusive parents. “Oh, that was your dad/mom/parent? Well guess you’re mine now. Let’s go get chicken nuggets, kid”

Might somehow rope Dabi into going abusive-parent-hunting with him during a raid. Takes great pleasure in seeing the guilty party’s horrified, pained look on their face as they slowly dissolve into a pile of ash.

[raeloganthesonic06fangirl]

Your QJ & DW in FNAF posts are killing me 🤣 But I’ve gotta know, what do you think Quackerjack’s reaction to the actual lore of the games would be? (Besides “this is needlessly complicated!”) We all know QJ has no problem with violence, but he’s not cool with murdering kids. And I don’t know if his actions would change when/if he realizes that the robots trying to kill him are dead children… 1/2

Thank you! FNAF is probably one of my favorite modern franchises right now, especially just because of how convoluted it's become, like, I really just dig that it's taken every direction it can and has gone to town with it. It doesn't really take itself too seriously, and I'd probably liken it to a modern day Goosebumps-esque sort of thing these days, where it just has fun with the spooks atmosphere and isn't really trying to give people nightmares. And yet, the fans themselves can create some really stellar content based around it.

I feel like, before I continue, we need to at the least acknowledge the fact that QuackerJack has honestly tried to murder Gosalyn at least twice because he decided she'd gone past her usefulness in his plans:

Like, yeah, he does seem to be more inclined to interact with children than adults, but he's also legit insane and thinks that alternative to people with gaming addiction is to just enslave them himself so he can repurpose thier skills for what he deems more useful in his eyes.

Like William Afton, QuackerJack is quite skilled at achieving mechanical marvels that have a tendency to create a questionably safe environment for the intended core audience. However, QuackerJack achieves this by utilizing his own technical know-how and by reverse engineering things he comes across to figure out how to modify it to do what he wants, so he's not using supernatural mumbo jumbo to do so, and if his devices turn on a kid, it's because it's just designed to do that in general, regardless of who's handling the item. Afton is just out to trap kids overall.

I suppose the key difference between him and Afton is that QuackerJack isn't harvesting children's undiluted pure agony to fuel robots to cheat death and resurrect the souls of his children that were killed and absorbed by his creations.

QuackerJack just wants to push the limits of what he can create. I think it's worth noting that, based on the original canon, QuackerJack is part of the Boomer generation, which, I should note, my Mom (I should note that she's actually my grandmother, but she adopted me, so that's why there's a generation gap that big between us) is of the same generation as well, and I've heard plenty about the types of toys that existes back then, such as kid sized working power tools made for tiny hands that actually sawed wood and stuff, or small working clothes irons that plugged into a wall and were basically a hot plate for kids, or the literal Atomic Lab for kids that had actual utonium in it, and the metal melting die cast kit where you can melt metal and pour the hot molten metal into molds to make little metal army men and horses and stuff.

Which, honestly, sounds pretty epic, albeit probably not very safe by today's standards. My Mom usually has an expression of nostalgia if I mention these sorts of items, but she'd also absolutely would not want me anywhere near a toy with a hot plate as a key feature.

That in mind, it does suddenly make sense as to why exactly QuackerJack would have a skewed sense of safety when it comes to his retro style of toy making. He's not intentionally being malicious; he's just offended when someone takes a potshot at something he's poured his entire adult life into fine tuning. And, given that it's most certainly canon that he's got a few things wrong with how his brain ticks; this manifests in some form of: "If you're not going to play this my way, then you're not going to play at all."

All that said, I could definitely see him reacting to finding out what exactly is going on with the Animatronics with probably a "... What... the actual heck?" sort of dawning reaction, and then probably expressing the desire to kneecap Afton with the pipe wrench he found in the Parts and Services room.

Although, since I've done a bit of math to figure out on what scale Darkwing and QuackerJack would be in this sort of thing, I have to admit that imagining a 2ft 8in bird dressed as a jester running after some guy while swinging around a spanner to decimate the guy's legs does sound a tad ridiculous.

But it would probably be satisfying.

QuackerJack: This guy is out here harming kids with his robots that are masked to look like cuddly toys!

Darkwing: 🤨

QuackerJack: OH, SHUT UP, MINE ARE NOT THE SAME THING!

[th3atr3phant0m]

Gender

Perhaps Zim was just missing out on something, but he really didn’t understand why some of their peers treated DIb in the way that they did.

Of course, part of that could have to do with the fact that Zim hadn’t transferred into their school district until a few years ago and hadn’t known everyone there as they knew one another, but that didn’t make things any clearer, in his eyes.

Zim was no stranger to the cruelty of his fellow humans. He had learned a great deal about how people worked and the terror that came with them when he lived in the orphanage, so seeing people treat Dib like garbage wasn’t inherently strange but the way in which they did it certainly was.

Their peers almost constantly belittled Dib for his intense passion for the paranormal and extraterrestrial. Ever since he was a child, he had been incredibly interested in both of them, and that interest had only grown as he did. He put forth seemingly endless amounts of his time and energy into studying his passions. Honestly, Zim found it admirable. Unfortunately, though, many of their peers didn’t feel the same way, claiming that he was obsessed and insane. Considering how frequently Dib ranted about the paranormal and the intensity with which he did it, Zim could understand that, though.

What didn’t make sense to him were the strange things that they said to Dib in regard to his gender.

On more than one occasion, Zim had heard their fellow students refer to Dib as a girl or tell him that he looked or sounded feminine in some way or another. Zim couldn’t understand why. It was very clear to him and anyone who attended school with them that Dib was a guy. It wasn’t just the fact that he wore masculine or androgynous clothes- any idiot knew that clothes didn’t really mean anything- but the fact that Dib exclusively responded to male pronouns.  It was obvious that Dib wasn’t a girl and that he wasn’t comfortable with being addressed as such, so why did so many of their peers do so? Even people as ignorant as some of them were had to pick up on the fact that Dib was a man- or so Zim thought. Clearly, he was giving them far too much credit, though.

Sometimes, when Dib got irritated with others, they would make some idiotic comment about him being on his period or something along those lines. It always just worked to piss him off further, but it upset him in a completely different way than their comments about him being a freak did.

Despite the fact that Dib looked incredibly masculine, their peers would frequently tease him about how feminine he looked or acted, invalidating his masculinity almost as an easy insult to fall back on. It was clear that their words had more to do with getting a rise out of Dib than having any actual truth to it, but that didn’t make it any less nonsensical.

Zim had no clue why their peers made those comments towards Dib, nor why they upset him so much. The two of them were far from being friends- Zim would even say that they were enemies, in some ways- but he wasn’t cruel enough to stoop to that level. While he didn’t’ completely understand why that was a sore spot for him, he never harassed him about it like the others sometimes did. It felt wrong in several ways- not to mention the fact that it was a pathetic move.

Not understanding what it was that he was missing out on and wanting some answers, Zim decided to ask Dib about it.

~~~

Dib and Zim were not friends. They fought almost constantly, practically at war in several aspects. They always did everything in their power to beat the other at every turn, refusing to allow the other to have a single success without putting up a fight. They battled for the title of valedictorian, for the highest grade on each assignment, for the most clever and creative insults and comebacks to said insults, and for the best ideas. To the untrained eye, it seemed as though they hated one another with every fibre of their beings.

That didn’t mean that Dib didn’t pick up on things about the other, though. In fact, in many ways, it made him more attentive to changes in Zim than he was to changes in anyone else. Considering how much of his energy and attention Zim had, it only made sense for Dib to notice things.

They were small day-to-day changes, but, considering Dib’s own history, he couldn’t help but pick up on them.

Zim’s style, though very consistently inconsistent and a chaotic mix of anything and everything he liked- something that Dib couldn’t help but admire at least a little but- seemed to change near daily. One day, he would wear a button-down shirt with a clashing vest and the next day he would wear a dress with fishnet stockings underneath. Zim’s style seemed to vary between feminine, masculine, and androgynous regardless of whether he was wearing something formal or casual.

As someone who had gone through the festive experience of attempting to “subtly” switch between masculine and feminine while figuring out how to comfortably express his gender without getting harassed, Dib couldn’t help to liken it to his own experience. While Zim hadn’t gone to their school when Dib was first beginning to realize and attempt to express his gender, the practice of putting forth a lot of effort into presenting a certain gender for a few days before deciding that was too emotionally taxing and giving up for a few days was… familiar. While DIb couldn’t be certain that Zim was doing what Dib had been doing back then, it was incredibly similar, and he couldn’t help but liken the experiences to one another.

It wasn’t an incredibly strange thing- it wasn’t as though Zim acted or spoke any differently depending on the day- but it was something that had Dib curious. Was Zim transgender as well and struggling with coming out? Was he just experimenting with different styles? Was he just being the weird, chaotic person that he was by keeping his style and presentation up in the air?

Whatever it was, Dib wanted to know, but he didn’t exactly have the opportunity to ask.

That is, until Zim brought something up one day at lunch.

“Why is it that our peers sometimes refer to you as a girl?”

Dib nearly choked on the juice he was drinking, “What-?”

“Why is it that-”

“No, I heard you the first time,” Dib shook his head, clearing his throat. He really wasn’t expecting that question- especially so abruptly- and he didn’t really know how to answer it. “Because people are assholes?”

“Obviously,” Zim rolled his eyes disdainfully, though Dib had a feeling that was directed towards their peers rather than him, “Is there a specific reason, though?”

Zim hadn’t been going to school with them when Dib had still been presenting as female or even when he first came out as trans, but he still assumed that Zim just… knew . Considering everything that his peers did and said to him, he assumed that it was obvious that he wasn’t biologically male. According to them, he didn’t pass very well. Did Zim just not understand the concept of transphobia, or did he genuinely just… not know ? Neither seemed likely, all things considered.

Not completely trusting that Zim wasn’t just dicking with him, Dib narrowed his eyes slightly, “Because I’m trans.”

Zim blinked, seemingly taken aback, before some sort of realization began to dawn on him, “Oooh. So you are a trans woman? Then why does it bother you when-?”

“I- no,” Dib face-palmed, “I’m a transgender guy . I’m a man and they’re going out of their way to misgender me to piss me off.”

Zim’s expression changed completely, anger replacing the confusion, “What the fuck is wrong with people? That’s pathetic.”

Zim wasn’t naive- he knew just as well as Dib that people could be absolute assholes and that they didn’t always need to be provoked to do so. He wasn’t a stranger to harassment from their peers, either, and, considering the fact that they weren’t friends , Dib didn’t completely understand why Zim seemed to care. Regardless, it was nice that at least someone didn’t think what they were doing was okay.

Dib propped his chin up against the palm of his hand, “What about you?”

“Eh?”

“Do people ever go out of their way to do that shit to you when you wear dresses and stuff?”

“Misgender me, you mean?”

Dib nodded.

“Not the same way that they do with you.”

He raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Well, when they call me “he” on my femme days, it’s not because they’re trying to be cruel. It’s usually when they actually call me the correct pronouns that they’re intentions are shit.”

“Femme days?” Dib echoed, thinking, “You’re gender-fluid?”

“Was that not obvious?”

“Was it not obvious that I was a trans dude?”

“No, actually.”

Dib blinked, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Zim tilted his head to the side, “You know that when people say those things to you, they’re just trying to upset you, right? None of it is true. You look like a normal guy- well, normal for you .”

Dib rolled his eyes at the insult, but he didn’t take it to heart- he never really did when Zim insulted him. At this point, they had lost their bite. He was more focused on the other things that Zim had said, “Thanks.”

Zim seemed to think for a moment before speaking again, “Do you think that I pass well?”

“Assuming I’m actually guessing which days are which for you? Yeah.” Dib leaned back in his seat, “You’re pretty androgynous already, so you can pull off any look, to be honest.” As much as Dib loathed the concept of complimenting his enemy, they were having a peaceful conversation for the first time in a while and Zim had shown him some kindness as well, so it didn’t feel too strange to say it.

Zim nodded but said nothing and they soon lapsed into a comfortable silence.

After everything that he heard from the others they went to school with, it was nice to hear from a few people that Dib looked like a guy. He couldn’t help but feel a little more comfortable now that he knew this about Zim- as though knowing made sharing his own truth with Zim slightly less vulnerable. Somehow, Zim understanding in his own way made it less awkward. It was nice to have someone in their school who understood- it was nice to have something in common with Zim.

~~~

A few weeks had passed since Dib and Zim had discussed their genders and nothing much had changed. One thing that Dib had noticed was that their peers began to mock and misgender Dib less than usual and it was obvious that this was no mere coincidence.

While it wasn’t obvious to Dib immediately, it soon became clear to him that Zim was actually defending him when people attempted to harass him about being trans.

Initially, Dib had no proof that this was actually happening. It was just a theory of his that Zim had been stepping in when the situations arose, but there were a few things that happened here and there and bits and pieces of conversations that he picked up that made him feel fairly confident that his suspicions were correct.

Dib’s hypothesis was finally confirmed weeks later in one of his classes.

Nothing too out of the ordinary happened. Jessica had gone out of her way to misgender Dib on more than one occasion in the past. Regardless of that, hearing her refer to him as a “she” in front of the entire class and being met with snickers from their peers made his stomach twist with anger and distaste. No matter how many times it had happened, it still hurt.

Dib had never been one to stay quiet about something important to him- hell, he had openly yelled about the paranormal in the middle of class several times when they were back in middle school- but before he could say anything, Zim cut in.

“It’s he , actually, and if you had more than half a brain cell, you would know that.”

Dib blinked, taken aback, and so did Jessica- though he was certain they had completely different reasons for doing so.

Jessica turned on Zim immediately, fixing him with a glare, “What did you just say?”

Zim leaned in and narrowed his eyes as well, not at all deterred by her attempted threat, “I said Dib is a he and, if you had-”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” Zim tilted his head, “Your expression is so constantly vacant that it’s almost impossible to tell when anything actually gets through your thick skull.”

Just as Jessica’s boyfriend stood up from his seat to intervene- almost definitely violently- Ms. Bitters cut in, “That’s enough! Everyone sit down and be quiet.”

Both Jessica and her boyfriend shot Zim glares but did as told. Zim just smirked, satisfied with how things had turned out.

Dib couldn’t help but gape at the entire scene before him. Zim- his rival and archenemy- had just stood up for him publicly . While Dib had had a hunch that Zim had been trying to help somehow, he hadn’t expected to see such an open expression of it- especially not against one of the more popular and easily agitated people they went to school with. Dib was genuinely surprised.

When Zim caught his gaze, he gave Dib a pleased, somewhat smug grin- probably at least a little proud of himself for shocking Dib so genuinely. Dib could practically hear Zim teasing him about the “stupid look” on his face.

