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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 years

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The Idiot ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky

In which the reader is the last Russian princess from our contemporary times and Fyodor is there to watch, observe, analyse and write a novel while being the reader’s sort of guardian/mentor, all while reader finds herself in an impossible, almost-Anna Karenina-like situation that drives her to desperate decisions.

And yes, I’m very much basing this story Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot” novel, Tolstyi’s “Anna Karenina” and Katyusha, both the Russian song, and the “Resurrection” novel from Tolstoy that has Katyusha as an unfortunate, yet important character.

Also, a little nod to our dear Ana Lesko for her song “Anicyka Maya”, which will serve as a cute little nickname for our dear reader, although the song is Romanian, and it’s about a seductive woman.

Other nicknames will include: Kiska ( kitten ), Zaika ( bunny ), Kroshka ( little one ), Krasotka ( gorgeous ).

I’m not Russian, I don’t know about Russia’s culture, history and language as much as I know about my own, obviously, but as ex-commie & ex-USSR, we still have a shit ton of similarities. Nevertheless, I will try not to get into too many details that will compromise authenticity.

Luxury, glamour, wealth, gold, jewellery, diamonds, class, facades, masks, masquerades, social gatherings, lies, marriages, politics, horses, deals, gambling... These represent some of the few words people from everywhere around would describe the royal family.

Why do some still exist, anyway? Shouldn’t they have just completely disappeared at the same time with the Romanov family? ...Stupid cartoon movies and their resurrection of Anastasia...

Nobody truly cares about these rich rats who worked naught for their wealth, and would never understand the struggle and poverty of the normal citizens of Russia...They just live in their abnormally huge palace, having more servants than the population of Moscow and eat at one meal more than normal people do in one week altogether.

How utterly ridiculous.

Their lives are all perfect, they marry themselves to keep that ridiculous purity and their infinite wealth in the family...How atrocious! What about charity? Kindness? Altruism? Helping out the common folk?

All these thoughts, and you’d think a very bitter and vindictive, very poor and malicious person came up with, and yet, the reality was rather distorted.

From the top stair of the palace, in a dark room, sitting on the windowpane, a gorgeous young woman cast her dull eyes over the snowy city and the people hurrying down the roads, hoping to go home before it got too late and cold.

Maybe they were poor and hateful, and rightfully so, she’d say, but perhaps they can also be deemed happier, if they can take into account their freedom...As much as the government provides them, at least - Yet even so, even the poorest person held more freedom than this caged bird, forever trapped and shackled by fate from the second she was born...As if she had any choice, that is.

Perhaps she deserves this treatment, this hatred, this...Manipulation from her own family, who only see her as a political and financial pawn, planning her marriage from the second she first cried into this world... Like a martyr, she will accept all torture and live on, never knowing what ‘living’ truly means, only imagining it by reading all day and all night long, or when she plays the piano one of the many songs she learnt.

As the grandfather clock rang to 7 times to announce dinner time, Y/N dressed in a simple, yet elegant dress, put on a pair of classy black stiletto shoes, and went down to the luxurious dining room, sitting in her usual seat, only for a brunet stranger dressed in white to grace the sight with his unexpected presence.

She didn’t dare speak to him, yet her eyes couldn’t leave his form, no matter how her meek demeanour made her hung her head to avoid showing anything other than her demure expression.

Thankfully, her parents arrived, along with the waiters that served the food, so it saved some of the awkwardness of the unknown.

“Y/N, darling, this man here is Fyodor Dostoevsky. He is here as a writer, wanting to learn more about us and about people in general. As a compromise, he agreed to be your personal guard...Considering the other one was a sacrilege to our dear daughter...What a lecherous man, making advances on you...But, anyway, let us toast to the success of this young man’s writing career!” the mother raised her champagne, and the four of them clinked glasses. “I thank you for the unique opportunity to learn and understand society and people better. May you live a long and prosperous life.” this new stranger held a charming smile on his face, trying to impress and buy everyone’s trust. “Do you have yet any idea about the theme of your novel? Or, perhaps an idea for a title?” the father asked, making the brunet shake his head softly. “No, not yet, unfortunately. I prefer to study hard, and only then, when I am educated enough, to allow the flow of creation to take over me.” this Fyodor nodded in acknowledgement, while the girl kept completely silent for the duration of the dinner, waiting for everything to be over so she could escape back to the little faux haven she created and called ‘safe’. “Y/N, show Mr. Fyodor to your room, he will be sleeping there for now on. The butlers already brought a spare bed there, so it’s alright.” the mother waved her hand dismissively, and the girl could only bow quickly and go back to her room, making sure to point out what each of the rooms represent, before reluctantly inviting him to her bedroom. “Please, make yourself at home, Mr. Dostoevsky. I hope it will be comfortable and to your liking. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to tell me so we can make your stay as great as possible.” she spoke to him in a soft, meek voice, not daring to make eye contact in any way. “Call me Fyodor, no need for formalities. We are going to room together, might as well become friendly. What don’t you tell me about yourself? Your hobbies, your interests, your dreams, your aspirations.” the brunet paced around the room, observing all of her personal objects, which, turned out, except for jewellery, books, a small, pink Gloxinia, and a pickup with 1920s British vinyls, there was nothing to represent her...Which was, in its own way, an intriguing peculiarity. “I...Like reading, flowers, music...And I wish I could get a dog and learn how to play the violin too. There aren’t many interesting things about me...I’m not special or anything out of the ordinary. I am not allowed to put myself out there in any way, so this is the little I could do to express who I am.” so tried to be as vague as possible, fidgeting on her feet uncomfortably, knowing that the punishment for embarrassing the family would be grave, should it be known. “Hmmm...I see, I see...Ah, you’re a Tolstoy reader, I see. Anna Karenina...Very interesting, yet tragic, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, picking up a book that was supposed to be hidden. “N-No! Don’t take that out of there...Nobody can know I have it. I was strictly forbidden from reading it...Please don’t tell anyone I have this book.” the princess snatched the book from his hands, hiding it further back in the bookshelf. “Ohh~? Why would you not be allowed to read a Russian book? You’d think the Russian princess would be urged to read Russian literature.” he stepped in front of her, picking her chin and raising her head slightly to allow him to look deep into her fawn-like eyes. “Because of the ending...And the controversial decisions Anna made, some of them even contradictory to her own beliefs, and yet, she made her own decisions, at some point in her life. When your fate is decided from before you are born, having opinions is the worst enemy of a puppeteer...Wouldn’t you agree?” she muttered, walking away from him, taking her nightgown and walking towards her bathroom.

This made the man think more about how dysfunctional this supposed perfect royal family actually was. The illusion of a flawless individual, living together, forming a flawless family, a flawless life, in a flawless palace.

Perhaps facades aren’t as obvious to see through, or understand, for while the parents are completely bland...This girl...So much potential locked away in a timid chest of massive oak wood, embellished with overly expensive jewellery, clearly unwanted. She could be a genius, shining in her happiness, glowing like her dazzling smile, and yet, there she is, eclipsed by chaff, when she could be burning brighter than the morning Sun.

Those parents of hers think he wants to be here and get dazzled by the infinite stream of diamonds that keep flowing around the whole place - And yet, perhaps they are the ones living in mental poverty, considering they believe financial wealth and fame is the sole reason for being alive - To uphold a certain kind of status that they worked naught for, but received hereditary, from one lazy deadbeat to yet another generation of useless people for this society.

They truly are like the plague, incredibly rare nowadays, but completely fatal once you fall grasp to their dark claws that drag you to hell to succumb to their completely fictional utopian world that they create only amongst themselves, as if whatever lives beyond these golden walls is putrid and deserves to rot to pieces.

As his mind wandered farther and farther away down the country, snowy roads he created with his own imagination of thoughts, he heard the bathroom door softly open, and the angelic creature garbed in a thin - Possibly silk, snow white nightgown - Stepped back into their now shared room, and just as before, her demeanour resembled that of a small, frightened fawn, or a bunny.

When you have to deal with such a pure being that could completely shatter, it’s difficult not to impulsively break down all walls around and snatch her away - It’s close to impossible not to attempt to test all existing boundaries and see the limits where she would break...Or, almost, at least.

However, abstinence makes for a great suspense and greed...You want more...And more...And the more you wait, the harder it is to resist, but the satisfaction you get when the frail creature trusts you enough to eat from your own palm, and you finally claim it as yours...

It’s Heavenly.

“Sweet Dreams, Fyodor.” she spoke softly, putting on a Tchaikovsky vinyl and picking up a book, getting in bed and reading it, the only light still open being a dim lantern on her nightstand. “How would you like to show me around the city tomorrow?” the brunet asked so casually that it shocked the girl enough to drop her book on her lap. “O-Oh...U-Uhmm...I’m not exactly to go out of this place unless it’s for Christmas shopping...I’m sorry I can’t properly do as you wish...” she quickly took her book back, hiding her face to hide her embarrassment and disappointment. “Well, then, what a gorgeous coincidence, isn’t it? In barely two months, Christmas shall come, and then, you can properly show me around, correct?” the man mused, the ghost of a smirk playing on his face. “..You’re right! My, you’ll get to see the beautiful fairy light and Christmas decorations all around the city! I can’t believe it, you truly chose the perfect time to come here. Oh, and, the ballet, the opera and the national orchestra are going to perform...I believe The Nutcracker is going to play this year...And Traviata. It should be beautiful, don’t you agree?” Y/N asked with a soft smile on her face, sparks gleaming in her eyes, and for the first time since he’s met her, it felt like she was finally alive. “Yes, yes, I would have to agree. And if you are there with me, the experience will be even better.” he hummed, teasing the poor girl who had no idea what else to say to such bold affirmations. “O-Oh...W-Well...Th-Thank you...I-I think...Your presence there will also make the going out more interesting...And nice.” she offered a comeback that pleased the man well enough. “Good night to you as well, Printsessa.”

What a lovely young woman, he thought, as he closed his eyes and let his mind fly at different aspects of life and of humanity, trying to decipher each and every person he met that day and wondering if his assumptions were correct, as they always are.

Morning came by faster than expected as a shy ray of of Sun creeped inside the room through the window, but Fyodor was already awake, writing at the desk rather rapidly - Most likely, he had some inspiration hitting him, so he proceeded to pour out his conflicting thoughts on the paper, all while stealing a peek from time to time at the girl sleeping peacefully, almost as if she was a Disney Princess.

The way the soft light caressed her face had him take the stray streak of h/c hair and pull it back so it won’t tickle her awake, while also being allowed to watch her peacefully inhale and exhale, a small smile on her face...Perhaps she was having a beautiful dream? Was that why she told him to have sweet dreams? Were her dreams her only lovely escape from this horrible reality she was forced to live in?

There were so many mysteries yet to be unveiled, but all in due time, as Fyodor noticed the gentle flutter of her lashes, and with a grace only reserved to a Swan Princess, she raised and stretched with a sweet hum, and the brunet man watched as his eyes felt absolutely blessed seeing such a beauty...

If people complained that Disney Princesses weren’t relatable, since they have messy hair when they wake up, just like Anna, they clearly haven’t seen how perfect Y/N looks, even as she blinks her sleepiness away.

“I see you slept well, Printsessa. Good morning.” she heard him speak, and she noticed it wasn’t as en garde and...It almost seemed...Pleased to see her. “Fyodor...You woke up before me. You should have woke me up. Please wake me up next time, I wouldn’t want you to feel lonely or upset. This place is like a piranha tank...Thread carefully, otherwise, you’re like a little animal who fell in.” she quickly got up, rushing through her daily routine so she could be by his side, not only because her parents assigned her to that, but also because this Dostoevsky man is the only little thing that could rip her out of her completely dull routine and show her a little bit of insight into what could be something out of her imagination entirely. “Aww, the little songbird wishes to spend time with me, how adorable. Very well, Printsessa, what is it that you want to do today? My job here is to observe and write, after all.” he asked, crossing one leg over the other, resting his chin on his fist, watching her with intense interest. “Oh, well, I have to practice the piano today, but other than that, I have nothing in my schedule.” she explained, guiding him to the music room that very much resembled a whole orchestra surrounding a place - Not too small, yet not too big either - Meant for ballroom dancing. “I bet the national orchestra isn’t as fancy as this place is.” he mused, walking up to the cello and tracing his fingertips across the chords. “...Do you know how to play it?” she asked, walking up to him, having the curiosity of a baby fawn exploring the world. “Would you like to hear?” he asked, sitting on the chair and expertly hugging the cello, he grabbed the bow and teased the girl with a mischievous look in his gleaming purple eyes. “Oh, yes, please, if it’s not too much to ask! It would be absolutely splendid.” Y/N clasped her hands together, grinning widely as she stepped a few feet away to give him enough space so he could start playing. “It would be my pleasure, Printsessa.” and with the nod of his head, he started playing the famous Sugar plum fairy song, making the girl gasp in surprise at how gorgeous it sounded.

She crouched to reach the perfect eye view of the bow gliding along the chords, her mouth slightly agape and she gazed with absolute wonder, not even realising when the song was over, for she was much too mesmerised.

“Well, Printsessa, how did you like it?” he rested his arms on the curves of the cello, leaning forwards for a better look at her. “That was better than even our national cello player! It was absolutely stunning, woaw...Just...You left me speechless! You’re...You’re...You are...Perfectly splendid!” she clapped for him rapidly and incredibly enthusiastic, making him chuckle in amusement at her cuteness. “Why, thank you, Printsessa. How about you entertain me now, little Anicyka Maya?” he carefully put the Cello in its place, stepping in front of her and caressing her porcelain skin, quenching his thirst for discovery by seeing her rosy cheeks. “Well...I can’t say I’m anywhere as great as you are...But, sure. I hope you will like it.” she looked down, fidgeting with her fingers as she hurried timidly to the piano, and taking a deep breath, cracking her fingers, she liter her fingers skillfully dance over the keys, as her voice followed every word of the song called “Katyusha”. However, she wasn’t expecting him to applaud and whistle to her, congratulating her for being such a beautiful nightingale. “You clearly underestimate your hard work and talent. Perhaps we should play together one day. I’m sure it would put a smile on your parents’ faces.” Fyodor bowed to kiss Y/N’s hand, only to hear the door opening. “Yes, Mr. Fyodor, we would quite like to hear the two of you dueting together. Since Y/N will have to perform both dance and a song at the piano, as a Christmas tradition, it will show how much she’s improved...If at all. I have to tell you the truth, Mr. Fyodor, over the past few years, she has been exceptionally disappointing...Well, perhaps you coming here will prove to give her a jolt in the right direction.” Y/N’s mother came out of nowhere in the music room, almost as if she was stalking the pair, and Fyodor could see how the Princess’ behaviour changed 180 degrees, and from the excitable and lively young girl, she went back to hide in her guarded shell, trying to protect herself from the numerous blows everyone throws her way.

And just as he expected, once they started playing, despite throwing in one or two intentional mistakes, while she had none of her own, the mother reprimanded her daughter, while praising him. He thought, at first, this was going to be some kind of tough love encouragement and determination she was trying to give the girl, but truly, it was nothing more than unrealistic dreams of an already flawless performance.

This family was nowhere close to being the perfect, or the most loving one, that was without a doubt. But being so horrible to your own daughter, humiliating her in front of a complete stranger, making her tremble softly while trying her best to keep herself from bursting into sobbing fits, was a whole different kind of cruel and unnecessary malice.

For some reason, Fyodor felt a certain kind of warmth in his chest...But not the same kind of warmth he feels when he is around Y/N, but something...Similar to fury. To rage. He was sure he never felt such a personal sort of offense, despite not being him that was belittled.

A terrifying sort of justice bubbled inside him, and he smirked, thinking about just one sole thing.

Crime and Punishment.

Fyodor hoped dearly that it would be only the maternal figure that was the problem, yet it seemed to be much worse, and the toxicity levels that kept vibing all over the place seemed to be equivalent to that of Chernobyl at the time of the explosion.

All throughout the week, he noticed the dirty looks all the staff was giving the Princess, possibly because she was being a shy and quiet pushover...But it went completely beyond his understanding how these servants would even dare be so rude to her, considering she is always so sweet to them, always forgives their mistakes and shares her whole allowance with them in equal parts...

But they complain it’s not enough. They complain others get more, or less, but clearly, they don’t care about that, they just want more and more money...They are greedy jackals who don’t care about the life or soul of a poor little lady who just wants to be happy...

But perhaps happiness isn’t meant for royalty.

A week until Christmas, and Fyodor was ready with the quick draft, and he left it on the desk for Y/N to read, and he couldn’t help but admire and drink in each and every emotion she would express on her lovely face with every word she read, every action, every chapter that stirred more and more conflicting feelings and thoughts battling together - Conflicts that she was trying so hard to hide, no doubt feeling his burning, hawk-like stare on her, analysing her as if she was a new specimen under a microscope.

She was great at hiding what she truly felt, yet her eyes betrayed her inner self, the sparkling of nostalgia and sadness crawling out, shrieking at the top of her lungs to be discovered and taken out of this well of darkness she was drowning in - She wanted to be saved, she was at her breaking point, and clearly, she was afraid.

Afraid of life. Afraid of people. Afraid of her family. Afraid of this society. Afraid her own self. Afraid of her actions.

And most of all.

She was afraid of spiritual, mental and emotional imprisonment.

As Christmas approached with rapid footsteps, Fyodor could notice how Y/N stiffer, more silent, flinching more, keeping herself in check, alone, barely speaking to anyone...Clearly, she was being stressed out and afraid of the consequences of screwing up anything.

Perhaps, the problem here was the fatalist and completely out of her control destiny she was thrown in, and she knew from the very beginning that, no matter how flawless her performance was, she would still be reprimanded and punished, so she resigned herself to this kind of treatment...The same as every year.