Dib rolled his eyes, trying to seem nonchalant. It was hard to pretend that what happened hadn’t been a big deal, though, when the warmth spreading through Dib’s chest was so pleasant and prominant.

~~~

Zim hadn’t expected Dib’s reaction to seeing him correct Jessica in front of their class, but he would be lying if he said that the look on Dib’s face didn’t make him happy. There was something about bringing Dib joy that made Zim feel good as well, regardless of their stance as foes… plus the stupid look on Dib’s face was perfect .

That wasn’t the only thing that Zim hadn’t anticipated coming out of the situation, though.

A few days after the incident with Jessica, Zim twisted in the correct combination for his locker to gather some of the books he would need for his next class. When he did so, though, he was met with something that hadn’t been there the previous day.

Sitting atop his other belongings was an envelope labelled with his name on the front. There was a small bulge in the package, showing that there was something more than just a note hidden within the crumpled paper.

Raising an eyebrow curiously, Zim picked up the envelope, books forgotten.

He peeled back the seal before shaking the contents out into his hands. The colourful beads that tumbled from the paper almost slipped through Zim’s fingers and clattered to the ground, but he managed to catch them to avoid that disaster. Alongside them was a small slip of paper.

Setting aside the note and the envelope, Zim unclenched his fist, revealing the beads so he could take a closer look at them.

They were not, in fact, loose beads. Instead, they were three different bracelets, each made of differently coloured glass and stone beads with a single silver bead on each of them. One bracelet was fuchsia and rose quartz with a silver space ship on it, another made of amethyst and violet stones with a single rocket bead, and the last a bright mix of chartreuse and emerald beads with an alien charm.

Zim blinked, holding them up to the light so he could get a better look at them. The glass beads shone pleasantly and the silver charms on each one shimmered happily. He couldn’t deny that they were beautifully crafted.

After a moment of examining and admiring them, Zim turned his attention back to the slip of paper that had accompanied the pieces of jewellery within the envelope.

Hey, Space Boy. I saw something online about some gender-fluid people wear different bracelets corresponding to what pronouns they want people to use for them on certain days and I thought these could be helpful for you. I wasn’t sure what colours to use, but you wear pink, purple, and green a lot, so I figured they would be a safe bet. If you want to use them, tell me which ones correspond to which pronouns or whatever so I get it right.

- D.M.

Zim couldn’t help but grin. He’d thought about doing something similar in the past, but hadn’t acted on it, not really anticipating anyone actually respecting it. This gift from Dib, though, proved that at least one person would and, as ridiculous as that seemed, it brightened Zim’s day.

Smile still playing across his lips, Zim slipped on the green bracelet before carefully tucking away the other two in the front pocket of his backpack, irritation briefly dissipating at the thought that someone did care.

The beautiful cover art for this story was draw by @sams-art-shit​!

I originally posted the fic here on Archive of Our Own. If you liked this, it’s part of a small series, so please check it out, if you’re interested!

[spacemilkies]

Hello there! Since you said I could send in requests here we go! I was wondering if you could do a a Cal fic where you were friends before Order 66 happened but after you two were separated due to being in hiding and Order 66. Then on one of his adventures Cal finds you and it’s like an adorable reunion for the two of you and then you two kiss and it’s kinda like “I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time” thanks I hope this works!

pairing: cal kestis x reader

word count: 6k+ (phew)

summary: “ all that mattered was each other “

a/n: it feels good to finally complete a request after a good drought. i hope you enjoy! thanks for requesting c:

                                                      _______________________

It was really something to say that you were a Jedi. Not just to boast about the otherworldly powers and the connection it threaded you with the Force. For you, it was a feeling like no other. To have the ability to not only protect yourself but to bring some sort of salvation to the rest of the galaxy against the First Order. 

It was a grand feeling for someone as young as yourself at the time. 

It was also a short lived one. 

You were still at the Temple, fresh into your abilities as a Jedi when the Clone Wars began. After living years under the safety of known peace it was jarring to suddenly be thrust into the fierce uncertainty of war. The news began as distant stories, brief recalling of your brethren fighting the good fight with Clone allies. 

For the first time in your life since discovering your sensitivity with the Force as an infant the Temple suddenly felt like less of a covenant and more of a fortress. A wall of defense to protect the rising Jedi so they may soon bring hope to the failing war and draw it to a close. 

As one of the older students, it wouldn’t be long before you would soon find yourself on the opposite side of the barrier.

It was natural to feel fear, a necessary emotion to show that you were thoughtful about what the future held and how your impact could change it. It bred into cautiousness and prompted the call for consciousness so that one did not fall short of their expectations.

A commandment of the Jedi Code fortifies that mindset by reminding one that there is no ignorance, there is knowledge. To only move forward, a young Jedi must first know its surroundings so that they can make the right step forward. 

Still it didn’t make it any less jarring. 

“Master Udu told me I might find you up here.”

You stiffen briefly, your arms tightening around the legs drawn to your chest as your shaken out of your thoughts. For the longest it has just been you and the two moons above you on your place of meditation on the hillside. It goes without saying that you had not exactly relayed such information before departing but very few masters were unable to keep up with their apprentices. 

From here you can see into the villages below. There is a multitude of individuals milling about on the streets, carting their belongings too and fro. Hardly any of their movements are rushed, not one gait altered by the implications of terror. 

By now everyone is aware of the war and its progress, yet for this village its as if the very possibility of it affecting their lifestyle doesn’t even factor as a possibility. You know their proximity to the Temple and assurance of several Jedi backing it up has something to do with it. But those Jedi are you. 

You and all your classmates who have their own doubts. 

All these people. The galaxy. Are all relying on you. 

And that’s enough to ignite true horror. 

The footsteps behind you are slow and even as your current state of mind is vocalized and in need of caution. An impossibly warm body eventually settles beside you, long legs curling under them as they lean back. It’s unnecessary, but the sight of bright ginger hair accented by the moonlight gives you all the identification you need. 

“And you took that as an invitation?”

If he takes your words to be crude, he doesn’t show it. Instead he too takes the time to observe the bodies moving below. “I didn’t realize it was a private party.”

It was determined rather early after your initial meeting that Cal Kestis would become your best friend. As most codes were written into the stars, it was just another predestined thing for two likened souls. Attracted by your mutual ambitions and pinchent for trouble, most of your years were just naturally spent together. 

Some of it was sort of due to the fact that your masters had also been acquainted since the coming of time. 

For that reason, and many like it, you knew that he was no more offended by your words than you meant for them to be. To make a point, rather than be pushed away, he only leaned in closer. 

Your body rocked softly as his shoulder nudged yours upon impact. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you give up your resolve and turn to hide your face into his neck. 

Cal doesn’t speak just yet, instead bringing an arm around to draw you in closer. Yoo many minutes pass for you too keep count before you finally break the silence. 

Your fingers fumble in your lap, nimble limbs entangling with each other without purpose. “Are you scared?”

Cal lets out a puff of air that curls outward from the cold. His gaze has lifted to the sky now, distracted by something flicking across in the infinite darkness. He knows what you’re referring to but he makes the jest anyway. “ Of Madam N’lie catching us out after hours? I would be stupid not too.”

As expected, you don’t take the joke lightly and his hands dart to catch yours before you can retaliate. What you don’t expect is for him to hold onto them tighter when you try to separate from the grasp. 

You watch, enraptured as his larger calloused hands tease apart your fist to give his own fingers room to weave between the gaps of yours. He brings them both to his mouth, offering a few heated pants to warm them up.

“It’s okay to be scared. Hell, we all are regardless of what Deaton says.”

If you and Cal were mischievous, the absent mentioned party could only be described as callous. Fueled by his own pride, he was one of the more confident apprentices in his own abilities. He often spoke the loudest and provided the most opinions when it came to strategies. When the time came he would run headfirst into battle. 

As first, you found the notion too headstrong and ignorant. But in the face of fear, what wasn’t better to be blinded by boldness?

Especially if you were going to get killed anyway?

“It’s going to be tough, yeah. There is no doubt that the war will be at its peak when we arrive. People will die-” Your breath hitches and he responded swiftly with a kiss to your crown. “But you will live on. I promise you that.”

The way he’s twisting your fingers is awkward, but you realize what he’s attempting to manipulate and your pinky aids the struggle by wrapping around his. A childish gesture but a lifelong commitment. 

You couldn’t admit it, but in that moment, for the briefest of time, your heart felt like it might burst. And you were okay with it. Because if it did come a time for you to finally pass on. If it could be done at your best friend’s side, maybe it wouldn’t be so scary after all.

                                                     _______________________

You’re in pain. So much pain. But you’ll soon meet death if you don’t wisen up quick. Because you’re alone and you don’t know where your allies are- where he is- and you would not accept defeat until you were certain. 

The ground is scorched and scarred by the wrath of the lightsabers, many battles before your own. Now you’ve officially made your mark in the war. Not only by the burned line in the ground but equally by the bodies covering them. 

The rendezvous point isn’t far, but communications are down and you’re not sure if its even safe anymore. No one wanted to admit it, but they were losing. Terribly. In the many numbers you’d lost, too many faces were familiar and the ache was growing in your heart. 

Order 66 was the reckoning of the very Jedi populace and its unrelenting force would draw the conflict to a close just by sheer annihilation. 

The crunch of incoming infantry men fatigues you more than it drives your fire for survival, yet you ignite your lightsaber regardless. It’s a brutal fight. They all are. It’s an endless cycle as you parry, roll away and come back just a little bit weaker than before. 

You Are littered with contusions and lacerations deep enough to scar if you lived long enough for them to heal properly. You’re past the bring of exhaustion now, saber piecing the ground as you lean against its handle. Breathing in and out harshly, you inhale a mixture of earth and blood. A familiar taste to you now. 

By the time your ears catch up to the quickened pace heading your way, you’re too late to react in time. Your body nearly gives away as you stumble to your feet. 

“I’m so glad I found you! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It sounds like Cal but you’re unable to differentiate between between now and the last time you spoke to him. It seems right that you would hear him now, so close to death. Your gaze is dull and heavy, unable to fully raise high enough to see his face- you think you see a wisp of red though. It’s enough you think. 

Who cares if the Force is playing tricks on you, as long as its him. 

“Hey, Cal … I think.” the cough that racks your body hurts. It hurts so bad as it rattles your lungs and threatens your bruised ribs that might even be broken. Your head spins as you feel your body being lifted and you know this is it. You’re finally ascending. 

“No, no no! Hey, stay with me okay.”

The Force really had a grasp on your memories of him. He sounds as determined as always, stubborn to a fault. You want him to know that you’re okay with this. Happy to at least be given this moment, even if its not real. 

You wish you had enough strength to touch his face. Would your hand connect or just fall through the vision?

You try anyway, pleased when it grants you this much. The hand finds the cut of his jaw, slick with sweat or blood you don’t know. It guides his face down- not as close as you want- but enough to catch the turn of his lips. You wish they would flip the other way. Grace you with one last smile. 

“I really hope … that the Force lets you hear this one day because I-”

There are more voices now, way too many of them as they swarm you from all angles. Your ‘Cal’ curses vulgarly and you wonder why he’s worried at all, it’s all over now. He draws away from your touch before you can protest and you hear the tell tale sound of a lightsaber activating.

This was it then.

But not before you-

He calls your name one last time, desperate with an emotion you weren’t aware that you had stored in your memories. 

Then it all went black. And you’re left to float in the abyss. 

‘I think I love you.’

                                                     _______________________

“Phew, I don’t know what we would do without those Jedi mind tricks of yours.”

Well for one, you’d all be dead. You certainly should have been all those years prior. Staying back briefly, you take the opportunity to catch your breath as your companions leaf through the newly revealed ruins. 

It had taken a lot of planning to make it here before the Order a feat that thad been evading most of the galaxy for quite some time. Even then, you wouldn’t be surprised to find the entire planet littered with their white uniforms by the time you made it out. 

It was a pretty good indicator that if you managed to tire yourself out by testing your connection with the Force, it was likely that you would be discovered by it. Fortunately, it seemed that these archives favored Jedi and your enemies would have to wait until you emerge or risk falling prey to the various traps and puzzles. You just hoped you would get a nice enough break before tackling that conflict. 

In order to survive, however, these conquest often required more on your part than most. When you first come across the band of scavengers and their rickety ship, it hadn’t been the most gracious meeting. That day was still hazy, some odd five years ago, but from your best knowledge and your recognition they had just found you. 

Badly patched up and barely breathing just short of the next village. The worrying part was that you were found on a planet far from the last one you remembered fighting on. From what they could tell you, the war was just about done by that point. Not that it surprised you. 

What hurt was knowing that the Jedi had all but vanished with it. 

For years you’d scoured the networks for any indication of your brethren surviving- of him still being alive. But all clues lead to the complete purge of the order. 

In the beginning of your time together, they had been doubtful of your heritage. Likely for the best as you were injured and in the midst of strangers. It was very apparent at the beginning that they had a habit of selling things off to the highest bidder. Your life alone would have made them richer than most of the galaxy. Still could. 

You suppose the truth eventually came at the trade of saving one of their lives by utilizing stasis to pause a beam in its tracks. It became a test of trust in that moment when their gratitude overcame their greed. 

That had really been it after that. 

Once a Jedi apprentice, you were reduced to a mere pirate that used the Force for cheap tricks to rob the departed. 

Wouldn’t your late master be proud. 

Still deflated by your exertion, you laughed humorlessly as the Twi'lek, Gran and human trio that made up the bandits of four pillaged through the remains. Previous trials had taught you to limit greed over time. 

While you couldn’t hide your presence, you were all fortunate enough to keep your faces hidden. The feat only possible by getting out before the enemy got in. And that timers was quickly counting down. 

“Oh, isn’t this just gorgeous?”

Ashi’ti, the ever eccentric Twi”lek, bounded over to you boasting an agreeably pretty piece of jewelry. You didn’t fight her as she draped the golden necklace over you. It would certainly earn you decent credits. 

Hosting a burst bag of his own, your Gran friend seems to share your eagerness to depart, “This terrain didn’t give us the opportunity to hide our ship as well as it should be. We need to get moving.”

Staring for longingly at all she couldn’t carry, you briefly wondered if you would have to drag Ash’ti out again. There is a familiar pout on her lips but to everyone relief she snatches a few more trinkets before shouldering her own bag. “Tsk. Always interrupting a woman’s shopping time, Blague. “

The Gran can only roll his eyes as she flounces by, not missing the opportunity to brush against him as she does so. He shares a look with you and you hope your smile doesn’t resemble a grimace too much. By the mirror you receive, it’s unlikely. 

“Alright, let’s move out. Hoods up, masks on.”

Taking one last unhindered breath, you obediently go through the motions of disguising your appearance. From a glance, they would be able to make out your differing species but as some of the more common ones in the galaxy it wasn’t much to go by if you haven’t given them too long to observe. 

Fortunately, the way out was easier than the way in and required significantly less of your abilities. The intricate puzzles were apparently more for those entering and rewards those who leave. 

Blague speaks up again as you near the exit.

“Keep confrontations to a minimum. I’d rather take the time for stealth than direct conflict.”

Blowing out an airy breath beside you, Ash’ti fails to refrain from commenting,” No bravery for the wicked.”

“Or the living,” you shoot back under your breath. She doesn’t make any indication of hearing you. 