“It’s so beautiful outside...And it’s snowing...! So soft and cold...It’s almost numbing you entirely, but the beauty of Christmas still melts down even the most frozen of hearts.” she spoke with such sadness dripping from her tongue, that Fyodor felt the need to take his fur hat and put it on her head before taking a hold of both of her hands, rubbing them together and kissing her knuckles. “It’s not the day or the decorations that are supposed to move a person, but the kindness and altruism of people. From what I’ve seen in the past weeks, the only consistency in this place is the beauty of your heart and the cruelty of everyone else that keep eclipsing you. You deserve better than this, kroshka.” the man spoke simply, waiting to see the way she’d react. “...I didn’t choose this life, nor did it choose me, yet here I am, trying to keep my head above the water in a whirlpool. I have all my life planned and written ahead of me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. From the very beginning, since before I was even born, they knew they will sell me out to some old, rich man, just so they could benefit, but they cared naught about my well-being, as long as I could keep him entertained in any way possible. The least I can do is try to enjoy the little things...Even if they are nothing more than just that...Little things.” she admits to him, taking away her hands and holding them to her chest, too afraid to trust her own heart. “You let the servants make a mockery out of your kindness. You let your family humiliate you in front of everyone. You let common folk bash you, even if you tip them greatly...Tell me, krasotka, have you read the draft to my book yet?” they continued to stroll down the cobbled streets, looking up at the snowflakes gently dancing in the light of the lamposts, as Fyodor carried most of her shopping bags that held Christmas gifts for everyone but herself. “Yes...I did...But I did not finish it. I was much too afraid to read the ending of it.” she nodded to him, biting her lip nervously. “Afraid? Why ever would you be afraid of reading some words made of ink on a piece of paper?” the man frowned in confusion and interest, hearing such a peculiarity of an answer. “Because...Because I know that Prince Myshkin actually represents me...And how life treats me...So I’m afraid the ending will hint to Anna Karenina’s ending...And I don’t want that. I don’t...That’s why I’m afraid...I’m scared that...I’m scared that I won’t be able to endure this madness anymore, and sooner, rather than later, I will shatter into an unrecognisable version of myself that not even I will decipher...And I will do scary things that I would otherwise be afraid of even thinking about. You know I read the book, I wouldn’t put it past you to tease me like that.” she smiled ironically, shaking her head to stop herself from shuddering at such a dreadful thought. “Congratulations, Printsessa, you are surely insightful. However, I must advise you to read it, and keep in mind that you are not entirely wrong in your thinking. While the ending isn’t identical to Tolstoy’s novel, it isn’t on the complete opposite spectrum either. What you read is one of the possible outcomes of your life, should you choose to remain a passive onlooker and let everyone control you, like a little, pretty doll. Should you, however, choose to take fate into your own hands and finally make your first choice of your life...I can promise you, you are going to be much happier.” Fyodor kissed her forehead before leading her back to the palace so she could take the day off...For tomorrow, she must perform.

But the author wasn’t lying, Y/N realised as she spent the last hours past curfew to finish the book, and she realised that while Myshkin didn’t kill himself, he was still dead inside, and just like the catatonic state he was stuck into, she has been living a life of complete comatose herself. Fyodor was right all along - A life without choices is not a life, nor is it one without freedom and happiness - And maybe, for the first time in her life, she would make the most difficult decision the universe threw at her, and that was to choose between Duty and Happiness, something every royal member, especially women all over the world, who were seen as nothing more than political and decorative objects meant to create heirs and nothing more, had to pick, and dutifully chose to sacrifice themselves to keep the family and the nobility going.

But not anymore....

“You look beautiful today, my little zaika. This velvet colour of your dress, the way it highlights you stunning silhouette...And this jewellery...And your hair and make up...You are above and beyond the most beautiful person to ever grace this life. How are you going to enchant us today?” Fyodor pat down his white suit so he would look completely impeccable...Or, perfectly splendid, as Y/N would say. “Does it truly matter, in the end? Nobody but you will pay attention, and at the end of the day, I will only hear critiques. It’s the same every year, so there is no point in bothering to stand out, have any particularity or give a name. It just...Is. So...Let me get this over with so I can go to my room and pretend this day never happened...Again.” she muttered, hooking her arm to his, entering the big ballroom together.

A ton of people were there, not only family, but enough family ‘friends’, all of them incredibly rich, with a combined fortune great enough to buy the whole Russia somehow...And all eyes were on her. She didn’t mind. She was used to the nervousness and the either critical or lustful stares she received - But only during these kinds of events, and because she was a Princess, otherwise nobody would have cared about her existence or her feelings...

Nobody...Except for Fyodor.

Until the time of his arrival, nobody cared about her, nor did they bother trying to understand or talk to her, and yet, here he was, always by her side, and frankly, she fell in love with him. She, for the first time in her life, cared naught about everything surrounding her, and she thought solely about him and their time spent together. That is all that mattered to her.

So, with that in mind, and a warm heart, she performed the Waltz of Flowers flawlessly at the piano, along with a few other songs, adding some festive ones. Fyodor was absolutely captivated by the spells she put on people whenever she radiated with such pure gentleness, just like Christmas’ true angel.

Her fingers glided so gracefully over the keys, as she hummed along the music, not even bothering to look at the sheet, for she new everything by heart - But somehow, it all sounded even more magical than before, and nobody could tell why.

But Fyodor knew, and he smiled, figuring out her trick. And he was going to call her out for that when this whole charade was over. But for now, he allowed himself to enjoy bathing in her radiating warmth, for she was shining brighter than the Sun itself.

By the time she finished her little repertoire, she did a pretty courtesy and walked to the man in the white suit, taking a glass of red wine and sipping from it, that gentle smile never leaving her face.

They exchanged no words, but there was no need for that, as the look in their eyes spoke more than anything else, and they danced the night away, together, in graceful and intimate waltzes, or swaying together, keeping their hearts glued together, beating in sync and feeling each other’s heat.

She might not have wanted to end up like Karenina, but she wasn’t too far away from her situation, and she knew very well, should she leave with this man, she was going to break down every rule, and find an identity for herself, after all these years.

But happiness is emphemeral in the life of a Princess, and just before the Christmas Ball ended, her parents dragged her to the table of this old man, so they would share gifts. This old man, who so happened to be the man chosen to be her future husband, and had fewer hairs on his head and teeth in his mouth than her age.

Most of the gifts were pretty basic - Jewellery for women, cigars, fedoras, watches for men...But for her...She received some of he oddest gifts so far - And yet, she thought life couldn’t surprise her anymore.

Several little outfits, fit for babies, were neatly folded in all boxes, sans one - The sole box being a small, velvet box, which revealed a sapphire ring that expressed the definite bond of marriage that must be officiated very soon, through papers and a church ceremony.

Frozen was the clock, frozen was the time, and frozen was life itself, for the shock was great - Being put on the spot is scarier than the anticipation and fear of venturing into the unknown - Yet here she was, with her supposed fossil of a husband, with several babies promised to be born, and a very angry author, watching the disgusting exchange of pleasantries between the elder people.

He noticed Y/N doing a little courtesy, excusing herself with a nervous smile, and rushing out of the ballroom, the clicks of her elegant heels giving away her location at all time. Following her, he saw her on the edge of the rood, barefoot, her back to the empty space, as she hummed, looking up at the clouds pouring snow, and swaying to her tippy toes occasionally.

“You sure like the feeling of being alive, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be staying there after being faced with such a disgusting situation.” he pointed out, clasping his hands behind his back and carefully stepped towards her. “Life is full of surprises. But it is not called life, unless you have a say in the paths that you go down by. Today, I realised what I have to do in order to achieve true bliss and happiness...Something ethereal, although utopian in its quintessence. I have to make a choice. And right now, I’m making it.” she smiled, extending her arms to the side, resembling a Goddess, as a few stray tears streamed down her face - But they were tears of relief, not of fear, anxiety of depression. She was happy. “You said you didn’t want to choose the path of Karenina, nor of Myshkin, and yet, there you are, on the brink of death, as the way to show that you are no longer a caged bird. Is it truly worth it, in the end?” Fyodor asked, frowning at the delusional words she was spewing. “Death is but the beginning of a new adventure, and with me falling, I will find out what freedom is, unlike all the other Princesses before me. It is not death I’m choosing, nor will I regret it as soon as I step into this free fall hazard, like Karenina, and, as you can see, I chose to wake up from my catatonic state, unlike Myshkin. I know what awaits me as soon as I reach the ground...But do you?” Y/N hummed in amusement, watching the conflict painted all over his face - And it was for the first time that Fyodor showed such confusion and inner turmoil, that much was obvious to her. “Stop this, Y/N, I don’t understand your reasoning, but don’t kill yourse- “ but he couldn’t finish his sentence, for the girl uttered just a few words - Words that changed even the rotation of the Earth around the Sun - And as she pushed herself on the tips of her toes, she embraced the cold wind of Winter being her guide down to the ground, as she watched the snowflakes following her down.

And she smiled.

Because love won, and life won, and she knew she chose correct - These weren’t the times to choose everyone else over herself anymore, and nor is she a saint, a martyr, an angel, or some perfect Christian role model. She was just a woman thirsting for happiness and for the tangible sensation of life and of flying, and with this jump, she got completely wasted.

The secure embrace of a white angel made sure she lived for another day, but not quite, for her guardian angel jumped to save her, yet had no idea himself that he wasn’t the only special one, after all, and just as they were going to reach the ground, time seemed to stop, and they reached the ground gracefully and softly, like two linked feathers.

She lay down on the crystal blanket of snow, laughing mirthfully, almost with a childlike charm, as her long hair was sprawled all over her, and Fyodor’s arms were fiercely holding her, and he looked down at her, his eyes wide in understanding.

“I didn’t choose death. I chose life. I chose love...I chose you, and I chose me. I knew you had an ability too, and that you were confident in it, so I was sure that, should you choose to, you could jump from the roof of the palace to save me - Which you did. I never really have the opportunity to use my ability, but it’s rather useful in some situations, if I can say so myself. So, by the way you’d respond to my feelings and actions, I’d know whether I chose right or not...I think we both know the answer now, don’t we?” she grinned mischievously, extending a hand to his face to caress it gently. “That’s the most idiotic, most reckless thing anyone has ever one...And yet, you strategised everything, as if we were pieces in a game of chess. How did you get the courage to reach such a conclusion?” his voice was low, like a murmur, trying to understand her impossible, labyrinthine mind. “Life offered me a Christmas gift today, and that was serendipity, so, I used it. Everything else was a perfect strategy of a game of chess I played myself - The White King versus the Black King - And, was far as my luck and the universe brought about, I believe I won. But you must still answer back, otherwise, the magic will vanish.” Fyodor noticed a smirk growing on her face - One that somehow resembled his, and he almost felt conflicted seeing her mimicking him in his demeanour, in a way...But he also felt incredibly proud. “I cannot take you with me, Y/N. The part I walk is dangerous, it could even be fatal, and I would rather you not walk down a boulevard of broken dreams. You just now achieved happiness, don’t throw it out of the window. It a world full of crimes, I choose to be both the justiciar and the executioner of the unworthy. In a world of crime, I shall inflict punishment upon the evil-doers and paint this world red with the blood of the guilty.” he wanted her, he truly didn’t want to leave without her, nor did he want to leave her alone, here, with these hyenas, but could he really have it in his heart to endanger her so? “Fyodor, my darling, it matters naught for me whether I live or die, as long as the journey is by your side, and I’m not shackled anymore. I want to see, I want to hear, I want to touch, I want to taste, I want to smell, I want to learn. Everything. Without exception. There is a whole world out there, open, waiting to be explored and unveiled, and I shall be its explorer. As long as I have you by my side, I will surely be fearless. Being a hero, being a villain, or anything in between is of no concern for me...However, I cannot deny that I would be rather...Interested in seeing you deliver the sentence down to...Some specific people.” she giggled, winking at him, as she obviously hinted towards her kin and the unlimited amount of gossips she has heard about so many people, over the years.

With a wide smirk on his face, Fyodor Dostoevsky helped Princess Y/N on her feet and gave her a passionate, fire-like kiss, before picking her up bridal style and making their way to her room, so she would start packing and leave at the earliest convenience.

There may still be a bit of official work to do at the palace, and as his ability is called, there is no crime without punishment, he was going to make sure of that. Until then, there was one thing certain, and one alone, that was going to guide the both of them to a path of exciting uncertainty and thrill.

“I love you, my dear Y/N.”

#bsd fyodor #bsd anime #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd imagine #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs imagine #bungou stray dogs #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky imagine #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor x reader

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sserpente · 4 years

Text

Ablaze

A/N: I just couldn’t help myself. 🔥

Words: 3010 Warnings: excessive excitement over two seconds of new Loki footage

“Where is he?”

“In the interrogation room, chained up.”

“Good.” Taking a deep breath, you finished your coffee and stood, gathering your documents in the process. This could now be the most important moment in your career—there was no time for failure.

Two days ago, when the TVA received reports of an unknown entity wreaking havoc within the multiverse lineages of the universe, their complaints had fallen on deaf ears. There had not been an incident for years—not until the sudden turmoil of an unrecorded timeline disaffiliating from 2012.

You were still unsure of the origins but it was clear that someone had meddled with the alternate timelines the Avengers had had to create to destroy Thanos. But the stones had all been returned to their receptive points in time, Steve Rogers had made sure of that.

They must have made a mistake somehow—and that mistake was, as of right now, waiting for you in the interrogation room.

It was still unclear how many timelines and universes Loki had travelled to and thrown into turmoil—what knowledge he had acquired and which was not his to possess. He was a dangerous force that needed to be taken care of.

Loki arrogantly lifted his chin when the metal door swished open and allowed you to enter. He was sat at the table in the middle of the dimly lit and otherwise empty room, wrists bound together with a pair of handcuffs equalling the technological progress of realms like, in this main timeline destroyed, Asgard—in your world, time was a relative thing, after all. Whatever tricks he could concoct, even he would be powerless against the shiny metal wrapped around his wrists.

His hair was shorter than you remembered it, his usual, intimidating Asgardian attire like you had seen it in various footage of the alien invasion of New York City, replaced with the prison clothes he had been given, leaving his arms bare.

“And what now?” He mused when he spotted you. “Are you here to question me, my dear? To bewitch me? No amount of sweet-talking will get me to comply with your pathetic schemes—whatever they might be.”

You eyed him mutely as you walked towards him, giving him time for his first words directed at your person to sink in. When you sat down, putting your documents on the empty table calmly, you cleared your throat seemingly unaffected.

“No schemes. What we would like to know is how you could escape our main timeline and create an alternate universe messing with the matrix of time and space, Loki.” You began straight away, relinquishing formalities and unnecessary introductions. The God of Mischief looked down, the hint of a mischievous smirk playing on the corners of his thin lips. He hummed before he spoke.

“It appears to be in human nature to thrive for knowledge and elucidation.” His expression hardened, smooth voice growing sharp. His blue eyes locked with yours. “Even if it is neither your affairs nor place to intervene.”

You had studied psychology in Edinburgh, back in the day. As far as Loki was concerned, you were an impenetrable, strong and fearless woman. Any weakness you revealed to him could be your downfall—and his triumph.

“Whatever the Avengers might or might not have done in order to restore the universe to its right order, they must have missed something, or someone.” You said matter-of-factly, forcing yourself to remain unfazed by the dangerous Trickster in front of you. “Given that at the time of their interference with both the mind and time stone back in 2012, it has come to our attention that another Infinity stone had been removed, opening up an alternate timeline the Avengers were—for some reason—unable to patch up and close.”

Loki raised his eyebrows innocently, responding nothing, however, his scrutinising blue eyes still held you captive in a highly concerning way… almost as if you were the one being questioned.

“The space stone. The Tesseract?” You probed, a hint of impatience in your voice. You had to keep your composure. Loki hummed once more.

“It must be truly devastating to know the Tesseract within your reach, unable to grasp it.” He remarked scornfully.

“We have no interest in the Tesseract.”

“No?”

“No. What we want is to undo the damage you have done—beginning with returning the Tesseract to its receptive timeline. As far as we are concerned, you should not even exist.”

The space stone was indeed a real problem. As long as your colleagues aimed to locate its whereabouts, Loki would keep the upper hand. You had a feeling they would be wasting both their energy and resources. He had it. You knew he had it. You just needed to prevent him from using it again.

“And yet here I am.” He mocked with a breathy voice, yet again lifting his chin; this time leaning back in his chair.

“And yet here you are,” you repeated. “You endanger the multiverse. Your existence threatens the very fragile fabric of our reality. We cannot let you wander about, regardless of your intentions… which is why we have to keep you prisoner until further notice.”

Loki’s face fell instantly, the sudden anger sparkling in his stunning blue eyes sending the startling sting of an adrenaline rush through your body. Stop. You were not Harleen Quinzel and he was not the Joker. Keep calm.

“I am done being imprisoned. I will not let a group of meagre mortals lock me away because they fear what I am capable of.”

“By the looks of it, you already have.” You retorted.

“You do not wish to incur my wrath.”

“I am willing to take that risk.”

He growled darkly, a menacing smile spreading on his lips as he paused. “I’m gonna burn this place to the ground.”

You scoffed. “If I took every prisoner’s threats at their word, I would not be sitting here right now.”

With a start, Loki shot forward, his fists colliding with the table surface and sending an ear-piercing bang through the empty room, making you flinch and back off.

“You should do well not to underestimate me, you mewling quim.” He spat through gritted teeth. “I am a God. You are all fools if you think you can keep me in custody. Consider this my final warning. Release me or you will face the consequences.”