Just before you reach the final chamber, Blague brings everyone to a halt and you all tense in anticipation. The shortcut had led you back to the entrance, one of the less hindered rooms. Anyone without utility of the Force could make it that far, certainly a few stormtroopers. 

Readying her blaster, Ash’ti lines herself with the nearest wall. Battle partners aside, when it came to protecting her cash-out, no one was fiercer,” Are they getting that much better at tracking?”

There was an odd look on Brague’s face as he stalled as if questioning his own intuition. His lips parted at the cusp of words but never managed to form them. 

You realize late that he didn’t need to. 

The feeling doused you like a dip in an icy river, paralyzing you by the veins. The pressure was indescribable despite how much you didn’t want to believe it. It probed at your consciousness, first demanding then hesitant as if it realized just what it was sensing. 

All signs led to what you’d been trained to know and yet.

“Alright, enough of this.”

“Ash’ti, no!”

The fire of her blaster just missed Brague’s intervention but did not miss its intended target. The return fire came from more than direction as various white suits made their appearance known, shouting commands over the increasing chaos as you all readied for battle. 

The lack of witnesses that you would leave behind meant that you could use your Force more freely but there was a sense of hesitation as you couldn’t quite shake off the second strand connecting another soul nearby. 

Had they lead them here? Or was it just another squad following your trail?

More importantly, were they alone?

The shout of your third companion came as a late warning as the earth above you crumbled from a stray blast. Your eyes went wide as a slab of rock broke from the ceiling. Thrusting your hand up you immediately called upon stasis only to be beaten to the command. 

All suspicions were confirmed, you found yourself dumbfounded under the impending fall as you stared up in wonder. After all this time, in all the moments you could reunited. There was finally a voice beneath the weight of the purge. 

A voice gruff with aggravation growled just before it collided with your body, throwing you both aside to safety. 

Groaning, your head spun from the impact. When you tried to roll over, you found yourself pinned still by your savior. 

Your savior. 

A Jedi. 

Kicking back as you in your attempt to crawl backwards, you boot collided none too kindly with their side. A cry of pain left them as they curled into their injury with grumbling complaint. 

From the opposite side of the rubble, your friends called out worriedly. The lack of gun fire meant that you were all safe for now but that wouldn’t last for very long. For any of you. 

Kriffing! An actual Jedi. 

Where did you even begin? What faction were they part of? Where did they serve? How had they escaped?

“That is not how you thank your savior.”

You were thankful for your mask as the figure slowly unraveled itself as the phantom of pain faded. It was a man, lean and lithe. But that wasn’t the defining feature that caught your breath in your throat. 

His hair mimicked a dim flame that you thought had extinguished years ago and yet. 

“Woah, woah!” 

Showing his hands first, his attention completely left you as it focused instead on your approaching teammate. Still primed for a fight, Ash’ti kept her blaster leveled and prepared. 

“And who the hell are you?’

You didn’t waste a second scrambling to your feet, hand already going for your mask to free your face. 

“Ash, no its fine. I know him.”

She hesitated, but she didn’t look convinced. “You just happen to know every Jedi that you come across?”

But her mitrustful nature couldn’t phase you as you were already enraptured by his wide eyed gaze as he turned to face you fully. The years had done him kindly but not without a few scars from the past. The most prominent stark against the bridge of his nose. 

It was still undeniably your best friend. 

Pure elation took hold of every note in your voice, “Cal!”

The distance was short, but you crossed it with the gusto of a preemptive sprint into battle. All your strength darted to your legs as you jumped, feet pushing off the ground as you launch yourself. And his arms were waiting to catch you with ease. 

Your heart hurt from the way it hammered against your chest. The sharp throb pounding in your ears as a smile split your face. He stumbled briefly, not having to counter your weight in years and sorely out of practice. 

He managed to counter well, however, as your legs clamped around his middle. Cal’s arm steadies you round the waist, only having to take a single step back to adjust for the impact. Your hands were already proding at his face, combing through his auburn locks and inspecting his scars and-

You wanted to laugh until you were delirious. For years all you wanted was a sign and you got this.

“That night- I thought I died. I thought you died. I-” Happiness had weakened the damn and the first trickle of wetness began to trail down your cheeks. His free hand came around, moving away the strands of hair already sticking to your face and cupping your cheek to tip it toward him. 

“I’ve missed you so much, starfly.”

The joy seeping through your bones could bring life to a garden. 

“Okay, what the hell?”

Jerking around, the two of you stared at the forgotten group with a mutual flush. 

Brague looked like he was ready for the day to be over, twenty four hours ago, no doubt not prepared to factor in a second Jedi to his plans. Ash’ti looked an interesting mix of distrustful and amused, turning her pretty skin an interesting shade. Lark, your ever quiet human companion, was already making his way toward the exit. 

Cal was reluctant, but eased his grip to allow you to slide to your feet. However, his arm remained around your waist. Still reeling from the shock, you continued to stare up at him with glee, feeling lighter than air for the first time in a very long time. 

Reaching for his hand, you curled your pinky securely with his own.

“Guys, this is my best friend.”

                                                     _______________________

To say things went smoothly was an understatement. Naturally everyone had questions, but the pressing matter of reinforcements weighed down everything else. Apparently, Cal had come to the tombs for a reason but seemed reluctant to continue on with his quest. The threat what ultimately got everyone to move. 

The conflict of transportation came next. 

Your own vessel was tucked away in the forestry while Cal insisted that his companions were waiting for him on the ledge. It was obvious that neither of you wanted to part but it eventually came down to who would pull whom. 

Brague ultimately made the decision for you, dragging off a sputtering Ash’ti while Cal dragged you toward his own ship. For now the two of you would part ways to confuse the enemy and meet back up when it was safe. 

Warm fingers touched your wrist before squeezing reassuringly. Less than half an hour later after an impromptu meeting with his skeleton crew, Cal had you holed up in a cabin for a proper reunion. One that didn’t come too easily. 

You eyes hesitated for a moment before flickering upward. You didn’t trust your words just yet but the silence was slowly building an ache within you. 

It did give you the chance to check out his room. He didn’t exactly style it to his taste, or at least the ones you remember from all those years ago. Cal did have a few knick knacks of his own, however. You wondered how long he’s been with this crew. Had he been scouring the galaxy all this time?

You swallowed all the greedy questions, not wanting to bombard him all at once when he certainly had his own. 

“I thought you were dead!” You blurted, a reoccurring theme between you. There was no reason for either of you to believe the other survived. You had less of a recount than he did, only remembering that last fated battle. 

Settled side by side on his bed, Cal still kept your hands securely in his own. His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles as he spoke. “I found you in the forest that night. You were so overrun and then more came. I tried to fight them off. We- got separated and when i managed to come back you were gone. “

His eyes searched yours pleadingly, hopeful that you could fill the gaps. But you honestly didn’t have much to offer. 

Your trapped hands only offered a stiff shrug,” I don’t really remember much after that. Somehow I got off that planet.” Over the years, you theorized about another Jedi or Clone who might have escaped with you only to ultimately get separated in the end. After awhile, you just gave up probing for the truth. You were alive but at the cost of everyone you loved; what was worth remembering?

His chin came to rest on the crown of your head, voice raw with emotion,” I was so convinced- I shouldn’t have given up.”

Immediately you protest, words muffled by his clothes as you pressed into them. “We didn’t know. But we survived. That’s what’s important.”

His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sliding underneath your jaw. Just when you think he’s going to tilt your face up it falls away to rest at the nape of your neck as his body shudders. 

You find yourself recalling your life up until now. Before you’d been content- not happy with your choices- but alive and well rested with your choices that kept you that way. Now that you spoke them aloud to your closest confidant, you almost felt ashamed. 

At the end of the day, you were a thief that stole and sold what you could to survivor. It didn’t make it any better just because you made a living off of it. 

But he didn’t judge you or make any indication of ill thoughts towards your lifestyle. In fact, he did the opposite, laughing sheepishly as he told you about his life as a rigger. Told tales of extra metals and ores he would steal off old ships and sell off market. A lot of his stories revolve around a single figure. Prauf, he called him. 

When you asked about him he stilled. 

“He died before I escaped trying to protect me.”

Startled, your face flicked between remorse and uncertainty, unsure of how to progress. The death seemed fresh on his mind and still painful in his voice. 

“I’m sorry.”

From this position, you couldn’t see his face, but he pulled you closer in response. 

He continued on about how he was rescued by Cere and the short span of adventures he explored before he met you. What it all summed up to was what had you drawing away in surprise.

“You want to revive the Order?”

The idea had never crossed your mind as a possibility. Why would it? Everyone had been obliterated. And now, not only were they outnumbered but they wanted to try it again. 

You found yourself rescinding any compliment you had for his new companions that had saved his life. They were selfishly making him repay a debt that would get him killed.

Before you could get to your feet, prepared to contact Brague he was drawing you back in. There was a new pull to his lips, a childish turn that aged from your appreciation days. 

“I know it sounds crazy but we have to do something.”

No. You didn’t have to do anything. You were lingering fragments of a broken organization. The cards had already fallen and now you would deal with them. Not pick them up and challenge the table again. 

“Cal, it’s not that easy. You can’t just-”

You hated that. The determination storming in his blue gaze. You were already too late. He’s made up his mind a long time ago and you could only accept his decision or cut ties…

As if you’d even consider the later. 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried fruitlessly to fight the grin tugging at your lips when his lips pressed firmly into your cheek. 

“You don’t have to decide now. I’m just happy having you here.”

                                                     _______________________

You end up sort of just lingering on the Mantis. Partly your reluctance to leave Cal’s side and his own persistence to keep you there. For the time being, the expeditions have been suspended as Cere suspects that they should wait for Empire activity to settle. 

Apparently, your combined presence brought more attention than intended. As Cere planned to eventually introduce more Jedi as they were found to their cause this wasn’t unexpected but sooner than planned. 

She saw it more as a chance for everyone to get their bearings and an opportunity for the two of you to properly catch up. And that you did. 

In the meadows of Bogano, Cal excitedly introduced you to a vocal BD-1. His reliable companion that followed him into every skirmish and saved him more than once. You of course found the little robot utterly adorable. 

It continued to bounce around the two of you as you lounged in the grass. 

“Man, remember when Eli tried practicing his stasis by pranking Madam Lou. I’ll never forget her face when the bucket toppled over on her.” His laughter was infectious as he recalled the memories of the past. 

You were resting comfortably with your head on his chest as his fingers card idly through your hair. The way you resumed your relationship come at no surprise to you. Nothing was left unsaid between you, leaving no barrier to impede your reconnection. 

Reaching your hand up towards the sky, you grinned unabashedly when his immediately sought it out and tangled them together. There were few moments where you weren’t attached at some form, bringing up the embarrassing question from Greez as to watch your relationship was.

‘They’re my best friend.’

Which was true in every sense of the world and yet. 

Maybe if you hadn’t lived the life you had maybe things would have been different.

No.

That’s a lie. You know explicit in every lifetime you would fall in love with this same boy. The one whose mere existence was enough to teeter you off balance when he smiled in your direction. He was as charismatic and enigmatic now, all these years later; a systematic habit for you to relish in. Just when you thought it was all over and you would have to scrap from the leftovers of the world, he plowed right back into your life to break the darkest days into light. 

He was a hero to every arc of your story. And you just lo-

“Hey, you listening to me?”

The poke between your brows startles you. You lift your head and meet the brilliant blue somehow managing to smile at you from the seas. Still lost in your thoughts you wonder how easy it would be to just lean in. Would he reciprocate?

Remembering your place, you ask him to repeat himself with nervous laughter on your lips. But he doesn’t. Instead he continues to meet your gaze with a new intensity you can’t fathom. 

His lashes are longer than you remember or perhaps you’d just never been this close. Lips, soft and pink, you speculate what the pressure would feel like against yours. You try to swallow but there isn’t enough saliva on your tongue to justify the attempt leaving you to embarrassingly clear your throat.

“We should-”

“The night I lost you. When I had you clutched in my arms while I fought off the Empire. You told me something.”

Almost immediately you know where this is going. There is no doubt in your mind. But Cal is quicker, is arm preventing escape. 

“I carried it with me all this time. Even when I gave up on the idea-” he pauses to swallow down the memory. The regret. “It was just enough to live by to know that.”

You close your eyes because it’s the only way you can briefly escape. The entire mood has changed, the air thick with so much promise yet your scared. It’s Cal. You know him almost as much as you know yourself. Even as he brushes against the topic, you know where it will lead. 

At least for the moment.Nothing about the future is certain anymore. The realization of that apparent all those years ago. And still prior to that, he’d made a promise. And he remained here to this day to hold it true.

His hands seems to have made a new home at your cheek. It tends to reside there in the off chance it’s not clutching your hand or hanging from your pinky finger. There is a light pressure at the nape of your neck, urging you closer but not pushing. You close the distance upon your own inhibition. 

“Will you tell me again?” he whispers, lips inches from your own. 

“I love-”

He silences you with a kiss before you could complete his request, always too ambitious and headstrong. Pent up nervous energy on both parts keeps it chaste. There is a pretty flush against his cheeks as he realizes his error.

“Oh, sorry- you hadn’t-”

Rolling your eyes with a huff, you lean in for a more proper kiss this time around. Cal whines against you, pulling you tighter still. Oh to finally really kiss him. The feeling washes over how desperately you’d been waiting for this moment even before the downfall. While your relationship had always remained within friendly limits, the love had never lost its potency. It was fierce and bright, immersive in a way only the two of you could create. 

This was your first honest taste and you were already starved for it. Teats bubble from the corners of your eyes unbidden as you down in the affection. He spots them when he finally breaks the kiss. 

His gaze is knowing as a thumb swipes at your cheek. Those blue eyes look as though they wished they could communicate how right everything was with the world even despite the turmoil. 

Burying your face in his poncho, you wipe away the rest of the tears.

“I love you, Cal.”

His chest shakes with relief and rises with laughter as his hand runs along the length of your spine.

“I love you too.”

[realityhelixcreates]

The Mystic Garden: Sowing

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: death

Characters: Loki(Marvel) 

Additional Tags:  Infinity War Doesn’t Exist, Everybody Lives, Mutants Exist In The MCU, The Reparations Of Loki Of Asgard

Summary:   Despite S.H.I.E.L.D. becoming a smaller and more selective organization, Loki still finds himself assigned to them upon Asgard's arrival on Earth. Required to perform a kind of specialized community service, Loki is paired up with another outcast, of a kind he is not familiar with: A mutant named Iris.

Loki of Asgard was a very beautiful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very powerful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very dangerous man.

And that was about all that anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. could agree on about Loki of Asgard.

To some, he was an asshole. To others, perfectly charming. To yet more, he was polite, but distant. Funny. Serious. Sarcastic. Aloof. Morbid. Morose. Intimidating. Shy. Threatening. Angry. Flirty. Each person Iris asked described him in a different way.

To Iris, he was a looming presence, staring her down with searing intensity. Her shiny, brand new partner. Joy.

“So you're the unfortunate one.” He grumbled. “Winner of the worst lottery this organization has ever thrown.”

“I'm Iris Devereaux.” She said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

He glanced at her hand with a sneer. “No you aren't.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No one is pleased to meet me.”

“Oh. Well. Here's the thing: you don't decide that for me.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow, tilting his head back.

“I don't tolerate men telling me what I do and don't think or feel. Only I can know that. Now, you gonna shake my hand or not, Mister 'of Asgard'?”

Loki harrumphed. “As you demand, Miss 'of the Riverbank'.”

“What?” Iris took his hand and gave it a firm shake. He allowed it, but drew his hand back the instant she released it.

“Your surname. It means 'riverbank'. Didn't you know? Named after a goddess, and yet you seem to have lived humbly.”

“I'm named after a flower.” Iris corrected.

“The flower was named after the goddess.” He re-corrected. “The personification of the rainbow, a messenger of the gods. She who waters the clouds with her ocean-filled pitcher, flying on glowing, golden wings to carry the pleas of mankind to the gods they prayed to. As she connected the sea and the sky, her rainbows connected mankind to the gods. Just as our Bifrost connected Asgard to Midgard with the beauty and magnificence of the rainbow.”

“Oh, please.” Another agent groaned from their nearby work station. Loki glared.

“Well, that's...informative.” Iris said. Was this what Loki was like? Standoffish, unless given something to talk about? He was certainly well-spoken. “I'm pretty sure my parents just had the flower in mind though.”

“A delicate goddess, an ephemeral rainbow, or a nodding blossom on the riverbank: it all paints a pretty picture, does it not?” He asked.

Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I wonder.” Loki said.

“Will you two just go get some coffee or something?” the other agent snapped. “I've got to finish this by ten hundred.”

“Fine, jeez, keep your vest on.” Iris said. Loki glared once again. “C'mon, there's a thousand break rooms on this old boat. We can take one over for ourselves.”

   *****

“Who was that cur?” Loki demanded as Iris programmed the coffee machine for two cups. “Who does he think he is talking to? I am still a prince of Asgard, and a god! No pencil-pushing desk monkey speaks to me that way!”

“Hey, cool your chops.” Iris said, getting the mugs. “The pencil-pushing desk monkeys keep this whole show running. Who do you think runs this boat? Where does our intel come from? Who finds out if it's any good or not? Who does the budgets, communication, tech, cleanup, triage, programming, and supplies? The heroes get the fame, sure, but we're ultimately expendable. These guys own this shindig. Do you like caramel?”

“I...might?” He said, and Iris added a squirt of syrup to each steaming mug, then handed him his. “And you might be expendable, but I most certainly am not.”

“Cheers, bro. I'll drink to that.” Iris raised her mug in his direction and took a long gulp of fresh, caramel coffee. Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

Loki seemed perplexed, either by the flavor of the coffee, or her casual acceptance of his declaration.

“Not that it will come to that.” He backtracked. “As my partner, you will have the advantage of my protection.”

“Joy. So, your highness, what's landed you here? You aren't exactly known as a friend to mankind. Why join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He harrumphed as Iris took another long pull from her mug. “You say 'join' as if I was given a choice. This is penance, nothing more. It was decided when Asgard had to relocate here, that I would work for a 'humanitarian' organization. Save lives equal to those whose deaths I was responsible for. Work towards paying off the cost it took to rebuild. And so I perform the Reparations of Loki of Asgard, defending this realm from itself. Once I have accomplished this, I will leave.”

“Mhm. And how far have you gotten?”

“It's only been a few months.” He huffed. “So not nearly as far as I'd like. How did they lure you in?”

Iris shrugged. “Job's a job. This one is steady, has good benefits, and it certainly keeps me engaged. It's no daily grind, that's for sure.”

“But with your power, could you not be a leader of some sort, rather than in a subservient 'expendable' position?”

“Ah. You've read my file.”

“Of course I did. As I assume you've read mine. Prying things. Why do they need so many personal details? But yes. It mentioned that you have an unusual power, beyond others of your type? Why are you not in charge?”

“Hoo boy.” Iris took a seat across from him. “You don't know much about human social structure, do you?”

Loki frowned. “It was never supposed to matter.”

“Well, it matters now. And it's mattered to me my whole life, because I can't just run off home to fairy tale land, so it looks like we both have no choice but to deal with it. You know what a mutant is?”

“I know what the word means, but I don't know how it applies to you.” Loki said, perplexed. “You look like any other human to me, so I assume it is something internal?”

Now it was Iris' turn to harrumph. “Well, you look like any other Asgardian to me, so I guess we've both got something going on under our skin, don't we? Tell you what: you explain to me what a 'frost giant' is, and I'll explain what a 'mutant' is in this context.”

“And if I refuse?” Loki sneered.

“Then I do too.” Iris said simply.

Loki stared at her across the table, the intensity of his gaze as hot as the coffee, and Iris tried her best to pretend to be unaffected by it. It wasn't that he wasn't intimidating, but an unfortunate lifetime of bigotry and constant background danger had given her a skin as thick as wood. Well, her mutation had done that as well.

“I can do this all day.” He warned.

“Alright.” Iris shrugged.

A few very awkward minutes passed, a silence spent sipping coffee, until her supervisor, Chris Timmitz, interrupted.

“Iris! Loki. There you are! I've been looking for you two. Lucky to find you in the same place, you've got a job coming up.”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me boss.” Iris said. Loki grimaced.

“We think we've got another possible HYDRA shelter, kinda out in the open this time. We need more intel. That's where you come in.”

“It's located next to a forest, isn't it?”

“A meadow, actually.” He said a bit sheepishly. “We need you to, uh, plant some bugs on the property.”

“Ha ha.” Iris said flat-voiced.

“Aw c'mon, I didn't come up with the terminology.”

“Was that some kind of insult?” Loki asked darkly. “Do you degrade your employees?”

“Well, it wasn't meant to be.” Chris explained. “It's not my fault the language is what it is. And what about you? Iris may act tough, but she's really sweet and sensitive, so you'd better act right-”

“Or what?” Loki challenged.

“Chris. Cut it out. We don't have to be chummy, we just have to get the job done.” Iris said. “So give us the details.”

“Right, right. We're starting Tuesday. It seems to be when the fewest people are there...”

                ****

Iris crawled through the tall grass of the meadow, the plants moving naturally around her, so as to not alert her enemies that she was there. The shelter was an old schoolhouse apparently, that HYDRA agents had taken over, ostensibly to restore the historical building and turn it into a museum...all the while sheltering their agents from the law, and pushing revisionist history in an effort to spread their doctrine through yet another small town. They had done this so many times before, changing the narrative, changing the perceptions of the people.

HYDRA had many heads. It was the symbolism of the thing. Some of those heads infiltrated governments, and worked to influence world policy. Other heads overran small towns, influencing the vote, which served to make the jobs of the others easier.

Some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. likened them to a virus to be quarantined, cut out, and destroyed. Iris saw them as a sickness to be cured. Anyone could change their minds, given reason. The trick was to find the reason. That wasn't her job, and she didn't think she'd be good at it, but she knew that there were anti-radicalization support groups popping up here and there now, and no wonder, with the state of the current administration. Iris knew HYDRA must have gotten their voice very well entrenched into the government.

But Iris was more directly concerned with these little heads, with blocking their progress, slowing them down, and just generally inconveniencing them.

She'd gotten the usual stares and glares, upon entering the little town, but it was hard to tell if it was HYDRAs influence, or just typical American small town prejudice when faced with a dark-skinned stranger. Either way, she wouldn't want to live here.

She settled down in the grass, stretched out on her belly, and the sod began to part beneath her. Loki, who had simply made himself invisible with his alien magics, and crept along beside her, was clearly capable of sneaking with the best of them. He barely displaced a blade of grass. He crouched down beside her.

“We are stopping here?” He whispered. “How shall you place your devices? Will you throw them?”

“No, My aim isn't that good.” Iris said, ignoring his smug “Mine is.”, and beginning to sink into the newly exposed soil.

“Uh...Miss Devereaux...are you aware that the earth appears to be swallowing you?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine.” She wriggled her feet out of her flimsy sandals and into the dirt. She was positioned to just be able to see the old schoolhouse over the edge of the trough that had been excavated beneath her. That was all she needed.

“Certainly. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“You're one to talk. Hand me the bugs.”

There were only three of them: tiny things, no larger than the creatures they were named after. Iris took them, then tore a packet of seeds open with her teeth, pouring the contents into her hands.

“This is going to take me a pretty long time. Couple of days, probably. What I'm going to need the most from you is tending. Every hour, give me something to drink. Every four hours, give me something to eat. Make sure no one sweeps through here with a lawn mower or a fire. I'm not going to be able to move, and will likely be in something of a trance. Sorry I won't be better company.”

“That's a lot of orders coming from one little human.” Loki grumbled.

“My life is in your hands.”

“That's...a bit better.”

She pressed her hand against the earth in front of her, and concentrated.

For some minutes it didn't appear to Loki that anything was happening at all. Then the first of the thin, white roots began squirming out from between her fingers, roping around her hand.

Loki stretched out in the tall grass next to her as the roots slowly formed a ragged, grasping ball of pale worms against her chestnut skin. He remained silent for hours alongside her, dutifully holding a small bottle of water to her lips every hour or so. As she had said earlier, Iris lay very still, and very trance-like, drinking without acknowledging that she even knew he was there.

“Hmmm.” He whispered. “I hate being ignored, you know. I wonder if you can even hear me? Could you explain what it is that you are doing, or are you so far away that you cannot even answer? What would happen if I touched you right now, Goddess-Flower of the Riverbank? Would I break your concentration? Would you even notice?”

He opened one of the little ration packs, half of which were specifically labeled with Iris' name. Within were little brown cubes that smelled deeply unappetizing to Loki, formed from a slurry of many mysterious ingredients.

“A special recipe, just for you? S.H.I.E.L.D. must value you more highly than you have previously stated. Here you go, Bright Blossom.” He held the little cube to Iris' lips, which parted automatically to accept the cube. “And so I have become no more than a nutrient dispensary. How far I have fallen.”

He fed her the cubes, one by one. Every brush of her petal-velvet lips against his fingers tempted him to push them into her mouth, a temptation that brought a chuckle to his own lips. There were only so many games he would be allowed to play, before S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked him out entirely. He wasn't attached to S.H.I.E.L.D., or anyone within the organization, but working for them kept him active, kept him relevant, kept him engaged, and most importantly, kept him out of prison. Community service was infuriating, but he had experienced the soul-crushing torment of solitary confinement, and this was much preferable.

A cold, uncomfortable cell? Or laying in the grass on a warm, sunny day, hand-feeding a pretty girl?

He was very tempted to lay his hand on the small of her back, where her uniform had ridden up just enough to show a strip of glistening skin, but it wouldn't have the proper punch with Iris in this deep trance. Without reaction, there was no fun.

The roots winding their way up her arms were somewhat unsettling. Was this what her file had meant when it noted that she was a 'mutant'? That she could cause plants to sprout? Could other humans do that?

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the roots had wriggled into the soil all around her, and crawled their way up to her shoulders, Iris stirred.

“Mph. Man, I'm sore.” She complained.

“Ah, welcome back. There is a powerful desire I need you to fulfill.”

“Not on company time. There's trees over there, go behind them and, uh, work it out? Also, for next time, I really don't need to know.”

“You flatter yourself, or you underestimate me. What I want, is for you to explain what you are doing. Are you making those plants grow?”

“Oh. Yeah, basically. You read my file; you know I'm a mutant.”

“Yes, but I do not know the significance of the term.” Loki admitted. “Is it this? This magic you wield?”

“It's not magic, it's just...it's genetic. I was born this way. At first it was just little things. Gardens grew better wherever I went, I didn't get hungry as much when there was sunlight, I didn't need to drink as much as long as there was water on the ground. I grew up in a way rural community tucked away in the Everglades. We were real poor, so being outside and having wet and muddy feet was just normal for all the kids.

As I got older, the signs got more obvious. I can do things that plants can do. I can direct their growth, and I sorta...change with the seasons, depending on where I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, stick around long enough and you'll see. Anyway, people aren't too fond of mutants, and it got...tough. To live at home, I mean. So I went out into the wild, and I did pretty well there, but S.H.I.E.L.D. found me and offered me something else. Not every mutant is like me. There's a lot of different ways to be a mutant, it's unpredictable. Some folks can fly, others can turn their bodies into metal, and some can heal wounds to their body in seconds. I manipulate plants, and am, in some ways, like them.”

“I see. And you are causing these plants to grow for what purpose?”

“Spying purposes. It's gonna take a few days, but these vines will tunnel through the ground, all the way up to the school house. When they break ground, I'll send one of them up that tree there, another one around the frame of that window there, and the third down the chimney. You saw those little devices? They're holding those in packets of leaves, and will position them so that they remain hidden, but they consist of audio, video, and heat signature recorders. Once I've gotten them in place, we'll leave. That's all this mission is; bugs on plants.”

“Then why am I here?” He wondered. “You seem to have this well in hand.”

“Someone's gotta feed me. And make sure I don't get found out. There's rumors you can make magic illusions. That's probably why. You can hide us both from any eyes or cameras.”

“And I have.” Loki said proudly. “And fed and...watered you, Little Blossom. What else do you need from me?”

“To do it all again tomorrow.” Iris said. Then she dropped her head into the nest of roots, and settled down to sleep.

                                                                         *****

Iris was awake and in her trance just as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon. Loki had been awake even before that, every swish of grass or crackle of leaves grabbing his attention.

“Rest.” He commanded her. “I have not the need of it that you do. Never forget: I am no weak mortal. You require a large amount of sleep, but I am all the greater.”

Iris had snorted at the bravado, but accepted the cubes he fed her, and fell into her trance, the roots curling further and further around her body.

Loki idly wondered how far the roots would go. Would they cocoon Iris entirely, prompting her to 'hatch' into a new form? Would they drag her down into the earth, entombing her away from Loki forever? Or would they just die back?

He watched people come and go to the old schoolhouse, working on its restoration. They looked for all the world like normal workers; he didn't even believe any of them to be armed. Not all HYDRA agents were combatants, after all. Just as many of them were spies, thieves, politicians, PR specialists and spin doctors.

Ever since what the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents called 'The Big Reveal', both organizations had been frantically rebuilding. S.H.I.E.L.D. more slowly, taking only the best, only the most trustworthy. Loki supposed he should be proud, even though he knew he was only there as a glorified prisoner.

HYDRA's recruits seemed to be skyrocketing, as they took to the internet in search of easily radicalized young men-mostly men, and boys-to bolster their numbers. They found plenty of them, and quickly, but they were sloppy and unpredictable. All too often, one let their ego overcome their loyalty to the cause, an event that almost always led to public confrontation and violence. But the news media-already infiltrated, most likely-was always quick to exonerate or sympathize with a young white man.

HYDRA disgusted Loki, even back when he had 'convinced' a small cell to work with him. No one group knew what the others were doing. There was a severe lack of communication between cells. Yes, Loki supposed it kept them safe from discovery, but he found it inefficient. A waste of potential by people more invested in the pageantry of a secret society, than by the end goal they hoped to achieve.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was little better, in his opinion, but at least its people were more serious about their work. Communication was more open, their goals more achievable. It felt like they made a difference, whether they really did or not. And they didn't waste potential. HYDRA would simply kill someone like Iris, S.H.I.E.L.D. found her valuable enough to spend resources on her. Under Loki's regime, had he succeeded, Iris, and all people like her, would have been of personal interest to him. All of these so-called 'mutants' would have been given places of high honor. Loki did not waste potential.

But that wasn't worth spending more time dwelling on. It was never meant to happen in the first place. When and where he would rule was yet to be discovered, but it would not happen until he was finished with his penance.

He provided Iris with her water, barely able to see her under all the roots. It was no wonder that she could not go into the field without a partner; she could not be ready for combat, couldn't even eat on her own! If they had to run, was he just supposed to tear her from the root wrapping and toss her over his shoulder? Would disconnecting her like that cause her harm?

He would have to ask next time she woke.