“I can’t do that, I’m afraid.” You replied, fighting hard to hide the growing shaking in your voice. “I’m not a friend, Loki. But I am no police either. You have not been arrested for any of your crimes here on Earth but solely for attempting to… and succeeding in altering the past and the future. We can’t let that happen again.”

His growl was downright animalistic this time, paired with a menacing harrumph—he refrained from having the last word when you stood, collecting your documents to leave the interrogation room for good. As soon as the door fell shut behind you, you breathed out, tension and fear melting away from you with a start. One of your colleagues was already waiting for you outside.

“How did it go?”

“Terrible, as expected.” You stated, straightening your skirt with trembling fingers. The officer hummed in response.

“I say we give him to the authorities. SHIELD has yet to—“

“SHIELD?” You interrupted. “And what will you tell him, officer? As far as we are concerned, Loki was, as of 2012, taken back to Asgard to face the consequences of his actions. He is not their responsibility anymore. This Loki—wherever he came from—is our issue to deal with.”

A full week had gone by since your first encounter with the God of Mischief and you were still no closer to bringing the Tesseract in your possession. Loki was quiet—conspicuously so. Reports from the officers standing guard day in and out spoke of nothing but immobility on his part, for most of the time, he would simply sit on his bed and stare into nothingness, other times he would walk around in his cell like a tiger ready to pounce on his prey… always as if he was planning something.

You had no doubt that he was—which meant that you would have to return to the interrogation room before it was too late, have him brought there one more time and manipulate him into telling you everything you wished to know.

You had studied him, read countless reports on him in a desperate attempt to riddle him out. Loki was a master of magic. SHIELD agents had watched him catch an arrow mid-air, they had witnessed bullets bouncing off of him like rubber balls. Mind control as well as telekinesis and even transformation counted to his powers, he cast frighteningly real illusions, possessed the ability of teleportation and invisibility—not even to mention his supernatural strength, speed, and healing capabilities.

SHIELD might have been, with the Avengers’ help, a match for him but if he ever found a way to free himself from these shackles, you would certainly be no match for him. What was it he had said? It must be truly devastating to know the Tesseract within your reach, unable to grasp it.

A spell must have been concealing the Tesseract from you. Just how would you convince him to cave in? How much time did you have left? Who, after all, could guarantee the guards weren’t just seeing illusions every day?

Perhaps you should try a new strategy and meet him with honesty—even ask for his help, if necessary. If you told Loki what was at stake if you did not protect the very fabric of this complex net of universes tying into one another and life as both he and you knew it could be torn apart, would he relent?

Loki could become a valuable asset in your organisation, use his abilities, for once, for heroism instead of mischief. But would he truly be up for this proposal after your initial conversation?

You had too many questions you did not know the answer to. This ought to change. Tomorrow. For now, you would shut the world out and relax in your own for walls—it was the only way to stay sane working for TVA.

Already wearing your pyjamas, consisting of nothing more than a pair of way too revealing knickers and a black tank top tonight, you made yourself comfortable on the carpeted floor of the bedroom in your flat, grabbing the huge pillow as well as a mug of hot chocolate already waiting for you.

You reached for the remote control to switch on your TV, lazily zapping through the various channels in search for a good film to watch before going to bed when suddenly, a news channel caught your attention.

A brunette reporter, standing in front of a green screen showing footage of a collection of grey concrete buildings on fire, hurried to rattle off the words written on the monitor behind the camera. These… these were the TVA headquarters.

“The fire department assumes the fire was caused by a leaking gas pipe or oil tank, they preclude the possibility of a wilful action towards occupants of the building complex. Until now, the firefighters recovered twenty-two dead bodies, with a final number of deaths not yet confirmed. More than thirty-four people are still missing.”

“No… oh my God, please, no…” Squeezing your eyes shut, you took a few deep and controlled breaths to fend off a panic attack. This wasn’t real. Your headquarters were not on fire. You were dreaming, having a nightmare messing with your mind.

While the greater public had no idea this building was the base of TVA, that this place had become your second home… all of the research, all of the unique technical equipment, all of the documents harbouring records of the complex composition of the multiverse, all of the prisoners you kept from tearing apart your understanding of time… gone, turned to ash.

“Beautiful, is it not? Everything is ablaze.” You screeched, flinching away from the dark figure appearing right next to your cowering form at the foot of your bed and knocking over your mug in the process.

The pale light of the TV threw eerie shadows on his flawless face, supporting his mischievous and downright threatening gaze. You stumbled back on your hands and knees when Loki took a step forward, briefly eyeing the dark stain spreading on the carpet.

“Hmm, what was that, cocoa? I rather enjoy this Midgardian beverage.”

“You… how did you…” You stuttered, unable to form a functioning sentence. Fear replaced the blood pumping through your veins, your heart pounding at light speed. He was here. How had he even found you?

“Free myself?” He finished nonchalantly. “I warned you not to underestimate me, pet. And what would happen if you caged me like a curiosity.” He added with a dangerous growl.

“W-what… what do you want from me?”

Would he kill you? Take revenge on you for making him a prisoner? To think that only minutes ago, you had considered offering him your alliance… You could not deny the effect he had on your body, your mind, your entire being. It had all started in the interrogation room, when he had seemed to look directly into your soul with those stunning blue eyes of his… his attractiveness and sex appeal only made this worse. You did not want to fear him and yet, you were terrified. Could you possibly explain to him you had meant to return to him tomorrow, proposing him an alternative to a dull cell?

“First and foremost, I will need a place to stay.” Your eyes widened when he produced the handcuffs he had been shackled with seemingly out of thin air and fingered them thoughtfully. Your heart skipped a beat when his scrutinising gaze met yours, a mischievous smirk growing on his lips. “And you, my pet, have, during our little talk, proven to be quite the reliable source of information. I shall use that to my advantage.”

Unable to combat his unnatural speed, you gasped when he stroke and grabbed your wrists firmly, cuffing them together fast and effortlessly. The cold metal on your naked skin made you shiver.

“This is to ensure you don’t rush into mischiefs.” He explained mockingly. “It would be unwise to consider me a role model in your current position.”

“Loki…” You started, willing your voice to sound strong and determined. “You don’t have to do this. Please…”

The God of Mischief chuckled darkly. “Do I not? Now, I have important matters to attend to, my dear, and I can’t have you foiling my plans.” You gasped once more when he cupped your chin, albeit surprisingly tenderly, and forcing you to look him in the eye again. “It appears you are my prisoner now. If I were you, I would not hope for your pathetic little friends to come to your rescue. They are, as of right now, occupied with not burning alive.”

He released you then, moving away from you slowly and reaching for one of the pillows on your bed to shake it out to his liking. Only now did you notice how tired and worn-out he looked, like escaping and wreaking havoc in TVA’s headquarters had demanded all of his strength.

He must have known you were not in the building. How long, you wondered, had he been watching you? While you studied him… had he been studying you, too? What would become of you now? Harley Quinn? Panic rose in your body, making your stomach churn. If Loki truly planned to implant himself in your flat, using it as a hideout, you were all but lost.

Your life as a TVA agent was but a secret one. You had no friends outside of this organisation and barely still kept in touch with your family, if anything to protect them from potential threats. No one would ever find you. Your life was in Loki’s hands.

“Please… please, just don’t hurt me.” You pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. Loki paused, his blue eyes locking with yours once more. He almost seemed… taken aback by your silent confession.

“I have no intention of hurting you.” He said. Oddly, they felt like the most honest words he had spoken to you yet.

He threw the covers back, quite obviously feeling at home already.

You had forgotten you were still cowering on the floor, your arms immobilised by the magic handcuffs. Eyeing the bed longingly, Loki smirked when he noticed your inner struggle, if anything to point out how much he enjoyed having you shudder for fear and reverence before him.

“You are more than welcome to share the bed with me, pet. I will not relinquish the presence of warm female body next to mine as I rest and recover.”

Mutely, you shook your head. But what other choice did you have? To sleep on the hard floor with nothing but a pillow? Trembling, you rose to your feet as gracefully as you could muster with your hands cuffed together, slowly approaching the other side of the bed.

It took you a moment to nestle down, feeling Loki’s eyes on you with every move you made. You did not dare look at him again, fearing your heart would not be able to take it.

With a wave of his hand, Loki switched off the TV, drowning the bedroom in utter darkness, then, you felt the mattress sinking in directly next to you. Breathing heavily, you turned your back to him, curling up like a fetus.

“Good night, (Y/N).” Your heart jumped when he spoke your name with his smooth voice—you could practically hear his scornful smirk behind you. “Sweet dreams.”

There was something about his presence… something alluring. You bit your lower lip, forcing your eyes shut. I have no intention of hurting you. You believed him. Perhaps this was what scared you the most.

A/N: I am strongly tempted to write a Part II. I will need some time though.

EDIT: Well, here’s Part II then. xD

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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alovesongshewrote · 4 years

Text

Almost A Thousand Years - Witch Hunt | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot: You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years. You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years. And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain. But somewhere in that time, things changed. [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count: 4,463

Warnings: i swear some more and uh... i can’t really give a warning, it’s spoilers. you’ll probably like it tho, i promise

A/N: today’s a/n shout out goes to @furblrwurblr for drawing femboy hooters douxie and fucking cursing me

Taglist: @furblrwurblr @rainningdoom @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458 @sitherin-mxschief @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip @dolphincommander

Back | Next

“I told you the boy was bad news Master,” past you said with way too much pride in their voice for your liking.

“Oh, would you shut up?”

“So you’re me from the future, then? Tell me, how do you end up travelling time with the likes of that git?”

“Oi, shut your mouth you little-” Douxie put his hand over your mouth, effectively shutting you up for the time being.

“Calm down (Y/N), please,”

Both you and your past self said “No,” in unison. It would have been funny in literally any other situation, but alas, this was what fate handed to you.

“All of you, silence! Have you any idea what you’ve done? I knew my apprentice was an ignoramus, but travelling through time? Time!”

You felt a very strong urge to scream, but fortunately, Douxie was doing the talking.

“I think we handled ourselves just fine, all things considered. And technically, it was your idea,”

“Damn right,”

“Well, then, you must have botched it up! My planning is flawless!”

“For the record, Master, I had nothing to do with this. He did, which is me, and… ugh! Time travel, so confusing!” past Douxie was awake, and you decided right then if anyone said anything else you were going to knock him, your past self, and Merlin unconscious just for some peace and quiet.

“Aah! The timelines are in complete disarray!”

Oop, that counted as saying something, “They’re about to be in more disarray,”

“Seriously, (Y/N), calm down,”

“Don’t you talk to me… us? Like that!” past you was a little confused, but they still had the spirit. It was the wrong kind of spirit, but spirit nonetheless. You sighed, knowing that Douxie was right.

“No, (Y/N)? Me? Whatever. He’s right, I just need a second,”

Past you froze in absolute shock while Douxie's past self decided to relish in the fact that you were wrong.

Present Douxie didn’t have a lot of patience for this, “Look, both of you, quiet down for a second. Master, I can fix this, I swear!”

“Ah-ah, your meddling has already wreaked enough havoc on history!”

“Then surely we can use the time map to change things back, and then it’ll all be as it was,” Archie said as you, your Douxie and the familiar surrounded Merlin, your focus on the time map in your former master's hands.

“It doesn’t work that way. The map only offers glimpses of possible futures! There are no detailed instructions,”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Douxie said, reaching towards the device before Merlin slapped his apprentice’s hand away causing both of your hands to sting.

“Ow. Look, life doesn't come with instructions, and we live through it every day without causing too much damage. We can manage this! It’ll be fine,”

“Not that bad, eh? It’ll be fine, eh!?” Merlin said before revealing just what the time map had to show you.

King Arthur was on the ground, dead. Needless to say, that was not good.

“Oh, fuzzbuckets,” Both Douxies and your past self said.

“Oopsie,” you grimaced at the consequences of your actions.

“Your little dungeon break must have changed fate! Now, unless I stop it, the king will die!”

Merlin stormed out of the room, off, probably, to fix your mistakes. Beside you, your Douxie groaned, bracing himself against the table. You put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

“Seriously, how can you stand to touch him?”

It was your turn to groan. You didn’t even look at your past self as you responded, “Because he is my friend and I care about him,”

It may have been a risky statement, one that could doom both you and your wizard, but the smile on Douxie’s face was worth it.

“I don’t understand, how can you-”

Douxie cut off his past self, “You’ll understand when you’re older. Now, you two stay here, we have to go,” he grabbed your hand, and you left to find Claire or anything else that would help save the future. Whichever came first.

It was Claire. Claire came first. You could hear the knights cheering from your place in the shadows. The noise was a decent cover-up for your conversation.

“They’re hunting Jim! If they catch him, he’ll be killed!”

“I know, and he’s not the only one. Because of us, Arthur’s now fated to eat the big one, too!”

“Eat the what? Oh, no, was I supposed to bring food?”

“He’ll be eating a death sandwich, Steve,”

“Ugh, who would eat that? Gross,”

Douxie groaned, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little. Times were tough, but that didn’t stop you from admitting that Steve absolutely had a point.

“Look, if Arthur dies, we lose the Battle of Killahead and the war,”

“Which will probably mess up time so much, you’ll never be able to return home,” Archie said, pawing his way around your hiding space.

“At least, not our home,” you glared at the ground, as if the dirt was the reason the world was at stake.

“Oh no! Toby!”

You looked up at the time map just in time to see the War Hammer disappear into a blue mist. That could not be a good sign.

“What’s happening to him?”

“The future- our future, is vanishing!”

“There’s gotta be a way to fix this,” you said, using the time map, searching through time to find something that would save your home. Among the red, there was a moment of blue. You paused as an image of Arthur and Morgana getting along flashed into the sphere.

“What’s that?” Claire asked before you had the chance to ask the same thing.

“Well, that wasn’t there before. It’s a new timeline, one where Arthur and Jim live,”

“And Morgana’s the hero? I thought she was destined to become Mistress Doom,”

“No, you’re thinking Mistress of all Dark Magic. Mistress of Doom is… something else,”

“What?” Douxie paused, looking at you with vast amounts of suspicion.

“You’d be surprised by some of the house calls I’ve made. Now, keep talking,”

Douxie shook his head, but he was smiling. Good. You loved that smile.

“It looks like there’s a possibility if we get Arthur and Morgana to reconcile, then somehow, nobody dies,”

“I don’t think I have to say that that’s the outcome we want!”

You took a moment just to look at Douxie’s face. In this small moment of victory, which was over too soon, he looked happier than you’d seen him in a while. Of course, you never saw his face when he looked at you.

“Squire Steve! We are all thirsty!” and bam, moment over. Thanks, Gallahad.

“I’ll keep an eye on Morgana. Douxie, you work on Arthur. (Y/N), Steve, make sure they don’t kill my boyfriend,”

“We’re on it. Don’t die out there, guys,”

“We won’t,” Douxie said, taking one last look at you before he ran off. You and Steve did the same.

About a minute in, you could feel things going wrong. Your chest hurt as if you’d crashed to the floor. It wasn’t awful, so you ignored it and kept moving forward, following Steve and the knights and making a mental note to make sure Douxie was ok when you had time. A smirk made its way onto your face when said wizard knocked his past self out. You couldn’t imagine that it was good for him, but if he could still perform magic, he was ok.

And after that, things were okay.

At least for you.

Douxie was having a difficult time getting Arthur to listen to him. Magic, as always, turned out to be a useful tool. The king and his sister began their reconciliation, but something was troubling him. He saw the way they looked at the illusion of Gweneviere. They had both loved her. Arthur even called Gwen “the heart of him,” and they had lost her. He could see the grief on their faces, how it killed the king and weighed down the sorceress was clear to anyone who looked at them the right way.

This was not the first time Douxie contemplated his fear of losing you. He’d been afraid of that for a long time, and one could say that he was used to the familiar sense of anxiety that made itself at home within him whenever you were in danger. But now? Now he looked at the faces of the royal family and realized that losing you would completely destroy him.

Douxie was already a selfless person, one who would sacrifice everything he was to save the world, but right then, he decided that he would sacrifice the world to save you. You were the world to him.

But he couldn’t focus on that right now. He had a job to do.

So did you. And Steve was not making it any easier.

“Kill the beast!”

“Wait, kill? I thought this was catch and release!”

“Oh, my g- ok, come on, Steve,”

You grabbed the boy by his armour and dragged him along as you followed the group, stopping dead when you reached the troll that the guards spoke of.

Arthur’s men had slung chains around the creature, restricting its movement to next to nothing. You were not okay with this.

“Squire Steve, will you do the honours?” Lancelot asked, tossing his sword to the boy.

The boy whimpered, very obviously uncomfortable with this. He turned to you, eyes desperately searching for instructions on what to do in this situation. You shook your head, trying to get across that needless murder should probably be avoided.

Whether or not Steve got the message, you would never know. The troll jumped at the teen. You jumped in front of him, creating a shield with your magic, and Arthur jumped in front of you, swinging a sword at the troll and putting himself in some pretty needless danger. You couldn’t talk on that subject though. When it came to needless danger, you were freaking royalty.

“Careful, young squire, witch,” he spat out your title like it was a curse, “Show these beasts no sympathy,”

He kicked the troll into the sunlight, turning it to stone instantly. You looked on with disappointment as the guards cheered.

Behind you, Steve whimpered again. You turned, hoping to provide some comfort, or calm the kid down at least, when you froze, your blood running cold. Behind Steve stood Bular, aka the Troll who kept trying to kill you.