A young man approached, wielding an unfamiliar device. Loki was immediately on high alert. Was that some kind of weapon? He wandered all the way up to the verge of the grasses, gazing placidly out over the meadow. This was a HYDRA agent? He was barely out of adolescence! But from what Loki remembered of his brothers youthful declarations of hatred towards the Jotunn, radicalization did indeed start young.

“Naw, I think it must have been a glitch.” He said into his lapel. “There's nothing out here, not even trails in the grass.” He paused, listening. “Naw. Maybe it was a coyote? There's plenty of wild animals that wander around out here. My bro swears he saw a puma last year. Anyway, I'm gonna trim the grass, since I'm here anyway. If you're really worried, come out and check your cameras. I ain't gonna do it for you.”

With that, the young man yanked a long string, attached to a pod on the device, causing the thing to roar to life. Its loud snarl effectively covered Loki's startled gasp, his invisible eyes wide at the noise and the fact that everything within a six inch radius of the device's head was shredded and flung in all directions.

He had to maintain the illusion. But Iris was right in the horrible things' path. It would rip right into her face.

Unacceptable.

Loki rolled over on top of her, covering her body, roots and all, with his own. He ducked his head just as the device passed by. The force was like a high speed whip, tearing at his hair. It would have lacerated his scalp, possibly to the bone, had he been human. It would have certainly injured Iris, whom he kept safely tucked under his body, protected by his armor and tough, godly flesh.

The young man made a few more passes, working his way down the edge of the meadow, leaving Loki with a stinging scalp from his impromptu haircut, eventually leaving after finishing a rough, sub-par job.

Loki kept still, concentrating on maintaining the illusion, now including fresh cut grass. He feared it had wavered under the assault he had suffered, but the young man hadn't seemed to notice. Hours passed with no movement from Loki, just watching as various people came and went, doing their jobs. Eventually they all trickled away.

The sun had grown low in the sky before Loki felt Iris stir.

“Um. Loki? What are you doing? Did something happen?” Iris asked, her voice muffled by his body.

“Pardon me.” He rolled back into the grass as Iris shook her face free of the grasping roots. “Some boy came through here with a horrible device that tore up the grasses. It was necessary to cover you.”

Iris sniffed the air. “Someone cut the grass. Geez, did he hit you? Your hair!”

“Is it bad?” He asked, then covered his vanity. “It doesn't matter. I made good on my word. Here, eat.” He held food to her mouth. It would be almost too bad when this was over. Feeding her was so easy, so satisfying, and his hair would grow back anyway. If only all missions could be this easy.

Iris ate, watching the sunset, Loki laying on his side in the grass next to her, just watching her. Roots and shredded grass decorated her body, cube after cube passing her lips.

“Miss Devereaux, how will you remove yourself from those roots? If I must tear them, will it hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No, the roots aren't attached to me. If we pull this off without a hitch, I'll direct them into the soil. But if we have to get out in a hurry, you can tear them; it won't hurt me.”

“That's good to know.” Loki rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “There is much still to learn about this realm. What is this that you are eating?”

“You sure you wanna know?” She asked.

“I am suddenly less curious, now that you have said that.” He admitted. “They do smell incredibly unappealing.”

“It's fertilizer, essentially. Fish emulsion and seaweed, blood and bone meal, fermented vegetables, all mashed together. Sounds super gross, I know,” She said at his disgusted expression. “But it's really good for me. My body absorbs it so efficiently that there isn't even any waste. Like roots inside me that absorb everything.”

“Are there? Roots inside you, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe.”

“It bothers you? I see. It removes you from humanity. Sets you apart. And yet, you think that makes you inferior, rather than the other way around?”

“I'm not better than anybody else.” Iris said.

“You think not? Is there anyone else in this world who can do what you can do? How many people have your S.H.I.E.L.D. actively recruited? They came to find you specifically, why would they do that?  Because you were completely average? You are a valued agent of a semi-clandestine organization bent on world improvement. You have been partnered to a god. You are above-average, Iris. Why is that difficult to accept?”

“Are you 'above average' in Asgard, Loki? Have you always been celebrated for it?”

“Mostly.”

“I haven't. I've been despised. I've been misunderstood. I've been coddled and hidden away by my parents in an attempt to protect me. I've been discriminated against by strangers, and teachers, and employers, and neighbors whose kids I grew up with. By those same kids.

I walked out into the wild one day, and didn't come back. I never planned on coming back, never planned on seeing another person ever again. But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the first to find me. There were two others. There was a man, a strange old man who could fly. He floated down from the sky, and told me that as a mutant, I was naturally superior to all other humans. He wanted me to come with him, said he was building some grand future for mutantkind, as if we were a different species.”

“Who was this man?” Loki asked, intrigued.

“No idea. I told him to leave. It wasn't long after I had left home, and I really didn't want to go back to any kind of civilization. I was kinda fantasizing about becoming some kind of cryptid, you know? The Everglades Swamp Witch, or something like that.

Then the botanists came. A whole group of them, trying to catalog Ghost Orchids. They're endangered, and people keep stealing them, and wrecking up their habitat. But I knew where they were. All two thousand of them. And I convinced them that I was in contact with all the remaining plants, so if any went missing after their expedition, I'd know, and come hunting for them.”

She grinned. “Like I said, Swamp Witch vibes. They even believed me!”

“So you cannot actually do that?” Loki asked. The stars had come out, forming unfamiliar shapes in the night sky. His eyes could pick out fainter lights than a humans could, and he admired the active beauty of this part of the universe while eating from one of the non-specialty ration packs.

“Well, I can, but not automatically. And not that far away. I have to be closer to a plant to really sense it, and I have to be trying really hard. Like, if I wanted to figure out where the nearest maple tree was, I would have to concentrate on that, and block out all the grass. But a maple has a different...I guess you could call it a signature? A different signature than grass does. A Ghost Orchid grows on trees, and is basically just a ball of roots when it's not blooming. Kinda like this-” Iris nodded at the roots tangled around her. “But way smaller. It looks like nothing, almost. They're very hard to spot. But they have that different signature than the tree they grow on, and I can follow that to where they are.”

“So you found all their plants, as if by magic.”

“Yeah, and they paid me pretty well for it, and I sent the money home to my parents, and then the botanists went home and blabbed. Next thing I know. S.H.I.E.L.D. is on my tail.”

“Because you were friendly to botanists?”

“Well...I might have also...sabotaged a development project.” Iris said sheepishly. “But it was right on the edge of the National Park, and I didn't let anybody get hurt! And I'm pretty sure it was dubiously legal anyway.”

The edges of Loki's mouth curled, even as his eyebrows lifted.

“What's this? You're 'shy and sensitive' I was told. Was I sold a bill of goods? Are you, in fact, a naughty little mutant?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don't joke. Naughty little mutants end up dead.”

The amusement drained from his face.

“You would be celebrated in Asgard.” He said.

“We aren't in Asgard.” She answered. “The only thing that matters is where we are now. Those guys in there? They'd kill us both just for being born. They'd make it so that no one like us could ever be born again. When S.H.I.E.L.D showed up, in their black uniforms and started introducing themselves as 'agents', I thought that's what they had come for. The government was there to kill me.

At that point, I'd been off the grid for over a year, and I didn't know anything about the S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA internet explosion. But when they started talking about rebuilding as a humanitarian organization, dedicated to the protection of people-marginalized people-from, like, terrorist groups and hostile aliens, I realized they weren't there to kill me or arrest me, they were just there for me.

So I didn't make them disappear, and went with them instead. I still send money home to my parents. They don't know where I am, or what I do. They don't know the true extent of my capabilities. I'm not sure I do either. The thing about being a mutant is that a lot of these powers don't get replicated exactly, so we each have to figure ourselves out. There's no training regimen or curriculum for this.”

“So all of this is self taught?” Loki asked, impressed. “I'm not even entirely self taught.”

“You were taught? This all didn't just come from being a god or whatever?”

“No, of course not. The power is there naturally, but it needs directing. Like you, I suppose. You're born with it, but need teaching to use it. I had the best teachers the universe could offer, and was exalted and encouraged. You had only yourself, and adversity. I've seen but little of you, but this seems a great feat so far.”

“A compliment?”

“An acknowledgment. It's good to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has become more discerning in its recruitment. I hear it was more than a little disastrous for them last time.”

“Like I said, I didn't find out about that until after. Though, I guess it's not all that surprising that it happened. There's a lot that can go wrong inside an organization that big, and with that much reach. There's just too much going on; there can never be enough oversight.”

“I know.” Loki said. “I used that against them when I attempted to bring down the planet. Somehow, they still didn't notice the traitors among them.”

“You worked with HYDRA?” Iris asked defensively.

“No.” Loki said. “I used them. I didn't...make many distinctions then, in my interactions with mortals.”

“Kinda seems like you still don't.” Iris pointed out. Loki took a breath and hesitated.

“Moreso than I did then.” He said slowly. “Then, you were just tools. A means to an end. Disposable. Interchangeable. There are so many of you, so it wasn't like any of your could actually be important.”

“Right up until barely six of us beat the tar out of you and blew up your entire army?”

Loki scowled. “That is a misstatement. The plan was always to lose.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“No, I'm serious. Earth was the weakest link in the Nine Realms, and it needed to be awakened. And you were. Spectacularly. Look what it's lead to. S.H.I.E.L.D. was purged, HYDRA exposed, and your world made ready for the arrival of Asgard. You've been opened to higher interactions, as a progressing member of the Realms.”

“Uh huh. That was totally the end goal, right? Inter-species altruism? That was what filled your heart while you blew people up?”

“Norns, no!” Loki snorted. “I hated every last one of you. I took a special delight in destroying that which was weaker than myself, never think I didn't. It's just...It wasn't entirely up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I mean that losing was an act of defiance that sparked off the strengthening defense of Midgard, which I continue to participate in. Doing small jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., rubbing out the likes of HYDRA and A.I.M., all of this contributes to this strengthening.”

Iris regarded him suspiciously through her framework of roots.

“You sound like you're running some sinister, behind-the-scenes shadow plan.” She accused. “You wanna explain?”

Loki smiled, a wan, false thing.

“Do you want some water?” He offered instead.

Iris rolled her eyes. “You're not gonna distract me.”

“And I am not going to elaborate further. Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, or supplemented by your own imagination.”

“Hmph. Why'd you even bring it up then?”

“I? I think you'll find our conversation naturally meandered in this direction. That does not mean it must come to the conclusion you desire.”

“So this is what Abby meant when she said you were a pain in the ass to talk to.” Iris grumbled.

“I was not put here to satisfy Abby.” Loki said airily. “Who is Abby?”

“She asked you on a date.” Iris said. “You don't even remember her? Harsh.”

Loki shrugged. “She sounds frightfully dull. I may have to play nice for now, but I needn't entertain every persons sordid fantasies. Do you leap through every hoop set before you? Or do you also tell unimportant people that you aren't interested in entertaining them?”

“All right, that's fair.” Iris craned her head back to look up at the stars. “Which one is Asgard? Can you see it from here?”

“You can't.” Loki said. “The star is too far away, too small. And it doesn't matter now anyway. Home is gone, and we must rebuild from scratch. But that one, right there-do you see? Another realm orbits that one, the Frozen Realm of Jotunheim. They were our enemies once, and yours, but no more. Partly because they are under 'house arrest' as it were, trapped on their own planet. My father drove them off your planet over a thousand years ago. Your world actually warmed up without their influence, at least for a little while.”

“There were aliens here a thousand years ago?” Iris asked, incredulous.

“There have been 'aliens' here for ages.” Loki said. “Visitations and experiments, and failed colonies, and raids. Your ancestors were still getting the hang of fire, and there were 'aliens' visiting your lush and beautiful world. Making plans. Then your lot discovered agriculture and metal, and ruined a lot of those plans.”

“Seems like we're good at that.”

“Yes, yes, I was defeated by mortals. I am aware. I was the first to know.” Loki grumbled.

“Wait, does that mean the aliens really did build the pyramids?” Iris wondered.

Loki snickered. “The hubris of humanity is not universally shared. You are known for several things, and your inexplicable drive for monument building is one of them. Visitors did not build your great buildings; you did. They did come to see them though, like tourists. Some of them even took artifacts back home with them. Hopefully they weren't too historically important.”

“That's so rude.” Iris said.

“And you would never have known to take offense if I hadn't told you.”

God of Mischief indeed.

“What other realms are there? Just the nine?”

“Eight now, I suppose. But no. There are many peoples out there. The Nine Realms were just those places that were somehow related to Asgard. Allies, protectorates and...penal colonies, you might call them. But all interconnected, and all at least a little dependent on the others, at least some of the time. That has come to an end. There is a very powerful spot now empty. I fear there will be a great deal of turmoil before things even themselves back out. It would be interesting to see how that all plays out, but alas, I am trapped here for now.”

“Where would you go?” Iris asked.

“Alfheim first, I think.” Loki said. “They like me there. They are much less dour than the Dverguar, less serious than the Vanir, not so boastful and bombastic as Asgardins, not vicious as Jotunn, and nowhere near as hectic and anxious as Midgardians...humans, I mean. They like jokes and pranks, and value magic...perhaps I should have been Alfar? If only I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way sometimes. But I guess even gods don't get that choice. Hey, how do gods work, anyway? I mean, I stopped believing in any all-powerful force a long time ago. About when the only answer anyone could really give me as to why God would make someone like me was that I was put here to test faith. My own, or other people's maybe. It made me sick. What kind of 'father' puts a burden like that on a little kid?”

Loki scoffed. “The first mistake that humans make is in thinking that anything can be all-powerful, all-knowing, or infallible. It is a ridiculous fantasy notion, immature and irresponsible. That kind of thinking can only lead to two things: complete disillusionment, or harm to the self or others. I am a god, because I have a singular connection to a certain aspect of the universe, as does my brother, but neither of us are any of those things. How boring, to be all-knowing! How banal, to be all-powerful. And I have known people who seemed to think they were infallible, and the amount of misery and suffering they caused is unspeakable.

No, gods were never supposed to be all that. Greater than others, yes, but omnipotent...no, that's only for people who are overcompensating I think.”

“What's that about a special connection to the universe?” Iris asked.

“The universe is ridiculously unstable. Did you know that? I believe it was a human that posited that reality destroys and remakes itself fairly often in the scheme of things, but by the nature of it, it's impossible to ever know if that's true. Because if reality is destroyed, so are you, and so, you would never know. And if reality rebuilds itself, then that is the only reality that exists, so you would never know.”

“Oh hell, I don't like that.”

“Well just don't think about it. In any case, this instability seems to be occasionally expressed through individuals of particularly resilient and long-lived species, by connecting them to certain random forces. For my brother, it is the natural occurrence of thunder and lightning, those two things being directly connected. For me, it is an expression of sophisticated behaviors. Those forces are ours to deploy and manipulate to our will, and we affect them in the world around us, even as they effect us.”

“So you're just born with it too, huh?”

“So it seems.”

Iris settled back down into her swaddling roots to sleep, leaving Loki to stare up at the stars. The grass-cutting human had mentioned cameras. Loki had shielded them from that kind of surveillance on the way in, just in case. They must be hidden somewhere out in the trees. Could Iris detect such things? Would it be worthwhile to disable any, if suspicion was already on them? Or would that merely draw even more suspicion?

Perhaps while Iris remained incapacitated, actions that might bring more enemies out should be avoided. She did not have his durable skin, after all, nor his speed or strength. But with her unusual and largely unexplained powers, he hesitated in thinking of her as weak. More like...a specialist.

He felt her stir, just as the sun was lifted into the sky, and he fed her her morning cubes. She settled into her work trance almost immediately. Perhaps she was put off by the previous nights conversation, and didn't want more of the same. Perhaps she simply wanted to finish this mission quickly. Surely she too found it boring to lay in the same spot for days.

He watched the people come and go about their work restoring the schoolhouse. How many of them were just regular workers, and how many were enemy agents? Impossible to tell by looking, especially if even the youth were involved.

The sun had not risen particularly high when he noticed a difference. The roots that wrapped Iris' body were thinning; as he watched, more and more broke away from the tangle to bury themselves in the dirt at her sides. It was like watching worms escaping danger.

Finally, Iris pulled her hands from the soil, and pushed free of the roots.

“Alright.” She said. “Bugs are in. Now it's time for us to bug out.”

In retrospect, Loki could admit that he had been too eager to leave. He simply didn't do well with long periods of inactivity. So when he walked into the trees surrounding the meadow, and found himself face to face with a shotgun-wielding hunter, he wasn't too embarrassed. No, what really made him kick himself was when the one behind them held Iris at gunpoint. How could he have let one of these yokels get behind him?

“Who the hell are you freaks?” The one in front demanded. Loki recognized him as the youth with the loud grass cutting device who had ruined his hair.

“Gaw, this one stinks!” The other one exclaimed. “Well what do ya expect? She looks like mud, of course she smells like it.”

“We were just out looking for a...private place, if you catch my drift.” Loki said smoothly, getting ready. “Nothing to get worried about. It's just such a nice day, and we couldn't help ourselves.”

“Gross.” The one behind Iris said.

“We don't want you degenerate types around here.” The one in front of Loki said. “Now hands up, freak. You're way too close.”

“To what, pray tell?” Loki said. Almost ready.

“Don't talk about it, dumbass!” The other one hissed.

“Look, let's just kill them, to be sure.” The one in front of Loki said. “World ain't gonna miss a few freaks. And then nobody knows, and we don't get in trouble.”

Loki lifted his hand in a gesture he knew humans considered to be rude. Both men fired their guns.

Neither of them saw the illusions of Loki and Iris fade away, sprawled as they were one the forest floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds they'd inflicted upon one another.

Several yards away, Loki took his hands from over Iris' ears, and approached the HYDRA recruits. One of them was still alive. Loki carefully wrapped his hand in a cloth he manifested from seemingly nowhere, and casually suffocated him.

He then led the horrified Iris back to their rented car, and got back onto the highway as quickly as he could.

The silence stretched on for several hours, Loki watching the road, Iris gazing out the window at the scenery.

“Why didn't we sneak off as soon as you put up those illusions?” She finally asked. “We were invisible. We could have just left.”

“They had seen us.” Loki said. “They could not be allowed to go and inform their superiors. If there was suspicion that we had been snooping around the school, the entire point of the mission would be moot. Besides, they were extremely rude.”

“Don't joke.” Iris said sharply. “You killed that man in cold blood.”

“I killed him on cold practicality.” Loki corrected. “He could not be allowed to live, and let others know that he and the other one hadn't actually accidentally shot one another. Once anyone had seen us, that had to be the end for them. It is understandable that you might not like that, which is why I would not ask you to participate. But if I am sent on a mission as a protector, then that is what I will do. These were men who wanted to kill you just for being born, remember?”

“They were radicalized. They could have been deradicalized.”

“And how do you propose we were to do that?”

Iris huffed. “Damnit.”

“Sometimes we aren't afforded the choices we would prefer. But don't fret. I will take full responsibility in the report. I know the Director isn't keen on too many work-related killings.” It was part of why Loki took such delight in reporting work-related killings. Just to remind them of who he was, and what he was capable of.

Once they had reached their destination and returned the rental car, Iris called their contact agent for extraction. She wasn't exactly distant, but with other things to focus on, and other people demanding their times, the closeness of the last two days was fading fast.

Oh well, Loki thought. It had been nice while it lasted. But nothing was forever, and all affection was fleeting; he knew that well enough.

But it was a little odd to see her so preoccupied with her phone.

“Have you a Tweety account, or some such?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation once again.

“Since that doesn't exist: no.” She answered, distracted. “No, there's just...I'm seeing someone, and he wants to meet up as soon as I get back.”

Loki frowned. For some reason, he didn't like that sound of that. “You need rest, don't you?” He suggested.

“Yeah, and it's a little last minute, I admit. But he's an agent too, and our schedules don't match up very often, so we've got to meet when we can, or not at all.”

“That sounds like a difficult arrangement.”

Iris shrugged. “I'll take what I can get. At least he doesn't seem to mind the whole mutant thing. That's kinda important when you're in my shoes.”

“You do not sound entirely enamored of this man.” Loki probed.

“Well...I'd like to get to know him better, but he's very private. Mostly, I just don't want to be alone. It's hard for people like me, you know? I can't just throw a relationship away because it's not some perfect storybook romance. Gotta be more realistic than that. But I sure hope I get a few days rest before I get sent out again.”

It sounded...practical. She had to take her opportunities where she found them. It wasn't as if Loki had never been there. It was perhaps a little sad, since it sounded like she really did want that storybook romance.

Perhaps it was none of his business. It was absolutely none of his business. He followed her anyway, curious about what kind of man made this little flower bloom.

The man in question was not impressive, in Loki's opinion. Not much more than average. Maybe that didn't matter to Iris.

“Bet you're glad to be done with all that, huh?” He asked. “Dealing with that creep couldn't be easy.”

“It wasn't really all that bad, honestly. He-”

“I don't really want to hear about him. C'mon, we have the whole evening! Let's not waste it!”

Loki decided then and there that he did not like this man. Not in small part because he wanted to know what Iris had to say about him.

She took him to what must have been her apartment, and there Loki left. There were a few things he didn't want to know after all.

[queenbirbs]

surrender | Edward Mortemer x f!MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x Elena McTavish

Word count: 7.5k+

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: N*FW

AN: In the words of Kacey Musgraves: I’m alright with a slow burn. But when you want to speed it up a little, that’s what fics are for, right? Takes place pre-chapter nine and also kind of skirts around the very end of chapter eight.

**Re-post due to my dumb ass trying to edit the original on mobile and it wiped the whole damn thing. Cool. Cool cool cool. 

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“Good evening, Miss McTavish?”

The words aren’t so much of a greeting as a question. It’s silly, then, that her breath catches a little. She hides it with a stretch, raising her arm above her head and letting out a throaty noise of content when her spine lengthens. Dropping back onto her heels, she watches Edward finish his ascent up to the crow’s nest where she stands watch.

“Nothing but sea and sky,” Elena replies.

“Aye, should be more of the same on through ‘til morning.”

He settles at his preferred spot, just a few feet from her. She wouldn’t be surprised if his boots have worn divots into the wood from the amount of time he spends up here.

“I’m no Al Roker, but I’d say the nice weather will continue. The sunset was as gorgeous as ever.” She tips her head to the side and bites down on her lip, trying to pull a script line from her memory. “What’s that saying, ‘red sky at night, sailor’s delight’?”

“Al Roker?” he repeats the name, his brow furrowed.

“He’s... a person who predicts the weather. Sort of.”

Edward’s gaze flickers from the sea to her, and then back again, huffing out a short laugh.

“It seems that you speak another language, sometimes.”

“Comes with the territory, I suppose.” Elena shrugs. “What with being a twenty-first century transplant and all.”

She doesn’t miss the quick search he does of the ship below, looking out for any wayward pirates with curious ears, but she knows, just as well as he does, that most everyone is tucked away in the galley below deck. The only other soul around is Maggie back at the helm, who makes a show of feigning interest towards the starboard to give them more privacy.

“I hope you don’t find me rude, that I still don’t know what to make of your… claims.”

“No offense taken,” she assures with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “I thought about what I would do if someone suddenly appeared in my house, claiming they were from your time.”

“And what would you do?”

“Call the cops and then threaten to sick my dog on them.”

“The dog wearing the life preserver?” he lifts a single eyebrow at her, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “Aye, a truly terrifying sight to be sure.”

“Was that a joke?” she asks, her eyes wide as she makes a show of looking him over.

“You didn’t care for the one about falling in battle, so I thought I’d try out another.”

“Not bad. But I wouldn’t give up your day job quite yet.”

Edward hums his agreement and turns his sights on the ocean before them. Elena understands why he enjoys being up here -- she likens him to a king, high in his tower, or a lion, perched atop his rock; all the world is an oyster from such a height.

Tipping her head up, she takes in the night sky’s view. With little to no light pollution, especially this far out at sea, the stars come out in droves. The Milky Way is a cloudy, violet river that commandeers the horizon. It’s almost dizzying, the amount of stars visible, layers upon layers of them blooming across the sky. Elena’s never seen anything like it. Even when she and her sister would skip their Friday classes, drive up to the nearby state park, and spend the weekend up there, pretending they knew how to camp.

She thinks of the text on her phone from Gabby and the plans they were in the process of making for her to come visit Elena in Los Angeles. When she dropped out of college to follow her dream, the few family she remained in contact with ceased their feeble attempts at communication. When she made it to LA (or, rather, to the one-room hovel she could barely afford), Gabby was the only person on the other end of the line, trying her best to cheer her up. The pang of loss strikes her hard, somewhere behind her ribs. Other than her sudden departure from the set, Gabby might be one of the only people that notices her disappearance -- which is kind of sad, when Elena thinks about it, given that her sister still lives back in Austin.

That thought launches a thousand others. How long has she been gone? Is time moving at the same speed in the future? Is she even going to make it back home?

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Edward’s voice jolts her from her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she agrees, clearing her throat of the emotions that clog it. The railing is steady below her hands; she clings to it, trying to ground herself as best she can.

“Tis... not the same, where you’re from?”

“Where I live, it’s hard to see this many. I feel like if I could get a little bit higher, I could almost touch them.”

Edward looks back to the east, where the moon hangs low in the sky.  

“I don’t see why not,” he murmurs, making a show of leaning close to continue, “if what you say about the moon is true.”

“The stars are a lot farther. And the moon isn’t exactly suitable to live on. At least, not right now. Or,” she pauses, her lips twisting into a grimace, “well, not in my time, it’s not.”

“I’m glad, then, that I’ve made the sea my home.”

If his words are tinged with melancholy, Elena doesn’t mention it. Though she could encourage him to elaborate, she doesn’t want to ruin this peaceful moment. The thought brings with it the memory of their afternoon swim: of his arm wrapped tight around her waist, of the hungry look in his eyes as he took his fill, of the ache in her chest when their moment was broken by the need to surface.

The crystal-clear, turquoise water of the cove brought its own reminder of the summer before her sophomore year of college. It was Gabby’s idea to use their open water diving certifications for something other than taking up space in their wallets. Having spent so much time after her gender affirming surgery entertaining herself with shipwreck documentaries, she booked the trip to the Florida Keys, flights and all, before informing Elena -- in typical Gabby fashion.

“I would never get tired of the views, that’s for sure,” Elena sighs. “Or the constant opportunity to explore whatever island I sailed upon. Like that tiny island we stopped at, I would love to dive there, spend some time exploring underwater.”

Glancing over, she spots Edward’s furrowed brow; she sifts through what little historical knowledge she has of diving. Have those weird, space-age looking suits even been invented yet?

“Sometimes, Miss McTavish, I wonder if I have not happened upon a selkie, with the things you claim.”

“Selkie?” she repeats, rolling the word around in her head, but recognition never comes.

“Aye, a creature of myth, though some people believe they do exist. My mother used to tell me stories when I was little, of the women who came from the sea. Once they reach dry land, they shed their seal skin and transform into a human.”

“So... kinda like a mermaid?”

Edward tips his head in consideration. “In a way. But selkies are usually considered to be gentler. Unless their seal skin is stolen, they favor their time spent among humans. And, when they tire of us, they return to their skin and resume their life under the sea.”

“That sounds sad, in a way. But I promise I went down in a diving suit, not a seal skin.”

“I’ve heard rumors coming out of England, of a man who salvaged sunken ships by trapping himself inside of a barrel. I assume that is not what ye mean, though.”  

“No, not in a barrel,” she grins, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I can show you, though, if you’d like to see.”

“Ah, the black box of witchery.”

He moves closer as he speaks, though, clearly interested in taking another look at it. If he was truly frightened of it, she supposes, he could just lob it into the sea. Her grip tightens on the phone at the thought.

Navigating to her photos, she taps at the folder (embarrassingly titled we’re in miami bitch!!) and turns the phone so the images can expand into greater detail.

“Some of these I took with a disposable camera, so they aren’t the best,” she laments, swiping her thumb across the screen every few seconds. “But my sister -- she has this fancy underwater housing, so her pictures are nice and clear. I would message her for more, but I don’t think Verizon has that great of service.”

She can’t help but chuckle at her own bad joke. Edward, it seems, couldn’t care less -- entranced as he is by the colorful images of the coral reefs and the sponges sprouting from the USS Spiegel Grove’s rusted frame.

“These paintings are exquisite.”

“Pictures,” she corrects.

“You say that as if I’m to know what it means,” he counters.

She swipes to a selfie her sister had taken, the image capturing little else but their masks and the blue world around them. The next photo is better: a full-body shot of Elena in her wetsuit and gear, a cloud of bubbles floating above her head. “I suppose this explains you being such a strong swimmer, when you jumped in after Ginny.”

She shrugs at the veiled compliment and returns the phone to her pocket, avoiding his intense look that she can feel burning into the side of her head.

“Well, swimming in thirty-foot waves is a bit different from the calm waters of Key Largo, but thanks.”

Edward reaches down and skims two fingers under her chin. He tips her head up to meet his gaze, his dark eyes flashing with certainty.

“Make no mistake, though: I am to see that you do not perform such a stunt again.”    

Elena knocks his hand away; irritation bubbles up inside her, heating her cheeks and neck.

“I wasn’t performing. I’m not the Wonder Twins. And I’d do it again, if Ginny or anyone else went overboard. Even for you.”

His expression sharpens, his mouth twisting into a frown. She crosses her arms across her chest and serves him a look right back. Whatever he’s about to say, she cuts off as she continues, “Just because I haven’t been sailing the high seas or… or crossed swords with some real buccaneers as long as you all have been doesn’t mean I’m not capable. I fought Robert and won -- I even got his fancy-schmancy sword -- and I sailed our ship through a storm, didn’t I? You need to learn to trust me and-- and… why are you smiling?”

The irritation fades from his face in one fell swoop, there and then gone, replaced by a soft smile that he seems to reserve only for her.

“Something you said, Miss McTavish.”

“I said a lot of things,” she points out. Despite the opening she leaves dangling for him, he doesn’t elaborate. She’s not sure why she expected him to; the man is stubborn to a fault. “Okay, fine. You can keep your charming and mysterious act. You certainly have it down pat.”

“As you do with your… turns of phrase.”

The tension between them cools, aided by the winds that blow towards them from the north. Elena settles at his side once more, the railing at her back. He gives a cursory glance over the horizon.

“You know,” she says, “I realized today that I never said thank you.”

“For what?” he returns his sights to her, curiosity warming his eyes.

“For getting me the hell off the Admiral’s ship. I knew he wasn’t a stand-up guy when he shot one of his own men, but knowing what I know now, I’m especially grateful.” She reaches out to touch his wrist, squeezing it for a long beat. Edward brings his other hand up and covers hers. “I know you took a risk, not knowing if I was a navy spy, but you brought me aboard anyway.”

“Even when we made you stand trial to prove such innocence?”

“Do you think I would’ve been given such a chance on his ship?” she asks, her tone thick with sarcasm.

“No, I do not.” Edward’s face darkens for a moment. “A man capable of such depravities would have treated you… terribly, no doubt.”

“Hey, like I said: white dude of high rank in the eighteenth century? He’s got about a two percent chance of not being an awful person.”

“You--” Edward pauses, lowering his voice as he continues, “are things… different, in your time?”

Elena bites at her lip, wondering how much she should divulge about the twenty-first century. Hope works much better if the outcome is still uncertain, and she doesn’t want to dash any he has for his own future.