“Shit,”

The Gumm-Gumm prince knocked Steve aside, advancing and attacking the guards. He hadn't noticed you yet, and you intended to keep it that way, staying out of the troll's field of view, and going after Steve instead. You helped the boy up and off the ground. He wasn't injured, but you realized that the king was about to be.

Before you could do anything, Douxie and Merlin had things under control, saving Arthur and taking out the troll prince. You breathed a sigh of relief. If things went well, Bular wouldn’t see you. Very few things ever went well, but you had your fingers crossed.

And it worked! For once, things went your way. Arthur knocked the Gumm-Gumm out with a kick to the face. Sure, he said some very menacing and antagonistic things right after, but you had no thoughts in your head other than, “Well, that was convenient,”

You watched the guards take Bular away, taking note of Morgana questioning who the real monster was. If Bular hadn’t tried to kill you and your friends and hadn’t successfully gotten you tortured a couple decades ago, you might have agreed with that. Unfortunately, he had.

You hadn’t realized that you’d lost yourself in memories until Douxie said your name.

“-(Y/N), are you alright, love?”

“I-” you watched them take the troll out of sight, “I will be,”

Your wizard took one of your hands, squeezing it, “I’m right here if you need me,”

“I know,”

It was silent for a moment. Then you heard the knights calling Steve.

“I should go,”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,”

“But I should. Someone needs to make sure that kid doesn’t run into any more high ranking Gumm-Gumms,”

Douxie seemed hesitant, but he respected your choice, “Stay safe,”

“You too,”

From the corner of her eye, Morgana watched you and Douxie. She wasn’t focused on it, per-say, but she did find it odd. Were Merlin’s apprentices not constantly at each other’s throats? She ignored it for now and moved on.

Things went decently for you after that. The forest was peaceful, the knights were quiet. Everything was chill until Steve decided to walk through a trap. You weren’t sure why he didn’t just stop. Kids these days, honestly.

You winced as the arrows hit his armour and his skin. Beside you, Gallahad and Lancelot were absolutely losing their shit. You had to admit, it was kind of funny, but you were also concerned for your friend. You put up a shield around him, sheltering the teen from any further arrow-related damage. Needless to say, the knights were very disappointed.

“Oh, come on, now! Don’t spoil all the fun,”

“It was fun for the first minute. Now I’m concerned for his health,”

“Really? Merlin’s witch apprentice showing concern? Well then, we’ve found something rarer than the holy grail!”

You took a moment, keeping up your shields as the king and his guards moved through the trap, Lancelot and Gallahad now supporting Steve.

It was weird to see how much you’d changed. Talking to your past self had been surreal, and a decent reminder of what a little shit you had been, but you hadn’t considered the specifics. Past you was a scared kid doing what their king told them to. Under Gunmar, you didn’t have any interests or hobbies outside of getting stronger and staying alive. Even after you left, you really didn’t start to become who you were now for a few centuries. You'd been scared that the Gumm-Gumms would come for you at any moment, and that fear wouldn't leave you until at least the fifteen hundreds. You suddenly felt enormous amounts of guilt weighing on your shoulders. Guilt about what you’d forced your past self to go through, that you never got a childhood worth having, that you hadn’t been a person for so long that it took centuries to take a real interest in something. And you felt guilty about how you’d treated other living things. You knew now that everyone who could be saved deserved saving, but the child you were in the twelfth century didn’t know that.

But you couldn’t fix the past, even though you were now reliving it. The only thing you could do was forgive yourself.

And so you did.

Then you ran after the knights to see if Steve was okay.

He was. Teenagers are surprisingly resilient, that’s how they can do dumb things and not die. You counted Steve coming out of that trap mostly unscathed as a win. What wasn’t a win was Lancelot spotting Jim and Callista, looking at what appeared to be Jim’s phone.

You had no idea if that would affect the space-time continuum, but what would affect you personally was your friends getting shot. And Lancelot was aiming a crossbow at them. Great.

Beside you, you could hear Steve’s internal panic. This time he didn’t turn to you, instead, he chose to act, smacking the crossbow out of the knight’s hands. The arrow still fired, but there was still time. You put a spell on the arrow, knocking it off course a little more and lessening the impact. However, there was still an impact. You could hear as much from the trolls below you.

Lancelot lined up another shot, but Steve knocked the weapon aside again, and you used your magic to push the crossbow out of reach. It didn’t do much, but it bought your friends some much needed time. The knight thrust the crossbow at Steve, clearly frustrated.

“What if we just let this one go?” Steve’s efforts were admirable, you’d give him that much

“You never let them go,”

Lancelot turned away from you to face the king, who was rallying his soldiers.

You put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Hey, you did a good thing, kid,”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” Steve’s voice shook slightly, and you felt awful. If you had time, you probably would have hugged him, told him everything was going to be okay, and maybe adopted him, but right now, you had to find some way to protect Jim.

The knights ran off, leaving you and Steve watching them go.

Douxie and Merlin came out of the bushes, clearly in pursuit of the king. They called out to him before running off again.

“C’mon Steve, we have to follow them,”

The boy, who was still shaken, nodded, following behind you as you ran after everyone else.

Things were not going well. Morgana and Arthur were fighting, knights were surrounding the area, and Lancelot was firing arrows at children.

Claire was skilled enough to fend for herself, scaring Lancelot, but before the knight could say anything that everyone would regret, Steve knocked him out with a large rock. You were a bit surprised, but also very pleased.

“Whoa, man, that troll- that came out of nowhere! Right guys?”

Lancelot woke, only for Steve to hit him again. You were very proud.

“Nice one, Steve!”

“Thanks! Uh, can you do your doctor thing? Make sure I didn’t kill him?”

You kind of doubted that Lancelot had been killed by the rock, but head trauma exists in every century, so you nodded and began your assessment. You managed to focus up and do your work, ignoring the clanging metallic noise of the battle before you. Then the pain hit you. It was like you’d been thrown back into a tree, but that hadn’t happened, so what was- Douxie!

You rushed your assessment, focused on the ache in your spine, “He isn’t dead, Steve, you’re in the clear,”

The teenager punched the air, saying something that you weren’t paying attention to.

“Sorry, kid, I’ll be right back,”

That was kind of a lie. You weren’t sure when you’d be back.

You made your way to Douxie’s side, helping him up as Morgana sent a beam of gold magic into the sky, before bringing it down on the earth like a whip. Your wizard pulled you close to him, trying to shield you from the magic. Had she been paying attention, Morgana would have declared this officially strange, but at the moment she was fighting her brother and former mentor.

You, Claire and Douxie thought it would be a good idea to try and reason with the angry sorceress.

“Stop! We found another way!”

“It doesn’t have to be like this!”

“We can do this peacefully!”

“The time for peace ended long ago,”

“Morgana,” Claire called out, “He’s not the enemy,”

Morgana continued to rant, but you were a little distracted by the fact that she was now flying. It wasn’t the best choice either of you had made, but you and Douxie got closer, just in time for the sorceress to cast a spell, creating shadow-like clones of herself.

“Oh, buckets,” Douxie said as shadow-clones appeared before all of you.

“Yeah, that,” you drew your sword. There wasn’t much left to do but fight.

Unfortunately, you were in the minority when it came to having a weapon. You watched as your friends struggled and dodged, eventually backing away, but wherever they went the shadows followed (as shadows are wont to do.)

Your small group found their way to a cliff, overlooking the ocean. You recognized this place, but you weren’t sure how.

You could hear Merlin call for someone to protect the king, but you were a little busy fighting for your life at that moment.

Somehow, you found an opening and sliced through the clone. You only enjoyed your victory for a moment before Douxie was thrown to the ground, causing you both to wince from the pain. You were about to make your way over to him when Arthur pointed his sword towards the sky, drawing a spell into the blade and releasing it into the ground, knocking everyone back and banishing the shadow-clones.

Douxie helped you up before you both ran to get the time map. The sphere flickered from red to blue. You looked out into the sunset and suddenly realized where you recognized this place from.

Morgana’s name left your lips and Douxie’s at the same time. The time map’s sphere showed the sorceress’s body.

You and your wizard ran towards the duelling siblings in a last attempt to stop them, but you were once again blown back.

You screamed as Morgana fell off the cliff for the second time in your life.

You couldn’t remember walking back to the castle.

You knew you must’ve done it because you would remember being carried back, but you didn’t know how you got from the cliff to Camelot.

And now Claire was talking, “She’s gone. We failed,” as if you needed reminding.

“No,” Douxie’s voice came from beside you, “I failed. Master, I-I’m so sorry,”

“This is why you don’t meddle with time,”

You didn’t even sass Merlin about how this was his idea. You were out of sass at the moment. Your head was full of static as you tried to process things.

“But I tried, I tried to fix it,” Douxie fell to his knees, his eyes on the still flickering time map.

Correction, your brain was full of static and heartbreak. You knelt beside your wizard, putting your hands on his shoulders as he focused on the time map.

“Don’t you see, boy? There is no ‘fixing’ anything, Every change has consequence. Knowing the future is a responsibility to bear with caution, lest you cause the worst things to happen,”

You couldn’t look Merlin in the eye. Even as he walked away, you didn’t watch him go.

“Morgana’s dead, Excalibur's broken. This never happened,”

“We are in uncharted territory,” Archie said, coming closer to you and Douxie, allowing the wizard to pat him.

The pain in your chest was his. The utter anguish he felt over failing to fix things stabbed through you. And it wasn’t just that. He had failed Claire, and Steve, and Jim. He had failed Merlin, and Toby and Camelot. But the worst thing was he had failed you. He had destroyed your future, and now you were stuck here. The very thought of it ripped through him, and you felt all of it.

You bit your lip, just then realizing what that day was.

As if he realized what was to come, Archie took a few steps back, wandering away from the two of you.

“Hey, Doux,” he turned to look at you, the sorrow in his eyes eating you alive, “This was the night. In our timeline, anyway,”

“What?”

“Where was that fight again? Merlin’s study? The staircase? The throne room?”

“(Y/N)?”

“If we wait outside, do you think we’ll see it happen?”

The pieces fell into place for him, too.

“I don’t even know if it will,”

You waited a moment.

“Who knows. We hated each other enough, we might still get cursed,” The joking tone in your voice made you both smile, even though it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Seriously, though, Douxie. I think whatever bond Merlin gave us, I-” you took a deep breath, knowing that what you said next would definitely damn you both. But that didn’t matter. He needed to hear this.

“I think it was the best thing that ever happened to me. You are the best thing that ever happened to me,”

Douxie looked surprised, only for a second, before his eyes cast their gaze to the ground, to the time map that sat closed on the floor. “Are you sure?”

His voice was so quiet you barely heard him, and it was so sad, so scared, that you could feel your heart shatter into a million pieces right then and there, “Yeah,” your voice felt like it would break at any minute, “Yeah, I’m sure,”

Your predictions were correct. Your voice broke and tears came to your eyes, much to your embarrassment.

“(Y/N),” Douxie turned his body towards yours, taking your face in his hands, “You-” he took a second, also feeling that his voice would fail him at any minute, “You mean everything to me, and I-I ruined your future. We don’t have a home to go back to, and it’s my fault, I-”

“Douxie,” you cut him off, “As long as I’m with you, I’m home. If we have to, we’ll just build a new future, together,” you ran a hand through his hair. This was it. This is what was going to kill you, “I love you, Hisirdoux Casperan,”

There was silence.

And then his lips were on yours.

Do you remember the kiss in the 80s? Yeah, that was child’s play compared to this.

Your lips fit together perfectly, his hands glided over your back, pulling you closer to him. Your hands held his face, swiping away at the tears that threatened to fall. You found your bottom lip captured between his. A gasp escaped you when he bit down. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but it was enough for your heart to race a little faster, if that was even possible, and tighten your grip just a little. You could almost feel his pulse racing, and you were absolutely certain he could feel yours. Your last kiss had been everything in your past, but this kiss was your future. It was a promise that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

And then you remembered exactly what it was that your future held.

T'was a mood killer.

You broke the kiss, almost unwillingly and definitely wanting more, but Douxie had been right. He should know what, “I don’t want to kill you anymore,” meant.

Also, there was a loud crash and bright lights from one of the towers, and that was pretty distracting.

“Those damn kids. Did we really fight so much?”

That almost got a laugh from you, but you had something else to focus on right now. You rested your forehead against his for a moment, just breathing for a second before your spoke, your voice low, “Douxie, I have to explain some stuff,”

“What is it, darling?”

“You were right, there’s some stuff you should know. Doux, I think now is later,”

You bit your lip before standing and motioning for him to follow you into the castle, “Let’s go,”

#hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux imagine #almost a thousand years #aaty #hisirdoux #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #toa douxie #toa hisirdoux #angst #fluff #kissing

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crossdreamers · 4 years

Text

This trans woman supported the “gender critical” TERFs. Then she realized that she had joined a transphobic cult.

Sometimes trans people end up supporting the ones that that belittle and marginalize transgender people. This is not as strange as it sounds. They might have grown up in the same transphobic culture as, let’s say, religious fundamentalist fanatics or the trans-exclusionary, “gender critical”, radical feminists (TERFs). Even “normal” culture reflects the fear of sex and gender variation. Do they internalize the transphobia and/or the homophobia of the surrounding society.

This twitter thread of @Kinsys gives us one such story.

//I'm having this massive *duh* moment right now. When I first started becoming popular with the GC [Gender Critical/Trans-exclusionary radical feminist] crowd, a lot of trans people tried to sway me away from it. They called me bootlicker, quisling, TERF, truscum, and more. Some of the more compassionate ones tried to warn me.

"They'll turn on you eventually", they said. I didn't think so. At the time, I was still wet behind the ears and confident that I could good faith my way into solving the problems. I didn't see prejudice, I saw legitimate concerns and people frustrated by their inability to speak.

I realized that they needed a voice, someone who could stand up and speak The Truth, and on whom the accusations of transphobia would sound utterly absurd.

After all, I am trans.

After all, I was defending Reality.

But looking back, it turns out I was joining a cult.

It's suddenly clear to me that I was, in fact, bootlicking. I just couldn't see it because it wasn't GC boots I found so tasty. It was an entire lifetime of internalized homophobia and transphobia. I was driven to justify my existence to facsimiles of my family.

It wasn't just that, though. It's not as if I didn't, and don't, genuinely care about women's rights. In fact I cared very much and still do. But there are many perspectives on women's rights, and I chose to defend the one that most closely mimicked the values of The Cult.

It was, on some level, a subconscious attempt at putting myself through another unorthodox round of conversion therapy. I wanted to agree with their views on trans people, because if I could then it might be possible to redefine myself by them. I wanted to fix my transness.

Earlier, reading a long, cathartically ranty blog post linked by @surfacingwater, I began to realize a rather pesky truth I've been trying to hide beneath an attractive labyrinth of nuance: I have never truly accepted that I'm LGBT.

Alongside my love affair with GC ideas, I was also busy exploring Blanchardism [this is a reference to the transphobic autogynephilia theory]. If GC ideology represented my mother's perspective (I was a small child when she became the first to tell me, bitterly, that trans women were mutilated men), then Blanchardism represented my father.

It was cold observation, and required unflinching reflection. It was a new echo of so many moments in which my father grabbed my jaw and forced me to look him in the eye, admit I wasn't telling him the truth, and open my soul to him or else Hell.

GC ideology wanted me to believe that trans women are all just mutilated men, and fuck our pain, our effort. Especially if you're one of those fetishists Blanchard was kinder but no less firm: it's cool you are who you are, he said. Just admit that you're a perverted fetishist.

It's easy to see why this eventually created a mental health crisis. But while I was in it, being torn three ways, it made it possible for me to entertain the notion that I was actually Cis. It let me gaslight myself into believing I could actually be a straight man.

But I was never a straight man. I was always a queer. In high school, people identified me as a "faggot" and it didn't matter how much I protested. They bullied me just the same. And I knew on some level they were right. I knew I was different. I knew it showed.

So I worked to fix it. I spent years learning unnatural body language. I learned to pass for straight, most of the time, anyway. "Why do you look like you're posing all the time?" People would ask. "I'm not!!!" I would snap, while double-checking that I wasn't sitting wrong.

I've tried to hash this out a thousand times, invalidate it over and over but the truth is that I'm a really feminine human. I was a feminine kid, a really, really scared one. I wanted to be anything other than who and what I was.

But reading that long post was like a reflection of everything I spent my entire life trying to avoid. I wanted to be liked, because if people like you they don't abuse you, and in my world abuse was the default. So much so I couldn't understand why trans people fought back.

It was, and has always been, a desperate attempt to generate an illusion of control. But we can't control it. And I can't stop existing as myself any more than anyone else can. I *am* everything I was ever afraid I'd be: Trans, Homosexual, Fetishist, Irrational.

And I finally just realized that I don't need to justify my fucking existence. I don't need to tell you the contents of my soul, father. They're mine. I can keep them, I can love them, and if society hates me for them that's on them. It's not me, society, it's you.

And with this I finally understand what I should have figured out long ago: Justification isn't possible. We have a right to exist. We have a right to exist exactly as we are, without needing to justify it, without needing to prove our value.

And all these people bitching about "biology" can fuck right the fuck off, because this *is* my biology and it's not a joke. Most importantly, our suffering isn't about you. That's the whole GC problem: they're actually narcissistic enough to believe we're about them.

As for Blanchard, maybe he's right, maybe he's not. Maybe he's sometimes right, maybe not. Maybe he was then and isn't now. I don't know. The truth is I don't care. I don't see how on earth it matters. What matters is how we treat people. What matters is how we treat ourselves.

And no one is going to give us a space. We spend our childhoods rejected by boys and kicked across the yard by men loudly wondering why we don't hurry up and stand. Then these supposed women's rights groups accuse us of trying to infiltrate as if they're the center of our world.

And god forbid anyone come out as an enby: all of society will join in on the mockery. Sections of society shuffle us around endlessly like hotels that have only just happened to fill up, sorry. Try the next one, they'll take you.

So we have to fight for rights. We have to. Because being nice won't work. Being nice just means you get to be privy to 1001 conversations about how horrible people like you are. Every word indirectly slicing your self-esteem to ribbons. But at least they aren't calling you a man.

The fight isn't about what we always were. It's about creating a new way to look at the world that includes us as normal. It's about preventing further abuse. It's about solving the problem for future generations. That's what rights activism is about. That's why it matters.

And to all the actual TERFs out there bitching about how "the mask has fallen" and how I'm "showing my true colors": It's cause for celebration, no?//

Thread and comments here.

Top illustration by Henry James Garrett @henryjgarrett.

#transgender #trans #lgbt #lgbtqa #gender critical #TERF #transphobia #enby #nonbinary #gc

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annes-andromeda · 4 years

Text

Fanon Marvel cause they got I S S U E S

This isn’t really a fanfic thing, more or less what I envision the MCU would be in MY head. Granted not everyone’s gonna agree with these points, but that’s fine. Well all got our own opinions☺️

Q: Who survives the Snap in Fanon?

A: Steve, Thor, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Nebula, Gamora, Rhodey, Rocket, Scott, Okoye, Shuri, Pepper, Wong, Valkyrie, Loki, and Tony

Q: Will anyone be recast?

A: Yes. Monica Rambeau is Captain Marvel instead of Carol Danvers. Make of that as you will.

Q: Are there gonna be any major changes?

A: Not for the most part, as I haven’t watched all the Marvel movies. However, these would be the most prominent ones:

* T*ny Stark is an anti-villain. His story has been changed to mostly fit the Superior Iron Man storyline. The IM trilogy would stay the same since I haven’t seen them, as well as the first two Avengers movies. However, he gets his immediate change in Civil War, where we find out that he worked for HYDRA the whole time, and wanted the Avengers to sign the Accords so the organization didn’t get found out. I feel it would’ve been interesting if we had seen Tony turn from a man who pretended to help others survive, into a man who only ever did things to help himself survive. If you don’t like this change: well then suck it cause it’s my fanon🙃

* Steve and Thor are in a relationship. This is mostly a personal preference, but I genuinely think they’d be a good couple. Their feelings would begin to come out in AOU, after the party scene. The two have a drink, slow dance, and confess there feelings. Simple, but cute (I think). Steve would think of Thor in Civil War, while Thor would have a scene in Ragnarok, in which he calls Steve and gets his opinion on everything that has happened to him (Odins death, Hela, losing Mjolnir etc). In Infinity War, they reunite and share a big kiss Pirates of the Caribbean style. As for Endgame: Steve doesn’t go to the past (I.e fucking up the timeline and Peggy’s happy life) and Thor stays on New Asgard to rule as King, with his consort by his side.

* CA:CW- People like Rhodey and Natasha don’t just immediately agree to the Accords. Instead, they go undercover and try to find out what the government is actually doing; Peter is on Team Iron Man until he finds out that Tony is HYDRA. It sucks that M*rvel really out here just making Peter iron boy instead of... ya know... Spider-Man; Civil War has a scene where Steve reminisces on his mother (his real moral compass fight me) and we focus more on him and less on Tinkie’s man pain; Instead of Tony being upset that Bucky killed both of his parents, he’d only get upset about his mother, as he actually wanted his father dead. Got this idea from a post where basically a bunch of people were talking about how Tony was probably HYDRA the whole time, which is where I got the idea. Feel free to add anything else.

* IW: Loki and Gamora don’t die. I feel like they killed off Loki a little too early since he was just getting the arc he so desperately needed. While I don’t really know what to do with him yet, I do know that he’ll be in a relationship with Valkyrie. I mean, did you see their fight scene? The sexual tension. As for Gamora, well we all practically hated it when she died and hated it even more when they brought her 2014 counterpart back from the past. Someone on Quora said that an alternative for Thanos to sacrifice on Vormir could be Ebony Maw, as out of all of Thanos’s children, he worshipped him the most. Maybe Thanos would hesitate as this was his most loyal child, but he does it cause gotta wipe out half the universe or whatever. It wouldn’t be as tragic tho, but (1) that’s the price we gotta pay for Gamora to stay alive, and (2) are we reeeaaally supposed to pity Thanos? Thanos? The guy who only ever fell in love with Death???. Anyways back to Gamora: I actually wanna do something for her. If you’ve ever seen RWBY, one of the main characters essentially loses her arm when she tried to save her friend. I know it sounds cruel for Gamora to loose a limb, but hey, sometimes you just like seeing your fav characters suffer🤷‍♀️. I was thinking it could go two ways:

- (1): Gamora loses her arm like the character in RWBY i.e, saving one of her friends like Mantis, Quill, or Nebula.

- Or (2): Thanos uses the Reality Stone to make the Guardians + Peter and Strange think that they have the upper hand. Strange uses his magic to hold Thanos down while the others try taking off the Infinity gauntlet. Once the gauntlet is nearly loose, Quill would try to strike him, as Nebula realizes that the whole thing is an illusion. But before she could warn the others it’s too late, and Gamora looses an arm to her boyfriend, leaving him and everyone in complete shock. I like this option more, as it would show not only just how cruel Thanos is, but that he never really loved Gamora. He just favored her above all his other kids. And hey, I’m a sap for angst.

* Feel free to add anything else.

* EG: So in the first bullet, I already said which characters survive the snap and that Captain Marvel isn’t Carol, but Monica. Aside from that, I haven’t really thought much of what to do with Endgame. Surprisingly, it’s difficult to write a better story for this one. What I would most like to happen, however, is more character moments. Thor’s PTSD and traumas being taken more seriously, and instead of him gaining weight he loses it (cause according to Tinkie’s dumb rant that’s what gets an audience to take your turmoil seriously. Pls don’t hate me for this decision). Bruce doesn’t turn into Professor Hulk, and his traumas are actually talked about. Also he gets closure on his relationship with Natasha (I know it’s not that great but I personally like it). Clint dies instead of Nat and we remember that Nat was the leader of the Avengers for like five years. Steve properly mourns his friends and actually acts like Steve Rogers and not a fucking imposter. We actually see what happened in Wakanda after the Snap, with Okoye and Shuri at the head of it all. Also Pepper would be stand in for Tony, cause ya know, she has a life outside of him and is actually smart. And her and Scott help with the Time machine or what other plan I or anyone can come up with. Again, feel free to add anything else.

Q: Will there be any new characters added?

A: For now just one: A robot named Iris (aka Iron Blade), created by Tony for HYDRA. I’ve made a summary of her here:

* Iris is an android created by the billionaire Tony Stark, who possesses a synthetic body made of Tungsten Carbide which is powered by the arc reactor in her chest. For years Stark worked into making Iris highly advanced, while also keeping her secret from the rest of the world until she was ready to be used by the organization HYDRA. She was trained by HYDRA in combat and artificial intelligence, transforming Iris into a dangerous, ruthless killing machine. However, she still managed to keep some essence of personality thanks to Tony, who refused to have her be simply mindless. This resulted in Iris inheriting some of Tony’s more negative traits, while even accepting his lavish lifestyle. Although she may act like him, Iris has her own traits which vary from being charismatic, eloquent, and sophisticated to privileged, arrogant and cruel. Due to HYDRA’s influence, Iris is mostly misguided and blindly follows orders.

* Iris was eventually revealed when Tony tried forcing the Avengers to sign the Sokovia Accords as a means to keep HYDRA underground. She was introduced as a new recruit of the US government, in which she had a hand in writing the Accords. When the Avengers found that Iris was created by not just HYDRA but by Tony, this caused a huge riff in the team. The people on Team Iron Man immediately turn on him once finding out that he created Iris, which in turn resulted in them finding out that not only had he been providing the organization with weapons, but was a member himself. Out of all the team members, Iris has the largest fallout with Bucky Barnes (the former Winter Soldier) and Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow), as she mostly worked as their antithesis, showing what probably would’ve occurred had they never recovered from their manipulation at the hands of corrupt organizations.

* After the fight between Iron Man and Captain America, Iris went into hiding alongside Tony, who was no longer a member of the Avengers. For the next two years, Iris stayed by her creators side as he intended to carry out his boss’s plan. The titan Thanos had ordered Stark to help him eradicate half the universe. Tony agreed to the plan, as he believed that Earth had been ungrateful for his attempts at ‘saving’ the world. He would help Thanos, so long as he ensured his safety and payed him. Iris, programmed to follow orders, agreed to the plan without question.

* Once Thanos arrived on Earth, Iris would go to Wakanda to stop the Avengers from destroying the Mind Stone, all the while Stark attempted to kill the Guardians of the Galaxy, Doctor Strange, and Spiderman (also the only one who knew of Tony’s true alignments). Iris, failing to retrieve the Stone, joins Tony on Titan while Thanos fights the Avengers. Despite the Avengers attempts, Thanos gets the stones and does the Snap, in which Tony and Iris survive and go into hiding once more.

That’s pretty much it. I made this cause I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I wanted to share my opinions. Feel free to add anything or give constructive criticism.

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theaetherhealerffxiv · 4 years

Text

Redemption p4

Chapters Master Post

Ao3 link

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Rating: PG17 for safety

Parings: Wol x Emet-Selch

Summary:

Its over, the winner gets to write the next chapter of the story. So why, pray tell, wont the Warrior of Light let him die?

Chapter Summary:

Awaking back in the Crystarium Hades finds himself bed ridden and at the mercy of the Warrior of Light.

Word count: 5918

The air around him was scorching, the blistering heat upon his skin caused a flush to gently spread across his cheeks, which remained hidden under his mask. His mask was red like the scene before him; falling stars came at high speeds from the sky and pelted the ground with such force that it destroyed whole buildings. In the place of stone, flames licked the very ground melting the various architecture around it; the vegetation so lovingly planted went up like a parched valley of grass during a lightning storm. Then there was the monsters, born from the fear of the people roamed the streets as well, preying on the fallen members of society that could not outrun their fears. On top of the destruction the screams of terror and the littering of his fellows bodies accented the piece like a grim painting. Yet, Hades stood above it all in an ivory tower relatively unscaithed by the termination. He was displaced from the chaos that he desperately wished to quench. At the moment he could turn upon his heel and gather with his fellows, to begin the summoning and attempt to rewrite the laws of their precious star.

Yet he at the same time did not want to be apart of it. Instead Hades wanted to be down among the dead and dying to search for his beloved and his most trusted friend. To wrap her up in his arms and protect her from the beasts and destruction. Clenching his fist he took in a shaking breath, what was the nature of a plan that consisted of giving the planet a will? It was abstract at best - of course he believed it was their best attempt at saving their home, but gazing upon the destruction he could not help but feel that it futile. Hades would rather throw it all away to hold her again; what if she died? What if their magicks succeeded but she died? Could he live with himself if he lost the one that was most precious to him? As he pondered his greatest fears a meteor fell dangerously close to his perch, throwing dirt and scorch marks upon his mask and black robe.

He could leave - he could leave right at that moment. He could forsake the convocation and go to her side. Surely they could summon this will without him; each where powerful in their own right. Hades lifted his head, deciding he would not participate, he would sneak out while they conversed in the room beyond the one he hid away in.

“Ah, this was where you were hiding Emet-selch.” Hades felt shock course through his body like a sickness as he heard his title come from behind him, the voice which spoke it was rough and irritated. He had been spotted, he could no longer flee. Quickly masking as much anger as he could Hades turned to gaze at Lahabrea, whose exposed mouth was turned downward into a harsh grimace that bore wrinkles into the sides of his lips. “Pray tell, why are you out here? We need you for the summoning.”

Feeling his brows bunch together in a deep frown Hades returned to look out at the carnage. He could push past Lahabrea, run outside, look for her. Hades reached into the pocket of his robe, in it a small pouch with a wristband made of his aether. He had been fully prepared to propose to her tomorrow. He did not care enough currently to summon this great being. Hades understood that it was the best bet for the survival of their people, but he just did not care. He could not muster enough emotion to care about it. Instead his entire being was focused on the bloody painting before him. His lips parting as he breathed out her name, a prayer to the Underworld to not call her soul to rest. Clutching the band his gaze was captured by the destruction. A hand suddenly was slapped against his shoulder with such force Hades turned his head to glare with as much venom as he could muster to the person he knew was behind him.

“Emet-Selch,” Now Lahabrea’s voice was low and deadly. Hades leered at him as he continued, his hand digging further into the golden eyed man’s robes. “There is little time for you to be staring at the destruction before you, I care not of your reasons to be doing such an act but we need you to hurry and come so that we can - “

Hades's eyes narrowed, a smirk of pure rage twitching at the sides of his lips. He did not care, he wanted to be with his precious people. “Save the star, write the laws anew.” Hades recited the lines without passion. How many times had he heard them? He had believed in them up until this very moment when faced with the destruction that the termination had wrought upon their home. Shrugging off Lahabrea’s hand he bowed his head, knowing he was caught between a rock and wall. He was a trapped animal; if he forsook his comrades and they succeeded, they would do everything in their power to alienate him. Hades knew if this was the case he would not be able to propose to her, or even show his face in the streets of Amaurot. Shutting his eyes he took a step forward, away from his peer. If they did not succeed, he would have abandoned his love in her time of need. Which was the better punishment? Saving the world and possibly sacrificing the only thing he truly lived for, or forsaking his future if the convocation was successful? Biting the inside of his cheek he struggled with his thoughts; he believed in the plan, even with the dread growing in the pit of his belly. It was illogical, but possible. In his mind, he could see her smiling and telling him to go, succeed, save their home.

To come back home to her arms.

His hand was still in his pocket and he clutched the bag one last time before walking forward with purpose to the room in which the convocation stood whispering to one another. Hades knew Lahabrea was behind him and he chose to ignore it as he took his place in the circle. Once settled into his place Hades took stock of the atmosphere and surroundings. It was the same as always - a tall dark room with chairs that had been pushed back against the wall. The table had been moved as well and in its place a crystal had been placed. Frowning at it Hades turned to look at Elidibus, who smiled at him. It was not a warm smile, or one that created an illusion of understanding and sympathy. It was cold and judging, Elidibus knew Hades was struggling and was judging his actions. Glaring at the white robed man Hades turned away, he would not be judged by the likes of that man.

Reaching up Hades adjusted his mask absentmindedly. Realizing he still felt the heat from the window - in fact he was burning up, sweat dripping from the corners of his hairline. Taking a steadying breath Hades attempted to quell the heat, knowing it was likely futile.

“As our final two members grace our presence, we can now properly begin the incantation.” Elidibus’ voice caused Hades to look back up, the man had his arms outstretched that same smile spread across his face. “I pray that you, my peers, will focus your various magicks upon me. I shall become the conduit for those who have chosen to give their lives for this as well. I shall set the spell in motion so that we may create a being that embodies our planets will.” Leaning his head back Elidibus took in a deep breath, and if it was possible to spread his arms out further. The various souls that had been floating around the room spilled into the man. Hades grimace; the creation power that those souls held was emmese. Could Elidibus truly contain such a power? “Come! We shall write this terrible wrong and save our people!” The white robed man tilted his head back down and smiled, indicating that the rest of those present copied his movements.

Hades lifted his hands to mimic Elidibus’, but as he did so he felt a sting, as if something was sinking its claws deep into his flesh. It was not in one place of his body either, it happened several times over his entire form. He frowned, this was unusual for creation magic - it could drain you but it rarely caused such physical sensations. Regardless, Hades closed his eyes to briefly think of his loved ones, of Hythlodaeus who surely would ask how this went on the morrow, and of her. Of how he would propose to her, place the band upon her wrist and kiss her. Then, Hades released the thoughts before they were pulled into the spell causing it to be altered. Opening his eyes he allowed himself to be swept up with thoughts of creating a will for the planet. He focused all of these thoughts upon Elidibus, along with his magics, channeling all that he had to the white robed man to use freely.

Everything happened quickly, there was a great overflow of magic that came from Elidibus and spread warping the very room itself and obscuring Hades vision as it encased him in a cocoon of darkness. It confused and drew Hades’ curiosity as it spiraled around his arms like vines drawing taunt enough to shape out various body parts from his cloak. Then, the vines changed they grew heavy and became chain-like. Hades jerked back in shock, trying to pull away from the magics but finding himself rooted firmly to his spot. The darkness began to recede and the golden eyed man noticed that the other members of the convocation had similar chains around them. Throwing his gaze towards Elidibus, who had the most chains out of all of them, smiling wickedly in a triumphant fashion. Shaking his head Hades followed the other man's gaze towards the middle of their circle, to where the crystal had been. There, purple crystals had grown out and around a figure that had not been standing there before. Relaxing his hands to his sides because of the weight of the aetheric chains Hades felt his stomach drop.

They had succeeded, but something was off. The creation was dark, a shadow robed in aether, it had the aura of peace and purpose but something felt twisted. Within its hands it held the other end of the chains that had captured the convocation members. It lifted its head and carefully looked around the room, before straightening its back. Hades felt its voice before he heard it, like something deep in his chest moving and worming its way into the core of his being, changing him. Lifting a hand to his chest he frowned, a thought of doubt drifting across his mind before suddenly it was gone. All doubt about the being before him was gone.

Then, it spoke physically. Its voice booming around the room.

“I am Zodiark.” It said. “I shall save those who live upon me.”