“Different, sure, but also very much the same. There’s a famous expression: ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.’ It’s -- let’s just say it’s been accurate more than once or twice.”

“I’ve never heard of such a phrase, but I understand its meaning rather well.”

“And, hey, that’s the second time now that you’ve referred to my ‘situation,’” she marks the term with air quotes. “Does that mean you believe me?”

Edward makes a show of heaving out a sigh. “I am making a valiant effort to do so. Your box certainly helps your case. It -- all of it -- ‘tis still rather wonderful and strange, though.”

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Edward, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“You’ve read Hamlet?”

“I’m an actor by trade. Of course I’ve read it. And by read it, I mean that Shakespeare’s works were forced on me in every English class in school.”

That gets an exasperated chuckle out of him. She can’t help the smile that forms; she really enjoys the sound of his laughter. For as much as he tries to play up the stoic, unfeeling pirate captain, he seems to lose the battle whenever she’s around. “It’s all right, you know, if you don’t believe me. I know this is kinda crazy.”

The humor on his face is there one second and then gone the next.

“’Tis… not that.”

“Then what is it?”

No answer comes.

“Charlie was right,” she teases, knocking her elbow into his. “You’re really not great at changing the subject.”

That gets her a snort of amusement, but nothing more. Before she can prod, a cold gust of wind sings through the rigging, whipping up past them and sending her hair into disarray. Despite the residual heat of the sun-warmed railing, Elena can’t help but shiver, and hugs herself to conserve what little heat she can. Edward wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close, his hand running up and down her back with gentle strokes. Her heartbeat quickens at the gesture, now familiar since he helped pull her up out of the raging waters.

“I apologize, Miss McTavish. I shouldn’t have kept you up here so long. You should go down to the galley -- you missed dinner, after all, while on watch. Can’t have you on a chameleon diet. And you’ll be much warmer down there.”

Elena shakes her head and reaches up, placing a hand on the warm plane of his chest where his shirt parts. His breath catches under her palm.

“No, I’m alright. I’m glad you were the next on lookout duty, actually. I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you really think the Admiral cares about getting his property back?” Edward’s body tenses under her touch; she shoves down the wiry ball of nerves in her stomach at the movement. “That lieutenant I ran into, he didn’t mention anything about--”

“Need I remind you of what I promised on our walk from the mayor’s estate?” he interrupts.

Confusion sweeps through her. Elena quirks her head to the side, trying to connect the dots between that conversation and her current fears. “You are no man’s property,” he spits, his voice gone rough from obvious fury. “And for as long as you are here, you are under my protection.”  

The wave of realization hits her.

“I was, uh, talking about the compass.”

“Ah.” He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. The hard line of his shoulders softens. “I… see.”

“But it was interesting, to say the least, to see you puff up like that. I’m sure it would make any other lass swoon. I mean,” she lifts her hand from his chest and holds her thumb and pointer finger inches apart, “I was this close.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Aye, I’d pay top coin to see you swoon.”

“I can think of a few things you could do to make that happen,” she teases.

Edward takes her hand in his and drops a kiss to her knuckles. Before that familiar swell of longing in her chest can rise, though, he shakes his head.  

“I will not risk it.”

“You would sail your ship into every storm across the Caribbean, but this,” Elena glances down to their entwined hands, “you won’t take a chance on?”

“That should tell you how serious I am.”

“I can’t follow your line of thinking, Edward. Do you think the Admiral will suddenly know? That he’s some omniscient god, overseeing all that goes on?”

“People are fond of gossip.”

“Who? What people? Because if it’s the crew, I trust them with my life, just like you do, and I don’t--”

“Not them. But anywhere we’d go, we’d have eyes on us -- eyes that could report back to the Admiral. And if we were -- there would be no world where I wouldn’t want to have you by my side.”

“But we--”

“Jealousy is a hideous trait to have, but I’m afraid I would not be able to stop it from affecting my actions. I’ve seen the people at port, the way they flirt with you.” Edward frowns at the dark sea ahead. “You don’t think I wouldn’t challenge anyone who tried to -- to woo you? I would not be able to stand idle while--”

Elena barks out the short laugh she’s been holding in. “What is so humorous?”

“Because you already do all that.”  

Self-awareness rushes in like the tide, flooding his brain. His jaw goes slack, as does his hand in hers, before he collects himself. Elena feels pinned under those eyes of his. She watches them drop down to her lips before returning to her gaze.

“May I?”

“You really have to ask?”

“Aye, of course.”

He starts to say more -- probably a long-winded explanation about his gentlemanly values -- but she’s waited too long for this to be delayed another second. Elena leans up and silences him with a kiss. He doesn’t turn and flee, like she expects; when he breaks the kiss for air, she gets but a second to collect her own breath before his lips return to hers. She hums her encouragement when he lets go of her hand to sink his fingers into the loose wave of her hair.

His lips, cold from the ocean breeze, warm under hers. Elena finds that his kisses are exactly like him: brash, and quick, and intoxicating, with the slightest hint of steel. When she draws her tongue against him, she can taste spiced rum and saltwater. He growls from the deep well of his throat when she bites down on his heavy, bottom lip. His arm cinches tight around her waist and hauls her against him; their bodies meet in a delicious roll of pressure.

“Miss -- Miss McTavish--”

“Elena,” she corrects, her hand skating up his back, searching for purchase so she can drag him closer.  

“Elena.”

His breath is hot against her skin where his lips trace the line of her jaw. The world dips and sways suddenly, the railing digging into her back. She clings to him when the sensation of weightlessness shoots up her spine.

It takes her a moment to register that it's only the ship underneath them, crossing over a rough wave. Concerned that she’ll end up pitching over to the deck eighty feet below, he picks her up and spins until her back meets the mast. Elena reaches for the lapels of his coat, but he’s faster, and snatches her hands in one of his and pins them above her head.  

“I have dreamed of this,” he murmurs, skimming the pads of his callused fingers along her throat, his mouth trailing behind with fervent, open-mouthed kisses.

She swallows back the moan that wants to form. A shiver dances under her skin, now damp from his attention.

“I have too,” she admits with a sigh. “Except mine deserve an NC-17 rating.”

“You know I don’t understand what that--”

“I certainly fuckin’ can!” someone shouts from below.

The wonderful spell they’ve found themselves under shatters. The voice might as well have been a gunshot, with the way Edward leaps back from her. Elena mourns the loss of his mouth on her as she adjusts her waistcoat and smooths down her hair.

Flipping and tumbling their way across the deck, Ada and Ax continue their argument about who can reach the top of the main mast first. Charlie, Jonas, and Ginny trail behind them, wagering their bets. Maggie’s thick accent carries across the ship, telling them off for circusing about, and ordering them to stay away from the rigging.

It’s not as if their tryst could have continued much longer, Elena considers, given that the crow’s nest wasn’t exactly a secluded spot. The twins make a good show of pouting, but eventually head for their quarters, Ginny giggling as Ax twirls her round.

“Maggie deserves a raise,” Elena tells him.

“Because she knows how dangerous ‘tis for them to be climbing about with no light?”

“Because she knows they would’ve caught us up here, making out like a pair of horny teenagers.”

“Ah. You--” his hand lifts in an aborted move towards her before he redirects it through his tousled hair. “--you should get down to the galley. I’m sure Henry is waiting on you, by now.”    

“Okay,” she says, because it’s the only thing to say. Swinging down onto the rope ladder, Elena starts to descend but pauses, peeking over the railing to catch his eye. “But don’t think this conversation between us is over.”

“Aye.” A wry grin flickers across his face. “I know much better than to assume that.”

+

Edward is right -- about the food, at least.

When she makes it down to the galley, Henry sits her down with a covered plate. Well, as covered as it can be with the dirty rag he’s thrown over it. She’s learned not to make a fuss, though, especially to the man cooking the food.

“Thanks for keeping it warm for me.”

“Took ye long enough,” Henry huffs, but makes a show of looking over his shoulder at her. His face, streaked with ash that he sifts with a makeshift poker, makes it easier to spot his sly grin. “Find somethin’ interestin’ up there, hmm?”

“I was distracted by the view.” Which is the truth, although she doesn’t include that Edward’s lips were part of said view.

“Nothin’ beats a clear night at sea, to be sure.” Swinging the stove door shut with a satisfied grunt, he jerks his chin towards a small barrel on the nearby shelf. “Charlie made some punch, if ye want more’n water to wash yer food down.”

She shakes her head; she’d made the mistake once of drinking their ‘punch.’ It put the jungle juice she drank back at college parties to shame. Charlie now called it Caribbean moonshine, thanks to Elena and her fiery round of swearing after taking a sip.

With the comforting noise of Henry’s humming as he cleans up, she takes a seat on the tin-lined floor and eats her dinner. Not for the first time, she notes Maggie’s touch in the confined space. Fitted across the shelves are iron bars to keep the contents from taking a tumble in rough waters. Tied round the necks of bottles with twine, scraps of parchment label each oil and spice in her spidery handwriting.

“I worked up a new dessert for ye to try, if ye’d like.” He produces a bowl of something that might come out the other end of her garbage disposal back home. Elena inspects the concoction with interest. “I boiled some hard tack in a little bit o’ rum and brown sugar, and then boiled mangoes with some sugar to mix in with it.”

“Ooh, like a compote?”

“Aye, sorta.”

In another world, three hundred some-odd years in the future, she could easily imagine Henry with a cafe or food truck, selling ‘deconstructed desserts’ and other kitschy items. Scooping up a sample, she’s surprised at the delicious flavor of it. The enjoyment on her face must be obvious, because a grin appears behind the ash. “Good, init?”

“Really good! Except, and this is going to sound weird, but maybe add a pinch of lime juice? I think it would really bring out the sweetness of the mango more.”

“Yer right, lass. That might do. And then maybe I can finally get the others to try it.”

“I’ll vouch for you,” she promises after sampling another portion. “Unless I die of food-poisoning tonight, and then you’re shit outta luck.”

Henry shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “Edward’d have my head first.”  

“Did he at least try it?”

“I doubt he would’ve, if he’d come down for dinner at all. Too busy broodin’ in his cabin, I suspect.”

Elena hands off her empty plate when he motions for it. Curiosity, instead of hunger, gnaws at her insides.

“Can I take this with me?” she gestures to the bowl in her hands.

“Aye, have the rest of it -- and see if ye can convince the cap’n to get in a few bites, hmm?”

She doesn’t bother asking him how he knows where she’s going; the rest of the crew isn’t as blind as Edward claims them to be. “But if ye break it, yer buyin’ me a new one.”

“Deal. Thanks, Henry!”

+

Elena climbs up to the deck carrying her pilfered bowl.

From where she’s manning the wheel, Charlie throws her a two-fingered salute from the bridge. High overhead, Jonas wishes her goodnight from his post in the crow’s nest. Grateful that she won’t have to try holding onto the bowl while climbing up the rope ladder, she continues on towards the stern.

“What can I do for you, Miss McTavish?” Edward asks before his door is fully open.

“How’d you know it was me?”

He shoots her a deadpan look. Moving aside to allow her entry, he shuts the door behind her.

“No one else would dare bother a captain’s sleep, lest there was an emergency.”

“Henry told me you skipped dinner, so I brought you something to eat.” Elena gestures to the bowl in her hand. Stepping close to give it a thorough once-over, Edward grimaces.

“I will take my chances with starvation.”

“Hey,” she scolds, “it isn’t that bad.”

He does a double-take between her and the food. “You ate it?”

“In college, I once ate stale Wheat Thins drizzled with an expired bottle of honey mustard. And before you say anything,” she holds up a hand to stop the statement she knows is coming, “I know you don’t know what either of those are, but trust me: it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“And this bowl of slop is better than that?”

“If it weren’t, would I be forcing you to eat it?”

He mutters something under his breath, too faint for her to catch, but seems to concede. After a brief hesitation, he takes the bowl and spoon she offers him and shovels in a mouthful of the mixture. His eyebrows pinch down at the initial taste, and then lift in bewilderment.

“Not bad, right?”

“Not… horrible, no.” He sounds just as surprised as he looks. “This is one dessert of Henry’s that I may live to tell the tale of.”

“Good. But that’s not the only reason I came.”

“Aye, would it have anything to do with continuing our conversation from earlier?”

“All that time, Robert was accusing me of being a witch, but here you are, able to read minds.”

Edward gives a soft snort at that, collapsing into his chair. The desk in front of him is littered with maps and parchments and various trinkets. Elena crosses the room and comes round the side of the desk, taking in the starry view from the windows. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches the spoon swirl round and round in the gruel as he assesses her.

“Ye would’ve been a good jester, Miss McTavish, in a previous life.”

“It’s just us,” she murmurs. “You can drop the surname.”

“No, I can’t.” The grief in his voice is as clear as a bell. “In another life, yes, but here--”

“--here,” she interrupts, turning at the waist to study him, “in your cabin, alone. Not even then?”

Edward sets the bowl down onto the desk and glares at the floorboards. “We can’t let our emotions cloud our judgement.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she lifts a single brow at his attempt to backtrack.

“Says the man hell-bent on playing cat-and-mouse with an enemy to exact revenge on him for something he clearly feels guilty about? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

His gaze shoots up to her, those dark eyes of his flashing in the candlelight. “That phrase I indeed do know.”

“Then you should know that you can’t kiss me like the world is ending, and then shoe-horn me back into a neat, little box, Captain Mortemer.” Elena doesn’t see it coming, she’ll admit that. She’s too busy ranting at the starry night, too pissed off with the man beside her, too afraid she’ll lose the runaway train of her thoughts if she focuses on him and sees all the emotions he claims to be above, all that longing and heartache and desire, painted across his face. “Since you’re so insistent on using surnames to avoid--”

In the second it takes her to draw a breath, Edward surges out of his chair and crosses to her. In the next, his lips are on hers. That passion she saw the mere beginnings of up in the crow’s nest roars with intensity. He cups her cheek and tilts her head just so, deepening the kiss; she can taste the mango’s sweetness on his tongue.

All at once, he pulls away. She mourns the loss of him with a quiet moan.

“My -- my apologies. I’m--”

Before he can worry himself into the ground with another fit of propriety, Elena holds up a finger to his lips.

“Stop being so polite and kiss me again.”

That familiar grin breaks free, lighting up his face with a naked delight that sends her heart racing.

“As you command.”

His mouth claims hers again. A muscled arm circles her waist, one hand splaying wide across her back to pull her close. She comes easily, readily into his embrace. His shirt twists in her hand where she holds on for dear life, parting for a quick breath of air, before diving back in. His other hand strokes a molten path up from her waist, brushing over the beaded point of her nipple. The moan she releases is louder this time, wanting more than anything for him to do it again.

For all his faults, he’s no fool. Sure, he takes his sweet time with it, dragging his fingertips along her collarbone and up into her hair to push the blonde curtain back, but he eventually makes his way back down. Cupping her breast, his thumb rubs circles against her -- even through the layers of lace and cotton, Elena’s breath catches at the immediate flare of pleasure.

Emboldened by her response, Edward backs her up against the cool, glass panes, his mouth leaving hers to suckle at her throat. Elena tips her head back, her lips parting as his stubble prickles against her skin. His thumb works steadily over her and she’s dizzy with the primal need to have him.

Braced by the window behind her, she hooks a leg up and around his ass. He needs no more encouragement to invade the space she’s created, his hips rocking tentatively against hers. Frustrated with the buffer of all her layers, Edward retreats to the buckle at her waist, his eyes searching hers.

“May I?”

Elena swallows to free the words from her throat, but they won’t come; instead, she nods her permission. The belt hits the floor with a thwack. Her waistcoat comes next, which she tosses off with a flourish. Edward captures her hands and tugs off her gloves. Spotting the gleam in his eye, Elena distracts him with a roll of her hips and frees her hands, chuckling when he mutters a curse at her.

“You’re a cunning lass.”

“I can’t wait around for you to strip me of my garments.” Her fingers making quick work of the corset’s laces. “Besides,” she drawls, “between the two of us, I’m probably the one with more experience taking off a lady’s corset.”

His eyebrow raises in response to her claim. The image of her and another tangled together plagues him; his jaw clenches tight at the thought.  

“That may be so,” he growls, reaching down for his own shirt and tearing it off, “but it won’t be their names you’ll be calling soon enough.”

Her blood flash boils at the promise. She grabs the hem of her blouse and yanks it up over her head.

“Jealousy is a good look on you,” she teases, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingernail.