----

Hades awoke with a start, his eyes flying open and with a gasp he clutched at the blankets that covered him as a hot pain laced through his chest, as if it were attempting chasing away something. His face scrunched into a tight grimace as he attempted to catch his breath. Only for a coughing seizure to tear through his chest as the pain subsided, raising a hand he grasped at his breast. Hades eyes darting around the darkened room, where was he? After his coughing subsided the man cast his mind back to the last thing he remembered - that he had been holding onto Swath as they flew towards the Crystarium. Once they had reached a cruising altitude his memory abruptly failed him and faded to an unfamiliar darkness. As realization of what had happened dawned upon him, he cursed low under his breath. Of course his foul luck would lead him to passing out against the hero. Struggling with an unfamiliar and weak body, Hades managed to prop himself up on his elbows. In the dim light see that his chest had been expertly bandaged, while clearly already blooming with his bodily fluids. He could see that it was done by the hands of an expert. Had his hero been the one to do such? Was she capable of such ministrations? Taking a deep breath he decided to ask her when she came into the room, then moved his attention away from his thoughts to the room around him.

Turning his head he saw a basin resting on the side table, with a dirty cloth stained with blue aether and blood similar to the colors that stained his chest, but duller. Curious now, Hades shifted to lean on one arm as he lifted his other to find it too had various small bandages covering the cuts that had dotted his skin. Raising his eyebrows and taking a second to marvel at the craftsmanship he exhaled sharply, leaning to lay upon his back once more. Then, with his raised hand he reached up to press the palm to his forehead. Feeling a lump begin to grow within the pit of his stomach, Hades was frustrated, mostly at himself. He had passed out while they had flown to their next destination. He could only imagine the trouble he had caused Swath; he was clearly in her room. While he had not watched her as she had rested, but he had allowed himself time to become familiar with the various objects that decorated her abode. As he gazed at the room another frown graced his features. Why was he so concerned with causing trouble to her? She wanted to use him to live, was this not what she wanted? His hand tightened his fingers gripping his disheveled hair pulling it taunt. Using each other, that was the deal right? Then why did it make his heart heavy when he thought of her face, strained and exhausted?

An unbidden frustrated moan slipped from his lips.

Hades was a fool, he realized this with sudden clarity. His heart was heavy because he cared, he cared about her emotions, cared about her. He had hours ago felt his heart begin to fall for the Viera, why was he denying it now? Why was he trying to cling to his nonchalant temperament that he had while he was tempered?

No, his personality had not even been that, it had been disconnected from the world around him. He had been but a ghostly participant. Now he had been thrust back into the realm of the living and he was feeling things he no longer understood. Letting out a groan he tore his hand away from him and let it drop to his side. Realizing this made him think about the emotions he had felt looking at Eulmore, was it regret? Had he felt regret because his actions? And what about when he was trying to be useful to Swath by opening that portal? Had it been determination?

Shutting his eyes for a moment he attempted to sort through the various emotions that swirled in his breast. It was overwhelming, and while he should sort through them and rediscover himself it was not the appropriate time to be dealing with his new found freedom. Shifting he opened his eyes and sighed. It was useless to try to conjure these feelings in a futile attempt to understand. His mind was still a swirling mess but, as usual he had to attempt to set aside these thoughts and focus on other more pressing matters. Swath could still come back at any moment and she did not need to deal with a bed ridden Ascian that was attempting to recall exactly what certain emotions felt like. That was not a disaster that she needed to help him sort through, and the Ascian had a feeling that if he allowed himself to wallow in these thoughts she would.

Instead he gazed around the room with a frustrated and strained smile on his lips. As he released those twisting thoughts and allowed his mind to drift back to the dream he had right before waking up. In an attempt of a distraction for his wandering mind.

As Hades recalled the various parts of the dream he realized that, no, it had not been a dream. He now frowned, his brow furrowing deeply; it had been a memory of the destruction of Amaurot and the creation of Zodiark. Hades had not been plagued by that dream since Elidibus had awoken him. The memory had once been fuel that had stoked the fire within his chest, but now it only caused a knot of indescribable emotion to form in the pit of his belly. It twisted violently and uncomfortably as he thought about the chains of the primal, chains he had honestly forgotten about initially. Until Swath had destroyed them. Had it been because Zodiark was truly a primal? With the ability to alter one's will? Sighing Hades pushed the unpleasant thoughts away to the best of his ability, he knew once again it was not the best time to be wallowing in the various tragedies and mistakes of his past, nor the possibilities of what Zodiark was. Those thoughts were for another time. Laying back upon the pillow he groaned as pain shot through his breast, taking in a breath he shut his eyes only for a moment before he heard the door at the foot of the bed open.

“Thank yah, I’m fine though, please continue the celebration without me!” Swaths voice was strained with false excitement, clearly intent on getting whomever was bothering her to leave her alone. Hades shifted as she spoke, leaning on his elbows again as he caught a glimpse of her white hair and ears through the divider. The rest of her was obscured by the wood design and the darkness of the room. He frowned, as her ears folded back, clearly the individual was trying to coerce her to return to the festivities. “Nay,” She said again her voice now low. “I’h must check on mah guest, did yeh forget that he is unwell?” There was a low apology and then a sigh from the Viera. “Aye, I’h know, thank yah again. Please go enjoy tha party.” With that she closed the door and let go of a breath that Hades had not realized she had been holding in.

From his place on the bed he watched as she pressed her forehead against the door, her shoulders drooping. Raising his eyebrows he tilted his head a little, his hair falling in the way of his view. After a moment of watching her Hades cleared his throat. “Attempting to escape the festivities held in your honor hero?” He watched with a twang of joy as he saw her ears straighten and a smile spread across her weary face as she turned to gaze at him through the divider.

“Yah are awake,” She moved with surprising swiftness as she hurried to his side. Hades’ golden eyes followed her as the feeling of joy spreading from his belly to the rest of his body warming him. His brows turned down into a gentle expression as she reached the side of the bed and collapsed to her knees. “How are yah feelin?” Swaths hand reached out and pressed against his forehead, and momentarily he shut his eyes reveling in the feeling of her touch. He was growing accustomed to it, and honestly beginning to crave it. She rested her hand there for only a moment before shifting and gently thumbing over his third eye, another more familiar sensation jolted through Hades as he struggled to stay on one arm as he lifted his right hand to seize her hand in an attempt to make her stop her movements.

As he gently moved her hand away from his third eye he smiled his signature lopsided smile at her. “I am doing much better thanks to the many ministrations you performed upon me.” He nodded towards the soiled bowl. Moving her hand away from his grasp she gingerly pressed down on various parts of his chest.

“Aye, was nothin really,” There was a blush on her cheeks which once again caused that sensation to run through him like lightning. It was also accompanied by several familiar emotions, but he was truly only able to partially understand them. He felt joy, he felt his heart leap towards her; falling for her , although the sensation was different than what he remembered. Hades moved his arm back in position so that both supported him, as he continued to watch her frown down at the blooming blue that appeared after her hand left a certain area of his chest. It did not hurt him beyond a small sting, but as she lifted her hand away she reached behind her and grabbed the rag. “Yah are still leakin aether.” She sighed and shifted so that she was looking at him. The rag poised in her hands expectantly, her hands hovering over his chest waiting.

Hades sighed, and laid back on the back letting his arms stretch out in mock defeat. “Yes, go ahead Swath, do what you need to do.” With that she quickly set about unwrapping his chest, it was a little awkward at the angle he was at but every time he attempted to move and help her a firm hand pressed him back into the bed. He was growing increasingly amused by her actions, as he watched her he could feel the stinging with each strip of bandage removed. So in an attempt to distract himself from the incoming pain Hades focused on the face of the Warrior of Light; her brow furrowed in concentration she seemed oblivious to the world around her. He knew that was a farce though. Any slight movement done by his form would immediately be silenced by a firm hand. Swaths hair was tied back at the moment as she worked over him, it had been so when she came into the room as well. Her one golden eye darted around as she finished unwrapping the bandages.

Hades shifted a little and Swath allowed him to do so, before placing a hand on his shoulder once more looking at him seriously. “This is gunna hurt.”

He opened his mouth to protest but she did not wait, grabbing the damp cloth she opened it and laid it down over the faintly glowing wound on his chest. Hades frowned, she lied, it had not hurt. It stung a little that was for sure - his thoughts were cut short as he watched her hand, seemingly mimic the soft aura of his chest, press down on the towel.

Then pain burned through him like a wildfire. It started from her hand which splayed stiffly against his stomach and then simultaneously went to his toes and his head. Everything hurt, it reminded him of her trying to pull his soul back from the afterlife. Hades felt his hands tense up in the sheets and through the pain realized that Swath was holding onto one of his hands - the one closest to her. As quickly as the fire started it was staunched as her hand was lifted away from his body. Gasping Hades fell limp upon the bed, gulping the cool air like a lifeline.

“Pray tell hero, was that necessary?” He leered at her his voice exceptionally weak, but her response to him was just a shrug. Which caused him to continue glaring at her weary eye.

“Aye, twas. I’h need tah infuse yah with aether till yah stabilize.” Her face told him she wished to say more, to say that if she did not he would die. Rolling his eyes he looked toward the ceiling and heaved a long sigh which caused his body to radiate dull pain. A murmur then came from her lips. “Though yah seem pretty stable right now.”

“Do as you wish Swath,” Hades murmured. The pit in his stomach was back and he knew he could no longer fight her, nor did he wish too. His life was hers, only hers. “I do believe at this moment in time you know more about the situation than I, as much as I loathe to admit.” Letting his body relax he closed his eyes, sleep would not come easy. The pain was still present, a soft throbbing in the core of his stomach. There was also the fact that she was in the room with him, and while her presence did relax him it also cause that storm of emotions to stir in his breast. Opening his eyes he shifted his head to look at her, Swath had moved to sit by his head on the floor. She had covered her blind eye once again with an eye-patch, but what truly made Hades wish to recoil was the fact she was so close to him. Though his body refused to move, and instead he just blinked a few times in her direction. She smiled and reached up brushing away his dark brown hair that slipped to obscure his face.

“I’h do, sadly. I’h wish I didn't. Awfully similar tah some wounds I’ve had in the past.” Swath shrugged and Hades opened his mouth to protest and respond with a question, but instead found her continuing. “But yah are a captive audience. I’h figure since yah are up we should have that talk.”

Hades snapped his jaw shut, ah yes the talk about his past and the future. The future he hoped to have by her side. “Yes, I consented to being interrogated about this,” Hades murmured, Swath turning to gaze at him again her face solemn. Raising a weary hand he waved it briefly before letting it fall limply back at his side. “Ask away hero, I will answer truthfully, as I always have.”

She beamed, it was a melancholy filled smile. “I know,” Swath turned to gaze at the other side of the room chewing on her lip briefly. “Hades, yah where Solus correct?”

He frowned, what sort of question was this? He plainly said when they first met that he had been Solus zos Galvus and countless others, but sighing he humored her. “Yes, I was Solus.”

“Do yah remember a small village in the Garlean mountains?” As the words slipped from her mouth he felt his heart clench as she tilted her head away from him. “Small village that worshiped a Primal like entity. Quiet, peaceful, only did trade with otha towns once ah blue moon.” Hades watched as her body became rigid and her ears flattened. Her hand, which had been resting on the bed side fell away and fell limply in her lap. “Tha town was mah home. I’h was raised there. It was destroyed, by Emporer Solus’ word.”

Hades turned away, “By Zodiark,” He murmured shifting lifting his heavy hand to his face. This was regret, this was sorrow, this was fear; these emotions in his breast that threatened to suffocate him. He remembered that order, he remembered hearing about that small village of possible primal worshipers in his lands. Hades remembered being something similar to gleeful, he would sow more destruction, he had thought, and hasten the rejoining. He had sent some of his best men to that village to destroy it. Hades had not known that inadvertently he would created the Warrior of Light, that he had created the woman that sat next to him. Part of him was happy he did such, because he had been saved by her hand, but it was easily eclipsed by the regret. He had taken everything from her.

“I’h was also nearly killed by those men yah sent.” Hades flinched as she spoke up again. “I’h, I’h dont ask for an apology Hades. I’h just wanted tah know if yah did send them.” Her voice was soft, broken. It was not all she wanted to talk about, this much was clear, but it was the most prominent thing on her mind.

He took in a deep breath. “Yes, I did send those men. I intended to wipe out the entire village, for the local villages to begin to think I was losing my mind and hasten the fear in those lands.” Hades laughed bitterly. “The quicker the rejoining the better after all.”

“I’h see,” Swaths voice petered out to nothing and silence fell over the two of them. It persisted for a long time, until Hades lifted his hand from his face and saw a blur of white and grayish blue suddenly eclipse what little light was in the room. “Hades,” Swath was over him her hands on either side of his face, hers awfully close to his. “Yah life is mine,” Her one uncovered eye staring with heat into his own pools of gold. “I’h choose yah, the one who took my family from me, to be mine.”

Once again silence fell over the room, Hades lifted his heavy hand to wrap around her arm. He did not do so in such a way that he threatened to throw her off of him, no, he did not have the strength for that. What he did have the strength for was to hold her there. To hold her above him and not let go.

“I will not die unless you say, I will not leave the Crystarium without your word, I am yours to command Swath,” Hades said evenly, watching as her eye widened clearly not expecting his proclamation. To him, it made sense, they were using each other, at least up to this point that had been the deal. The deal was different now. “My life, Swath, is yours. I will ask for nothing in return.” After all he had no right to ask such things, she was a hero and he washed up villain. Hades did not know if he would ever have the power he once did because of Swath acting like a cap upon him, but in truth he did not care. His life was hers, it had been the moment he opened his eyes returning from death by her hands. Swath had given him a second chance at life, a second chance to live. He had to live with everything wrong he had done yes, and he had done terrible wrongs to the one person he was coming to care deeply for. He could not atone for that. Hades squeezed her arm with what power he had in his muscles and willed his message to get across. He was a Ascian, but from this point on he was her Ascian. Not Zodiarks, not Elidibus’, hers.

“Give me, give me some of yah aether to seal the deal.” Swaths voice shook as she asked this, the command caused him to raise his eyebrows.

“Excuse me hero, you wish for what?” Hades shifted as she got off of him sitting at the side of the bed, hanging only one leg off of it still crowding him as he struggled to sit up. His body was heavy and did not obey his commands properly, but after he got halfway up and was about to slip backwards her hands where there holding him up. Again, she was close to close. They had been this close only hours before, but her request was something increasingly intimate.

“Aether, mine is already in yah,” She lifted a hand away and gently jabbed his chest, a section that was not wounded. “Its only fair yah know.”

“I do not think you understand what you ask.” Hades muttered leaning his head away from her, while trying to keep his thundering heart in check. This was panic right? This feeling that caused him to wish for the energy to flee from the room. Of course he had no such energy and was sufficiently trapped by Swaths form. She let her hand graze his chest back to his shoulder.

“I’h do, yeah it could hurt meh but I’h need tah know yah are serious. Its like ah bindin spell.” Swath frowned at him, her expression still intense. Hades took in in a steadying breath, she wanted this.

It was different from using her as a conduit for his magics; his aether just passed through her harmlessly, but to mix them. He frowned, looking inward, feeling his own aether. Hades earlier had recognized that his soul was fundamentally the same yet something was different, was it his aether? After a moment he saw it, around his darkly colored soul was surrounded by a slight golden glow. Her aether, a bit of her soul. Hades swallowed, looking at her - she had mixed their aether. Against his wishes a blush traveled from his neck to his cheeks. Causing the Viera to lean back surprised. Hades could tell she was about to ask but he shook his head, if this is what she wanted he would do it. “Yes, yes alright hero if this is the assurance you wish for I will give you some of my aether.” He watched as she relaxed, although her expression was still one of confusion. “Do not regret this.” Hades muttered, advice for the both of them as he shifted to press his hand against her chest. Then with a slight frown took in a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers.

His third eye pressed uncomfortably against her skin but he ignored it, he focused on her form her hands that held him and his hand on her chest. Releasing his deep breath he reached for the familiar route he took when he used her as a conduit, but instead of allowing his aether to pass by her he pushed it outward around her, into her. She gasped and he ignored it, pushing further, feeling no resistance. Then there was a snap and he pulled his head back, taking in a steadying breath.

By Zodiark he was now painfully aware of her, moving his body away to the best of his ability he felt her hands release him. Hades did not look at her face as he pressed his back against the headboard of the bed, but once he was settled he looked back up and saw that she was crying. He recoiled looking at her with disgusted shock, why was she crying? Why would she cry after asking something so intimate of him? He was about to open his mouth to rebuke her, and remind her that he had said that she should not regret asking such a thing. Instead his words died on his lips as she raised her hand to her cheek, seemingly equally surprised as he.

“Was tha their wish too?”

“Whose wish hero?” Hades asked as he leaned forward, the panic returning. “Whose wish?” The Ascians mind raced, he had not shown her anything through that bond had he? Then it dawned on him, the dreaded ‘Crystal mothers’ blessing, the echo. “What did you see Swath,” He reached out to her, her wide eyes causing his breaths to come quick. “Swath who did you see.”

#i cant come up with good chapter names #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fanfic #Remember Me [emetxwol]#emet selch #emet-selch #emetxwol #emet selch x wol #emet selch/wol #solus zos galvus #solus zos glavus x wol #wol x emet-selch #wol x solus zos galvus #im warning everyone now this is a intense slow burn

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cjrae · 5 years

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How Do You Know It’s Finished? Or: Does God actually have a plan?

A Priest Walks Into A Bar is one of my favorite episodes of Lucifer. Full stop. Season 1 gets a decent amount of flack for some tonal issues as they were finding their feet, but if you’re looking for episodes that deal with the Big Questions, Season 1 really sinks it’s teeth into them. 1x09 deals with a larger question within the context of a more intimate one. Does God have a plan? More specifically, does he have a plan for Lucifer?

What we’re essentially asking is the question of pre-destination versus free will. Given that free will is one of the standard responses to the problem of evil, let’s take a (brief!) look at the Problem of Evil.

The Problem of Evil

The Problem of Evil is the logical contradiction that arises from the following axioms. If God is all of the following:

1.) omniscient - all-knowing

2.) omnipotent - all-powerful

3.) omni-benevolent - good

Then why does evil exist? If God is any of the two, but not the third, then the state of the world is perfectly explainable. An omniscient and omni-benevolent God knows everything and is good, but lacks the power to resolve the problem of evil. An omnipotent and omni-benevolent God is all powerful and good, but lacks the knowledge of all evil in the world - evil is capable of hiding. And an omniscient and omnipotent God that is NOT omni-benevolent means that God has deliberately created evil for Reasons.

(It is worth noting that the idea of God embodying all three of these axioms is a very Christian concept of God, but given that the character of Lucifer originated from John Milton’s famous Bible fanfic, Paradise Lost, it may be fair. Of course, Gaiman himself is Jewish and some Jewish thought tends to drop omniscience from the equation. We’ll come back to this, because if you have a God that can change, then God becomes much more interesting in a narrative structure.)

This is, as you can imagine, a logical contradiction that has fascinated theologians and philosophers for centuries, but the most popular resolution within popular culture is the concept of free will. In other words, evil is our fault, not God’s. The ability to choose gives the very concepts of good and evil relevance, in fact.

Free will has plenty of problems, but its issues are irrelevant in terms of this discussion because we are dealing with a fictional universe, where free will and the axiom of choice work very well within drama. And within the universe of Lucifer, free will exists. Choice is a central theme because everyone in the universe self-actualizes to an extent.

Humanity chooses their final destination based on their own subconscious judgment (God is completely uninvolved). Angels literally control their own appearances and abilities subconsciously. Lucifer’s devil face (and later his entire transformation) are manifestations of his own self-hatred while Amenadiel’s fall and the restoration of his wings (but not his ability to slow time) are based on his judgment of his own virtue and his connection to humanity.

So, let’s wrap this back around to the big question - is the universe predestined or not? Do our choices actually matter or does God have a plan and your choices are an illusion?

Predestination

One of the things that makes 1x09 work so well as an episode is watching patterns come together.

A parent without a child tries to reconnect with and guide the child of his lost friends, who has gotten himself into trouble. That leads him into Lucifer’s bar - where Lucifer just happens to have recently gotten involved with investigating homicides. Once Lucifer’s involved, Chloe gets involved when they find the head of the program murdered, leading them to Conor and the Spider’s operation. Which leads to Conor being literally put in the middle of two men fighting over him and being forced to choose between their very different visions of his life. Father Frank then chooses to put himself between Conor and the Spider, getting himself shot, which leads to him dying in Lucifer’s arms.

We know that at one point God had a plan - Lucifer confirms that. In fact, it’s the central tenant of Father Frank’s faith. The idea that all of his pain and loss had a purpose behind it is how he deals with grief and finds meaning in a loss that can and has broken people before him.

It’s Lucifer who points out the obvious - that killing a young girl and two loving parents in service of the Plan is cruel. It leaves two people behind who are broken in the exact same way, but who deal with it very differently. Frank finds faith and turns to helping others where Conor becomes extremely vulnerable and prey to the predators of the world like the Spider in his own search for a place to belong.

Perhaps that does a good job of illustrating the different choices available to people, but how much of a choice did Conor actually have? He was a child without the coping processes of an adult, grew up in foster care, clearly bounced around the system and so desperate for love and affection while also mistrusting healthier expressions of those emotions due to being (unwillingly) abandoned by his dead parents that he was drawn into a criminal drug operation in an attempt to find his place.

if we believe that this was all a plan, then both Frank and Conor’s choices were illusions. Yes, they made choices, but their circumstances and environments shaped those choices.

In a system like this, think of the choices people make in terms of a physics problem. If you’re looking at a single atom, it is chaotic - able to go in any direction. But, put that atom in a sea of other atoms, in various environments and you can start to predict with reasonable accuracy how the group is going to behave - which other atoms it might bond to, how it’ll react under pressure or with the introduction of other elements. Patterns begin to emerge.

Lucifer had just put out a fragile tendril of friendship before watching it be cut away with Frank’s tragic fate, his friend’s last words suggesting that all of this was to simply put Frank in Lucifer’s path for…what reason? To remind Lucifer that his Father has a plan? That his Father isn’t done with him, to imply that all of Lucifer’s suffering up to this point has a Purpose? A role he is being shaped for?

Lucifer already knows this. Lucifer has already rebelled against this. Frank’s fate is just more evidence to Lucifer that his Father’s plans are needlessly cruel and manipulative.

And, honestly, Lucifer has a point.

Can God Change?

Earlier, we talked about the Problem of Evil. However, the role of God changes dramatically if we drop one of the axioms - and I would argue that Gaiman, as well as the Lucifer show runners have done just that.

God is, frankly, far more interesting if He is capable of change, just like our main characters. The biggest issue with the traditional Christian interpretation of God is His very perfection, which makes Him utterly static. A perfect deity is, well...boring. Especially within the context of a narrative.

At it’s heart, Lucifer is a show about family - the families we come from that shape us and the families that we create around us - and how the two can and do merge.

Imagine the frustration of a God who loves His son, has all the power in the world to effect change - but doesn’t know how best to employ it? Who didn’t see Lucifer’s rebellion coming and reacted out of anger or frustration or even sorrow, possibly understanding how things went so wrong in retrospect, but unsure how to reach out to a child who was holding that much anger and self hatred? How would that parent try to help their child? Do you give them space? Do you actively punish them so that they understand the consequences of their actions? Do you passively stand back and let the consequences of their actions play out so that they learn and grow?

Given how subtle divine intervention is within the show, it’s reasonable to assume that God is mostly trying to stay out of things - after all, why bother with free will if you don’t let people exercise it?

Free Will

We know that choice is important within the universe of Lucifer. So, if God is looking at humanity like a social physics problem, then He probably has a pretty decent idea of how general patterns will pan out and the divine intervention, as such, is much more subtle. Father Frank, after all, has a number of different ways he can attempt to help Conor, but he chooses to go to Lucifer Morningstar, a club owner known to grant favors.

Father Frank is a priest - presumably he believes in the Devil. He may not believe, when he first steps foot in LUX, that the man in front of him is the actual, literal Devil, but the absurdity is enough to rope Lucifer in. So, where did Father Frank get the idea to go to the Devil for help?

Well, we’ve got the luxury of having an episode told with God narrating it, so let’s briefly poke the bear that is 3x26 - Once Upon A Time.

Aside from arranging for Chloe to be born, God is very specific that He is NOT controlling the situation. In fact, in order to run this little experiment, He only makes one, tiny change. He moves a bullet a few inches to the left and John Decker survives the assassination disguised as a robbery.

The central question of 3x26 is, “Did God’s plan of putting Chloe in Lucifer’s path actually change anything?” And the answer at the end of the episode is a fairly clear ‘no.’

“And some, no matter how you shake things up, are drawn to the same people, the same passions. So all seems to have ended well, does that mean I never should have manipulated things to begin with? I have a better question: wouldn’t you, in my shoes? After all - a parent just wants what’s best for their child.”

Who knows whether God planted the idea or not, but a priest walks into a bar to ask the Devil for help.

Once that happens, the patterns continue to play out, but there is room for each individual choice to matter. Conor could have chosen to shoot Father Frank and prove his loyalty. Father Frank could have chosen to try to pull Conor out of the way of the bullet instead of stepping in front of it.

But they make the choices they make and in the end, Father Frank again lies dying in Lucifer’s arms, insisting that his choice was worth it because Lucifer’s Father has a plan - but the subtext has changed. Father Frank dies believing his death will serve the Purpose of showing two lost sons that they are loved.

The Messenger

The parallels here are not subtle. Conor and Father Frank are very much a reflection of Lucifer and his Father. Except that, in Lucifer’s eyes, Father Frank is fighting for Conor whereas he was abandoned. This episode is the first time that Lucifer is asked to question that basic assumption about his life.

Father Frank: “God has faith in him. In all of us. Even in our darkest moments.”

Lucifer: “You really believe that, don’t you?”

Father Frank: “I do. Why don’t you?”

Lucifer: (looking visibly uncomfortable) “Because he didn’t have faith in me.”

Father Frank: “I felt that way once too. But now I know, deep in my heart. God has a plan for me.”

Lucifer: (scoffing) “Oh his plan for me was quite clear.”

Father Frank. “How do you know it’s finished?”

From Lucifer’s perspective, that question should be terrifying. His Father’s plan has already gotten him sent to Hell to rule over the damned for all eternity. What more could God want from Lucifer?

I would argue that what God wants is quite simply what’s best for his son - his child who believes so throughly that he is damned that he’s manifested a completely different, horrific face to punish himself with. Lucifer doesn’t believe in second chances. So He shows him one.

Conor chooses not to kill Father Frank, twice. He chooses to stand against the Spider. Those choices cost him, but the cost of his actions doesn’t negate their importance. In the wake of losing Father Frank, Conor again chooses to help the police, taking down a drug operation that was preying on vulnerable children inside that foster center, which will presumably make L.A. a slightly safer place for those kids.

Chloe sees the potential for good in the consequences of this night, and she speculates about that to Lucifer. But Lucifer’s in no state of mind to hear it. What he does do, however, is significant. He allows himself to feel pain and, rather than numbing it, as we see him fail to light the cigarette, he yells at his Father.

The dialogue is one sided and angry, but it’s implied that this may be the first time Lucifer has spoken to his Father since he became the Lord of Hell. This is a relationship that had been depicted as broken beyond all hope of repair, both sides having shut down communication with the other.

Father Frank’s sacrifice changes all of that. Yes, the priest gets to fulfill his desire of helping Conor make a different choice, a better choice. But he’s also a messenger. The subtext becomes less, “you are being shaped for a role” and more “your Father still loves you and has never given up on you.”

What if what God’s initial goal was to simply get his son to talk to him?

Redemption

The next episode, Pops, is very revealing when it comes to Lucifer’s internalized guilt that he won’t be able to begin voicing until the end of season three. The things he says about Junior’s relationship to his father again parallel his own estrangement from his Father.

Anne: “That ungrateful kid was given everything and he threw it all away. But it didn’t matter. He was still the favorite.” (emphasis mine)

Lucifer: “Because he was worthy of his father’s love! And he had a chance at redemption until you ruined it!”

This exchange indicates that God’s desire for reconciliation is mutual. That doesn’t mean that either party wants to go back to the way things were - Lucifer doesn’t want to change who he is or what he’s done, whether he regrets it or not. That’s impossible and he knows it. But there is a desire to move forward, and for Lucifer putting the past behind him is very much about leaving Hell and it’s throne firmly behind.

But getting to that point of reconciliation is already going to be hard enough without Lucifer trapped in the same spiral of anger, guilt and pride.

So God reaches out, using a priest who has a shocking amount in common with Lucifer, to try to begin mending the breach. The consequences play out far beyond the end of 1x09. In the climax of Season 1, as Lucifer lies on the hangar floor, bleeding out, we see him open a dialogue again with his Father. Yes, he’s desperate, but would he have believed that asking his Father might do anything if it hadn’t been for Father Frank?

And this time, we see God answer. When Lucifer is desperate for help, his Father doesn’t abandon him. Instead, he gives him an opportunity. Moreover, he gives him an opportunity on Lucifer’s terms. The only way his son knows to ask for help is to offer a deal - sacrificing Lucifer’s own agency in exchange for Chloe’s life.

Yes, it’s a sign of Lucifer’s growth over the season, but it’s made clear that Lucifer going back to Hell was always a much more likely possibility than Lucifer himself ever wanted to accept. Lucifer came to earth with multiple backup options to get back to Hell - first Amenadiel, who will happily drag Lucifer back. Then the wings, which he burns and finally the Pentecostal coin that we see Lucifer playing with over and over again. Lucifer has planted the seeds of his own escape from Hell.

God’s intervention is subtle. Again, all He does is make a slight change - He moves the Pentecostal coin from Malcom’s possession back to Lucifer’s. The biggest difference is that He lets Lucifer know that he’s involved at all.

#lucifer meta #lucifer analysis #lucifer on netflix #lucifer on fox #lucifer season 1 #lucifer morningstar #father frank #god's plan #predestination #free will #the problem of evil #long text post

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all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 5 years

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Lone wolves are not alone…

Today we live in the time of fear, the kingdom of degeneration. All around us spreads a sick world which refuses however to die. The world of economy falls but does not collapse. All preachers of every ideology, scientists, economists, journalists, politicians, sociologists, syndicalists, leftists, humanitarians, agree to a common truth, called “economic crisis”.

Thus the ghost of the economic crisis hovers above the formerly privileged territory of the western civilization, after leaving behind it hecatombs of dead people and ruins of war in the “undeveloped countries” of the rest of the world.

But we refuse the truth they offer us. We refuse to be lost in mathematical equations, economical terms and loan contracts. We refuse to accept that life is shoved into statistics. Numbers cannot explain why our existence gets poorer. We speak of a different poverty and not only the poverty of the supermarkets. We speak of the poverty in words, emotions, thoughts, wanderings, tensions. We speak of the unity which resides inside the modern people-pets of the cages of the metropolis who by themselves imprisoned themselves.

Today there is a crisis which makes our life poorer, but this is not the economic crisis, it is the crisis of values. Society traded the values of freedom, respect, solidarity, dignity, with a position in consumerist paradise. Now is the time for it to fall in its hell, since today it experiences the collapsing of the system which it faithfully prayed to all these years.

The ambassadors of the modern way of life speak of the savior of economy through corrective changes and development programs, while the ideologists of the left beg for the cleansing of institutions. Unfortunately, in Greece the tension of bureaucratic social anarchy also joins the dance of the absurd and fantasies the revival of dead ideologies speaking of self-management of the production means and workers collectives.

Thus the socialist anarchists, while refusing the system, instead of destroying class identities and economy, speak their language. They speak of the overthrowing of the existent, without however uprooting from inside them the economic-centric logic. For us, as anarcho-individualists and nihilists, economy is not the key for liberation. Economy is a part of the problem and the problem itself. The only way to strike the heart of the problem is to destroy the economy and its distinctions and speak of human relations. The world will not become prettier or more free if we collectivize work but only if we blow up the relation of work and destroy its mentality, its ethics and culture. The same will happen with friendship, love, pleasure, the meaning of life itself.

On the road for continuous anarchist insurrection we do not keep anything which holds us down on the past. We tear down the myths of the revolutionary subject, of the proletariat, of the eternal wait for the right objective conditions, the social likeness towards the population, this slow moving mass which with its inactivity stops us from breathing….

Therefore, looking back in time, we recognize as our own prints, the traces left behind by some lone wolves, who walked then against their time. It is all those conspiratorial anarchists illegalists who made the anarchist insurrection their only home land. It is those who chose to stay away from the glory of the dead ideologies and bureaucracy of the social anarchism which awaits the masses in order to begin its insurrection. Lone and unique they armed their desires, out aside the pathetic rot of the mob and went on to the storming of heaven.

Their star fills our eyes, the fire floods our thoughts, the vendetta of revenge beats in our hearts and, our hands embrace the guns and dynamite which they inherited to us. We live for an endless explosion of actions, thoughts, feelings, desires, which reaches the edge of the world.

There is no nostalgia, there is only today, while tomorrow is already late. Today is our turn, our life, our time.

Anarcho-individualism and nihilism, the gates of the new anarchy, invite us. In the era of generalized crisis, the sun of the new anarchy continues to rise. Now that the global economy is ill, we do not look for the “just” social cure, but on the contrary we seek the poison for its final death.

As we wrote above, life, before being strangled biologically from the economic crisis, had already been cut in its desperation, the illusions and the loneliness of modern society.

It is important therefore, to think, to feel and attack against anything which glorifies the empire of authority, against anything which preserves the religion of economy, anything which carries the death of silence and immobility. And if sometimes we seem like lone crazy people, the sure thing is that we are not alone. We live in a home full of voices, dreams, desires, laughter, melancholies, actions… Our home has no hosts and guests; it belongs to all of us. In our home we do not speak just one language but many and we always communicate with our eyes.

The basement of our home is full of weapons, explosives, plans, communiques, whatever the enemy snatches from us, our hands and desires will never remain unarmed. At the table of our home there are always spaces and glasses of wine for new friends and comrades who we never met before. There are as well some empty places for the brothers and sisters who are absent, for our dead, for the wanted, for the imprisoned, but their glasses are always full because they are always next us too. Our home has no doors, no rooms, not even walls. Our home has no roof because it would hide the sky and stars. Our home has no windows because it would stop the wind. Our home has no street or number. Our home has no name and lives in our hearts.

Our home is FAI-IRF and we will never abandon it, neither in the easy moments nor the tough times.

FAI-IRF is the lost Atlantis of the practical theory. It is the meeting point of thought and action, imagination and the present, violence with poetry, desire with decision, the ‘I’ with the us…

This moment it is important that there are many dozens of anarchist individualities and cells participating in the network FAI-IRF. FAI-IRF is an illegal anarchist union of egoists which despises the gather-ism of Marxist organizations and the bureaucracy of the anarchist reformists.