Seizing her hand, he laces their fingers together and presses a kiss to her wrist. Goosebumps raise across her skin as his mouth trails from the tendons in her forearm to the curve of her shoulder. Nudging her bra strap down, Edward continues his trek to the rosy flush blooming across her chest.

Not one to play the passive participant, Elena cards a hand through his shoulder-length locks and nudges him down. He takes the cue and moves further south; she whimpers at the wet heat of his mouth closing over the lace of her bra.

“God, stop teasing and--” her gasp echoes across the cabin at the sharp bite of his teeth closing around her nipple. His tongue darts out, soothing any hurt, and turns to lave at her other breast.

Once she regains motor control, Elena unlatches her bra and flings it to what might possibly be the furthest reaches of the universe -- she doesn’t care, as long as Edward will keep doing wondrous things to her with that mouth of his.

“Miss McTavish,” he rumbles, tilting his head to run his stubble along her naked flesh, enjoying the ragged, little noises she makes. “You are well on your way to looking thoroughly ravished.”

Her wandering hand smooths over the tight curve of his ass and grabs hold. She smirks as he bucks up into her.

“Then get on with it, Captain.”  

Deft fingers pop the button on her pants and dip down below the waistband. Elena stretches up and rests her bare shoulders against the glass, tipping her hips up to encourage his exploration. She cries out when he slides two fingers inside of her. He gives her a moment to adjust to the intrusion, nuzzling the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

“I’ve long wondered,” he murmurs, his tongue skimming across the salty sweat of her skin, “what you taste like.”

At the sudden loss of his hand, Elena opens her eyes to tell him off for his teasing -- but her throat goes dry when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. It’s a long moment before her world centers on its axis once more for her to ask.

“How do I taste?”

“Decadent,” he growls.

Crowding against her, he props himself up with one hand spread wide against the window above her head, while his other draws a wet trail down her belly. A short grunt of pleasure sounds from both of them when he slips back inside her.

Elena reaches a shaky hand up to hook around his arm, her nails digging into the muscles there. Arousal clogs her veins like molasses -- slow and syrupy and sinfully sweet. The movement of her hips turns clumsy and erratic. Sweat beads across her forehead as his fingers work her open, the heel of his hand circling her with delicious pressure.

“Edward -- fuck, I--” she cries out.

“Will you come for me?” he asks, his gaze snapping to hers. Desire clouds his eyes, the brown irises eclipsed by the black of his pupils.  

“Please--” he cuts off her begging with a kiss.

“Will you?”

“Yes,” she answers with a gasp.

Covering his hand with her own to guide him exactly where she likes, she stretches up for another kiss and grinds down against his hand. The heat inside of her reaches its critical point, flaring to life and scorching through her bloodstream. Clenching tight around him, her hips convulse as she rides out the quake of her orgasm.

Edward slides his fingers out, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head when she whines with oversensitivity. He brings her into his arms, smoothing a hand over her hair as her body shudders with the last of its tremors.

“Fuck,” she sighs, a delirious sort of giggle bubbling up. “Well, how do I look now?”

“Exquisite.”

Leaning down, he captures her lips with a kiss. She blames the blush from her recent orgasm.

“I think it’s my turn, then, to ravish you.”

“We don’t have to--”

Elena silences his gallant protest with a heady kiss, raking one hand through his hair. Her other runs along his side, where she hooks two fingers into his waistband and yanks him closer. Continuing down, she runs the flat of her palm against the obvious sign of his arousal. Edward groans into her mouth; he ropes an arm around her waist and carries her to the desk. With a wide sweep of his arm, he knocks documents and equipment to the floor before depositing her atop it.

“Careful!”

He jerks back at her yelp, casting a worried eye over her form. “Have I harmed you?”

“No, no -- I promised Henry I wouldn’t break his bowl.”

Edward rolls his eyes and grabs the dinnerware before she can reach for it, then tosses it to the floor.

“I will buy him a new one when we stop at the next-- why are you laughing?”

Elena shakes her head at him, avoiding any explanation by dragging his mouth back onto hers. It’s a rather effective technique, as she’s finding out tonight. Their remaining clothes join the messy pile on the floor. Edward huffs a laugh at her threat of injury if he rips her underwear, but seems to heed her words and takes care to drop them onto the desk. Moving into the space between her thighs, he grabs two handfuls of her ass and drags her closer. The soft giggle that sounds from her delights him; he leans down and savors the taste of it on her lips.

Elena’s hand wanders over his stomach and down the trail of coarse hair to take hold of him. He thrusts into her touch with a grunt, choking on an inhale when she twists her wrist on the next upstroke.

“May I have you?” he manages to rasp.

“You may,” she purrs, and guides him to her entrance.

With a surge of his hips, he plunges into the slick heat of her. At her gasp of encouragement, he slips out and then back inside, grinding his teeth against the clench of her. Pleasure is a ripple on the surface, building into a wave that banks higher and higher as they move together. The world outside slips from its perch, losing what little control it has over the confines of the cabin. There is only the two of them, lost in the frantic rocking of their bodies.

A shameless staccato of moans falls from her lips as he fucks her. Edward wraps a fist around a length of hair and pulls her head back, exposing the long line of her throat; he nips at her pulse point and then at her bottom lip, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

“If you shout any louder, the whole ocean’ll hear you,” he playfully scolds.

Spotting her opening, Elena tightens her legs around his hips and digs her heels into his lower back. Retaliation sings its sweet tune as she jerks him forward on top of her, the both of them crashing back onto the desk.

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“Nay, I would never.”

Edward props himself up with one hand next to her head, his other clamped firmly around her thigh as he drives into her, the angle somehow that much sweeter. “God, but yer a pretty sight, spread underneath me.”

It’s impossible -- that she’s here, that the desk underneath her is scattered with papers that would be considered treasure in her time, would be framed in a museum and ogled by historians. A quill digs into her spine and she’s certain they’ve spilled a pot of ink, but Elena can’t find it in herself to care. If she’s lost in time, then at least she has Edward to guide her through it; her beacon of light, keeping her adrift, illuminating her way through the confusing, treacherous world she’s been transported to.

“Elena,” he gasps, his chest gleaming with sweat in the candlelight. “Elena.”

His hold slips from her thigh and down to where they’re joined, rubbing quick circles against her bundle of nerves. Whatever he’s asking of her, she gladly surrenders. The wave of her climax rushes over her, flooding her veins and drowning her with euphoria.

The sight of her lost in the throes of pleasure is an anchor; he sinks.

Edward curses with his release, collapsing beside her onto the desk. Their sweat-slick bodies heave as they catch their breath. Something catches flame in Elena’s chest and simmers there when he folds her into his embrace, his palm cradling her head against his chest. His heart thunders against her temple.

She sees no better time than now, lying naked in his arms.

“I have a question.”

He hums with what little strength he can gather for her to continue.  

“When we were up in the crow’s nest, after discussing our love of Shakespeare--”

“--as I recall,” he interjects, “I am the only one who willingly read his works.”

Elena makes a waving motion with her hand, which would prove more effective if his fingers weren’t laced with hers.

“Whatever. What I want to know is, when I said that it was okay if you didn’t believe me, why that made you…?”

“Disquieted?” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

She can feel the weight of the sigh that empties out of him.

“Because I do believe you. Your mannerisms, your accent, your magic box with its…?”

“Pictures.”

“Pictures, aye. Everything about you should not fit here. But it does, you do. You’ve adapted remarkably well, given what’s happened to you. You are a strong woman, Elena.”

“I would blush, but I’m too tired from our activities.”

He brushes a kiss against the crown of her head and huffs out a laugh.

“Yet, despite how well you’ve adapted, I know that this is not your home. Your true home, that is. I promise you, once we stop the Admiral, I will do everything in my power to send you back home. But, I confess, I will be… terribly upset to see you go.”

Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes; she shuts them against the fading candlelight.

“Me too.”

His palm skims up and down the soft skin of her back, marred here and there by the cuts and scrapes from life aboard his ship.

“Stay.”

For a terrifying moment, Elena isn’t sure what he means -- and is terrified all the more that she isn’t sure if she wants to return home, at least not so soon. Realizing that he’s probably (hopefully) meaning for the night, she musters up a reply.  

“The crew will talk.”

Edward scoffs. “They do little else.”

Her shoulders shake from her smothered laughter.

“Is this what passes for pillow talk in the eighteenth century?” she wonders aloud, making a show of stretching and enjoying the noise of interest he makes. “But yeah, okay, I’ll stay. I might even make it worth your while.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

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References: an LMFAO song (it was between theirs or Will Smith’s “Miami,” but MC skews younger to me, so I went with the former), a line from Peter Pan, the ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it’ is actually a misquote, but I consider it enough of a ref to list it here. There’s a few slang terms from 17th/18th century and various pirate research sprinkled throughout. The USS Spiegel Grove is a real artificial reef, located off the shore of Key Largo. You can dive it with an OWD certification, though it’s recommended to have an AOWD to properly explore it. ~~the more you know~~

Thanks for reading!

[vendettacanons]

Did you like the ending to Little Hope?

// This is an unpopular opinion apparently, but yeah! Overall, I think Little Hope was a massive massive improvement from Man of Medan. Granted, it still fell into some of the same flaws and holes as Man of Medan.

// Putting things under a cut bc SPOILERS, and also because I got super emotional and really in-depth with a psychoanalysis portion of this.

// The game felt more beautiful and polished than the first admittedly. I liked the environment and lighting improvements. Man of Medan was well done, but Little Hope goes it just felt much more natural and at home.

// As far as flaws— The characters from the first game were a bit more memorable in a sense (at least Conrad, Fliss, and Brad were in my opinion) but don’t get me wrong, that is a low bar. I haven’t found any characters from the games thus far particularly noteworthy, memorable, or in fact... likable in any way really. It feels like we just never get to know them enough to actually form an opinion on them. And the traits they’re given don’t really match up with the dialogue options. Which, in Man of Medan, there really isn’t an excuse for. In Little Hope, it’s better explained that they aren’t real— the people represent caricatures of traits the bus driver exhibits. They’re symbols more than anything.

// The game follows two intertwined storylines that are actually blended together quite nicely, which is impressive because that is something that is hard to do without feeling forced (Outlast 2 I’m looking at you). And yeah, it does have its cliches and its moments where things feel very rough or make little sense, I won’t ignore those. The game definitely has its lapses in logic. And yes, it is very frustrating how a character can survive the whole game and die at the end— I was PISSED when I saw that happen but once I saw the ending it made sense why. The death of the characters means an incomplete story arc— or certain traits of the bus driver that were never addressed and thus were not given proper closure.

// I know a lot of people seemed to dislike the ending for one reason or another. A lot of people felt it was a copout and I know more than a few did not like the idea of “oh it was mental illness all along :/”. But personally, I loved that. I’m not sure what mental illness in particular the bus driver was dealing with, but I believe it was schizophrenia. And honestly, the game handled it so well in my opinion. It didn’t glorify it or use it as a scapegoat or demonize it, it didn’t use it as a last minute explanation, the ending cutscenes with Vince literally show that it was the underlying cause of everything the entire time and we just never put it together. Which is exactly what the characters felt too. We were experiencing things from a first-person perspective, while trying to figure things out from a third-person perspective, and that really hit me because that is what it’s like to be schizophrenic. It is trying to rationalize what your mind is conjuring up, trying to understand that it isn’t real when it feels so, so convincingly tangible. And that’s another part of it the ending captured well. People with schizophrenia often don’t have any idea that what they’re seeing isn’t real, and so being snapped out of it can be just as jarring for them as it was for us when we realized the truth.

// A lot of people don’t think the game’s display of it was realistic for a lot of reasons, but the truth is, it’s surprisingly realistic in its portrayal. I liken it to ‘A Beautiful Mind’ a lot and I’ll explain why.

1) The town’s history includes witch trials like those mentioned in Salem. If you’ve ever seen or read the very popular Crucible, which features an interpretation of the witch trials the game is based off, then it explains why the flashbacks happen. Knowledge of certain events that one is familiar with tend to impact what kinds of hallucinations someone with schizophrenia may have.

2) The traumatic events at the beginning. We know the bus driver is the sole survivor of a fire that killed his entire family. He was falsely blamed for it even after he was cleared of charges and still holds guilt over not being able to save anyone from his family and is haunted by a result, which is why he has these hallucinations of friends that share the appearance of his family, and why he keeps seeing their faces everywhere— in flashbacks, in photos— everywhere. The idea of hallucinating entire people or having grand delusions, while not particularly common among most schizophrenics, is still very much something that many experience, especially if they’ve been traumatized or are untreated. He even acknowledges that it’s his family he’s seeing if he saves Mary and persecutes the priest in the last flashbacks.

3) The demons. A lot of people think it fell in line with the stereotype that schizophrenics “see monsters” and this disliked it. And again, while this is not always the case, there are many cases of this happening. In the worst cases, schizophrenics have reported seeing horrible disfigured people and creatures, and these are usually created by perceptions that are more or less the same as when you see a creepy-shaped shadow in your room in the dark. They can sometimes be based off of things seen in movies, in horror events, or culminated by other experiences, but the bottom line is that they can be conjured by the mind. And in the game, they serve as a symbol of guilt. They are the embodiment of “inner demons”, and they will kill whatever characters don’t finish their arc of progression it seems.

4) Repetitive cycles. Schizophrenics tend to see patterns. Not everyone of course, but noticing patterns and repeating them is a common trait. (Again, think ‘A Beautiful Mind’: the scenes where he looks for code patterns and keeps seeing Game Theory everywhere). The deaths of the characters and their Witch Trial doubles coincide with how the family died at the beginning: Daniel’s og died on the fence, his double died on a fence, he can die by being spreared by his demon, the father was crushed to death, the Witch Trial Version was crushed to death, John can have his neck snapped, etc. These “patterns of thought” are another common sign in schizophrenics. Seeing or doing things over and over again. His families faces is the big tie-in really.

5) Smaller note: Identity. As with everything else on this list, this doesn’t apply to all schizophrenics but many do hallucinate their own identities when they are deluding. Hence why the bus driver keeps seeing a younger version of himself. This is not so common as the other symptoms but it exists.

// Overall, Little Hope seemed like a massive improvement from Man of Medan, and while I normally don’t like the idea of mental illness being used as a giant plot hook, in Little Hope it was done tactfully and respectfully. It provided the blueprint for an engaging storyline and was addressed in a manner that was clearly very well-researched. It was not made light of in any sort of way, and it still managed to provide for a very entertaining game experience while also providing a very deep message: ‘we all have to confront our pasts and lay them to rest at some point. It’s never too late to forgive yourself.’ To me, Little Hope was amazing and I was genuinely brought to tears because of how close to home it hit, and how it told such a good story of someone with a mental illness I’m all too familiar with. Words can’t describe how much it meant to me to see a story being portrayed like that with such tact.

// And again, this is just my opinion on everything. These are just my interpretations of events that happen and connections I made while playing. I haven’t even addressed a lot of things in the game but if I did this post would be even longer so let me just leave it at: yes, I like Little Hope a lot. It has a special place in my heart, it made me cry, and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a good horror game experience. Also, if you haven’t, please go watch ‘A Beautiful Mind’. I don’t normally mention movies as a primary source, but that movie is based off of the true story of John Nash and was pulled from his biography. It’s very eye-opening and beautiful.

// And also as a disclaimer: I am not a professional psychologist or anything. My facts are based solely off of my own research, my own consultations with professionals, and first-hand experiences (with undifferentiated schizophrenia specifically). Pls don’t take what I say as fact, do your own research, talk to professionals for more insight, and take what I say with a grain of salt. Your Mileage May Vary and that’s okay. ❤️