There is no protocol or rules. Our only compass is our values: direct action, anarchist critique towards the social silence, international solidarity, constant insurrection… At the same time all of us anarchists of praxis preserve unquenchable the desire to continuously recreate the formation of FAI-IRF with as an epicenter the human desires. We do not even feel the need to propose to society some ready-made recipe for happiness. Our life does not need ready-made solutions. Besides, experimentation even a mistake is the best way for the discovery of freedom. From the still waters of traditional ideologies you can expect only poison.

The insurrectionist-nihilist anarchist thought remains alive, not as a flawless and final ideology, but on the contrary when it seeks the dialectic confrontation either in order to try itself by overpassing the disagreements it has to confront, or when it discovers its gaps and re creates itself with beginning point evolution. Thus, also FAI-IRF is not the end of the road of final utopia but one of the roads for the constant course towards anarchy.

This is why when someone reads the dozens of responsibility claims of the cells of FAI-IRF internationally they will locate some differences, even some disagreements. This is the beauty and uniqueness of the new anarchy. Besides the basic values shared by us the conspirators of the Black International, there are the specificities of each one of us which promote the constant search of our existence.

Because we will always discover independent areas of ourselves, unknown passions, unlimited desires which arm the bet of Existence, replacing the misery and correctness of economic equations which are praised by the overgrown revolutionary ideologies.

Today FAI-IRF is not simply an idea, just as the Conspiracy of Cells of Fire is not limited to the land of the Greek state. Our desire is to not drain ourselves at making our existence known. Our spreading to dozens of countries transfers us to an asymmetric threat for the interior of the states. The CCF of Mexico transforms the words into fire, in Russia and Belarus the Conspiracy transforms the frozen rooftops into lava, and in Italy the Olga cell of FAI writes its own poetry with bullets. At the same time dozens of conspirators in Chile, Ecuador, Bolivia, Peru, Brazil, Spain, England, Poland, Greece, Indonesia, Australia conspire with chaos and transfer the fire of anarchy into the foundations of the existent.

This is why we constantly create new invisible crossroads of meeting and communication in order to talk about the death of the existence and the storm of new anarchy. We want our fire to be written in all languages. Tireless comrades constantly translate prisoners texts, books, responsibility claims, while at the same time solidarity is internationalized and the FAI-IRF network becomes the Lernaen Hydra of the new anarchy. For every arrest of a cell, two new ones are ready to attack.

Thus we enter the land of continuous anarchist insurrection. In our uncontrollable course for the destruction of authority, we meet across us the enemy and its conservative powers, but besides them there is still a lot of excuses, inhibitions and dilemmas which attempt to make our feet heavy, bothering our walk. Often these camouflaged cowardices disguised as theoretical analysis live in the bureaucracy of the circles of social anarchism which hopes for the mass awakening of society. Thus the words “anarchy” “direct action” “anarchist insurrection” get confused, they lose their sharp content and remain handicapped going around like harmless blabbering in student amphitheaters… This is why we see in Bolivia that there is an “anarchist organization” which states its conformity to the state authorities and is indifferent to the imprisoned Bolivian comrades accused of being part of FAI, in Italy parasitic anarcho-hippies who with a text of theirs condemned and slandered the action of the Olga cell of FAI, in Germany a part of the anarchists forget and slander the imprisoned comrades (e.g. Aachen4 case) while in Greece many from the anti-authoritarian movement discuss about whether or not they will vote for Syriza (left party) in the elections and generally there being a turn towards collectivization through workers and “white” democratic assemblies.

We on our side want to avoid such misunderstandings and make this confusion untouchable. Therefore it is necessary that we make a clear separating line between the insurrectionist-nihilistic circles and the refuges of reformism. This is why we would like every text and act of ours to be immediately recognized, adopting our own stigma. The stigma of continuous anarchist attack.

But it is not enough to speak about the attack, on the contrary we desire to be a part of the attack. This is why through this text we want to throw a proposition into the fire of the battle. a proposition which is being discussed for some time now in the circles of the new anarchy in Greece. We mean the transmission of technical knowledge and experiences for the construction of explosive and incendiary devices and for the spreading of other forms of sabotage. Through small printed practical manuals or through digital form on the internet we can share information, patents, technical points, ideas, applications, diagrams and enrich our arsenal. When knowledge and experience are shared, they become dangerous. First of all it brings down the separation between theory and practice and the myth of the “specialists” of violence is abolished. At the same time the fetishisms of Marxist ideological rigidities about the avant-guard of “armed struggle” are withdrawn and the illusions of the hierarchy of the means cease. Between the bullet in the head of a cop and the rock in window front there is an invisible line connecting them.

We want to make this line visible. Everything is for everyone, there are not specialists of violence, there are individualities and choices…

We do not share our choices only by speaking and writing texts against the state and its society but also when we offer each other possible practical ways.

To make our theory practice. This is why we propose to the comrades of the FAI-IRF that we proceed to the publication of manuals which describe i.e. the way to construct an explosive mechanism, the wiring of a time bomb, the assembling of a parcel bomb, the use of a home-made system of time-delaying in incendiary attacks, the strengthening of the destructive power of a molotov, the synthesis and mixtures of ingredients for the creation of explosive materials… also our “work” in the chaotic arts of sabotage can open its thematology from the destruction of cameras, the blocking of ATMs and the construction of home-made smoke bombs up to burgling and stealing cars and motorbikes and the conservation and use of weapons.

All this knowledge which is conquered everyday and cannot and shouldn’t be a privilege of an initiated elite of veterans of praxis. On the contrary we want to acquire a common arsenal with all anarchists of praxis where we will share ideas and practices in order to strengthen the constant anarchist insurrection against the Existing. Thus, comrades which carry inside them the wolf of praxis, but have not yet acquired technical knowledge in order to intensify their attacks against the social structures of the system, now with this proposition get access to an endless stock of destructive and chaotic ingenuity which will strengthen their fire.

Of course these practical manuals will not be considered the “holy bible” of the anarchists of praxis since they will be constantly renewed and enriched, since the experimentation and searching never stops.

Also we stress that because of the public character of the spreading of the techniques and the forms of sabotage, it is sure that the eyes of the police will constantly be on our attempt.

This is why this letter is made with special attention. Not only so the enemy cannot track us, but also so we don’t give them information they don’t know, helping them without meaning to, “neutralize” our attacks. For example in the presentation of a time bomb, there will always be variations so the police are confused and it is not easy to deactivate it without the danger of blowing up their bomb disposal team.

This way we strengthen the union of anarcho-individualists - nihilists promoting the constant clash with the world of authority and the social mass. It’s the new way of the new anarchy to attack without relying on the vague sympathy for the proletariat and the economism of classes, but instead abolishing the classes themselves. Neither rich nor poor, neither bosses nor workers, but autonomous individuals with anarchist values and choices.

At the same time we abandon the victimized image of the “social fighter”, who is being attacked by the state. Several comrades of the Conspiracy of Cells of Fire and nuclei of FAI are now in prison, from where we write this text. Not for a moment however do we beg for our “rights” from the state, nor do we invoke its laws. When we chose to arm ourselves and to assassinate social peace, we knew the consequence of the choice we made. The fact that we are in the prisons of the enemy does not make us harmless. We are creating and organizing 10, 100, 1000 cells of the Informal Anarchist Federation and the Conspiracy of Cells of Fire. Neither will we become “anarchist writers” who will publish our theories from inside prison. Our words are our thoughts which were anxious to become actions. Every day, every night we breathe for them. We still have some scores to set with the existent and we keep the knife between our teeth. Our strategy is to make chaos our friend. That is where all forces of the negative are liberated. Conventions, hypocrisies, ethics, cowardices are abolished there.

Brothers and Sisters let’s dare everything. Political executions, blowing up government buildings, bank robberies, arsons of symbols of authority, molotov on the cops, knifes in fascists, communiques, texts, discussions and whatever promotes the spreading of the new anarchy and the progression of the Black International of the Anarchists of Praxis.

DIRECT CONSTANT ANARCHIST INSURRECTION

P.S. The text “Lone wolves are not alone… FAI/ IRF/CCF” is dedicated to our brothers and sisters all around the world, to the dead, the prisoners and those wanted…

In this difficult time we send our most warm greetings to the wanted comrades in Greece: G. Mihailidis and D. Politis, who are accused for participation in the CCF, the wanted comrade in Mexico, FR, and the imprisoned comrade Mario Lopez who was injured by an incendiary device he was transferring.

At the same time our thought and heart is next to the comrades in Italy who are experiencing repeated oppressive operations.

Strength comrades.

#ccf #Conspiracy of Cells of Fire #anarcho nihilism #anarchy #attack #individualism #individualist anarchism #insurrectionary anarchism #insurrection #nihilism #post left #post left anarchy #greece

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per-ineptia-ad-astra · 5 years

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Star Trek Episode 1.12: The Menagerie, Part 2

AKA: Talosian Boogaloo

Our episode begins with a recap of what happened last episode: Spock gone rogue, the Enterprise heading to Talos 4, mysterious transmissions, etc, etc. After the titles, we’re back in the hearing room, where they’ve re-convened Spock’s trial, although they’ve now pared down the participants to just Kirk, Mendez, Pike and Spock. Everyone else who was there for the first part is just going to be left on a cliffhanger. Mendez reiterates that viewing transmissions from Talos 4 is strictly against Starfleet policy, but Spock tells him that the screen is now being remotely controlled and the transmissions are just going to keep coming anyway, so they have no choice but to view them. Although they could try leaving the room so they don’t have to look at the screen. Just a thought.

After Spock gives them a Previously On My Court Martial, the screen comes on again, and we see Pike waking up on a bed in some kind of strange cell. The walls are made of stone bricks but it appears to have been built into a cave, and beyond the transparent front wall of the cell a long rocky corridor stretches forth. Pike wastes very little time in attempting to bash the wall in shoulder-first, but it absorbs the impact with only a slight wobble.

Before he can make any further effort, a door slides open nearby and a quartet of Brainheads—the Talosians, presumably--appear and approach Pike’s cell. Pike starts talking to them, introducing himself as Christopher Pike, commander of the space vehicle Enterprise. Yes, that’s what he said, space vehicle. Well it’s not technically wrong, I guess.

Pike tells them his crew has come in peace, and demands to know if they can understand him. Instead of replying to him, one Talosian starts talking--telepathically--to another as if Pike can’t even hear them, which is the most annoying thing, I hate it when people do that. Specifically, he (...she? they? zie? I have no idea) remarks that “the specimen’s intelligence appears to be shockingly limited.” Wow. Rude. The Talosian leader, referred to as Magistrate, responds that this isn’t surprising since it was so easy to bait the ship here in the first place, and that they can read in Pike’s thoughts that he’s only just now starting to figure out that the encampment was an illusion. They continue to stand around making smug comments about how primitive Pike is while he tries to talk to them. But despite how primitive they find him, he seems to be more adaptable than their other specimens, so they’re ready to start “the experiment.”

Back on the Enterprise, a small group of officers, including Spock, Boyce, Number One, and a red-haired chap who was with the landing party, have convened to discuss just what they’re going to do about the captainnapping. Currently Spock is giving a presentation, in which he hypothesizes that the inhabitants of the planet live underground and manufacture all their living needs down there, because the surface of the planet doesn’t have enough vegetation or animal life to support any kind of civilization. So, as they too have now worked out, the survivors were an illusion all along. A perfect illusion, Boyce bemoans, down to every detail. Well, I don’t know about that, Boyce. I mean one of them was wearing makeup. That really should have been a tip-off.

But the danger is clear to them now. The Talosians can create illusions out of people’s own thoughts, ones that seem completely real to them in every way. That’s going to make it pretty difficult to go up against them. Spock warns that if they attract the Talosians’ attention they might find that their psychic powers are strong enough to easily kill them all. But, as Redhair points out, they can’t just leave Pike down there for the Talosians to have their way with him. Since their hand phasers didn’t bring down the door, he suggests they use the ship’s own power against it, which he says is powerful enough to “blast half a continent.” One would hope he’s exaggerating because if the ship can do that they might bring down the door, alright, but they’d probably be killing Pike and everyone else down there along with it. There’s a reason the usual response to a hostage situation is not to nuke the entire building.

Number One agrees to this plan, though, so the group disperses to go set to work. Back down in the caves, one of the Talosians is reporting to the Magistrate that they’re all hard at work probing Pike’s mind—just his mind, thankfully—and they’ve found excellent memory capacity. The Magistrate notes that Pike has a recent memory of having to fight to save his own life, which they’re going to use now, but give him “something more interesting to protect.” In his cell, Pike is examining the walls for weakness when his surroundings suddenly shift, and he finds himself on a planet surface, looking up at a pink and purple sky with a giant moon hanging on the horizon. Dominating this vista is a large castle beside a waterfront. As Pike stands there going wtf, a woman runs up to him, saying that they must hurry and hide themselves. Pike protests that he was in a cell just a minute ago and now he’s back on Rigel 7 and what’s that about? He reckons that means this is all another illusion pulled out of his memories. This is all happening as it happened back on the real Rigel 7, down to the unseen growling thing that seems to be approaching—except for the woman. She’s new.

As Pike and the mystery woman run towards the castle for cover, we pull back to the present, where Spock comments that this was “a brilliant deduction by Captain Pike.” Well, I don’t know if I would go that far. Once you’ve learned that the telepathic aliens who’ve captured you can create perfect illusions, and you find yourself suddenly in an impossible reconstruction of your own memory, it’s not a big leap to figure out that the telepathic aliens probably did it. Spock goes on to explain, just in case anyone hasn’t realized it yet, that the Talosians could indeed create any illusory world they wanted for Pike, and that even knowing they were illusions would not make him experience them any less vividly.

On the screen, Pike has figured out that the mystery woman is in fact Vina, just with longer hair and a new dress. He finds this quite odd, but doesn’t get the chance to interrogate her at length because the growling thing has found them. It turns out to actually just be a dude in standard barbarian getup, with a shield and a spiky handaxe. Who is growling.

Vina urges Pike to attack the miniboss over there while he can still swing a surprise round. Pike protests that this isn’t real, but Vina says he has to kill the guy just like he did before. This might all be an illusion but Pike is still gonna feel it just the same if he gets an axe through his chest.

After stomping around a bit, Mr. Snarly finally catches sight of Pike, so any possibility of Pike getting a sneak attack is now gone. Instead he shoves Vina out of the line of fire—the line of axe, if you will—and picks up a nearby mace and shield that’s just laying around. The two have at it, swinging weapons around like two people not used to swinging weapons around.

[Image description: A set of stone stairs between an archway leading up to a balcony. A man in heavy furs and a helmet, carrying a shield, is advancing on Pike, who is crouched on the stairs holding him off with a spear. Behind Pike a woman in a white dress with long blonde hair is cowering.]

A Pike holding a pike.

Eventually Mr. Snarly chases Pike and Vina up onto a nearby balcony. Pike gets pushed off, leaving Vina in the clutches of Mr. Snarly. In desperation, Pike picks up a nearby dagger and throws it at Mr. Snarly, somehow scoring a perfect hit and impaling the guy in the lower back despite all the thick fur in the way. That’s quite implausible impressive, though it doesn’t kill Mr. Snarly. It does attract his attention, though, as a dagger in your back is prone to do, and he proceeds to jump off the balcony to get at Pike—and lands right on top of a big vicious barbed thing that Pike holds up just in time. And that’s the end of Mr. Snarly. 500 XP for Pike!

The scene then dissolves and suddenly they’re back in the cell—both Pike and Vina, though now she has short hair and a shimmery silver dress. She promptly throws herself onto Pike, but then draws back as she realizes they’re being watched by the Talosians, who turn and exit back into the elevator without a word. Creeps.

Back in the present, the hearing room screen suddenly goes blank all by itself, to the surprise of Kirk and Mendez. Spock says this is because the Talosians know that Pike is getting worn out, and sure enough, the guy is asleep with his head slumped forward, thus far the only movement the actor has gotten to perform. The Talosians, Spock says, have a vested interest in Pike getting back alive. He suggests they take a break so everyone can catch a nap. Mendez and Spock have yet another brief bout of verbal arm-wrestling, which predictably goes nowhere. So they take a recess and come back after the break.

As everyone heads back into the room, Kirk’s voiceover informs us that they’re now only an hour out from Talos 4. Luckily for them Captain Pike’s gripping adventures fit remarkably well into a television episode format, so they should have plenty of time to finish watching before they get there.

On the screen, Pike is questioning Vina, asking what her whole deal is. She says she’s there to please him (gross), and when asked if she’s real she says she’s “real as you wish.” Pike calls that one out as the vague non-answer that it is, but Vina’s not any more forthcoming. He guesses that she’s there to get a reaction out of him for the sake of whatever this whole experiment is. While Pike muses out-loud on this, Vina tells him that he can live out any dream or fantasy he wants, and that she can be any woman he’s ever wanted. Vina. Vina, you’re creeping me out here. Please stop.

Mercifully for all of us, Pike is currently less interested in living out sex fantasies and more interested in not being caged up and experimented on by a bunch of psychic jerks, so he tells Vina that the best way for her to please him is to give him some information about how he can fight back against the Talosians. She won’t, though, only saying that he’s a fool, so Pike goes “well you’re not real anyway, nyah” and stalks off. But only about two feet away, there’s not much room to stalk in there.

Up on the planet surface, the Enterprise crew have brought up a seriously big laser and aimed it at the door. They start the countdown and then all run off and hide behind some rocks to watch the show. It’s an impressive show, including a lot of eye-watering flashing lights, but no matter how high they crank up the power, the door won’t budge. Eventually they have to shut it off, leaving them with no sign that anything happened at all, despite all reasonable expectations. But as Boyce points out, they can’t actually be sure of that—the Talosians’ psychic powers are so OP, they could have actually blasted that whole hill to kingdom come and they just can’t tell. Well, that was a productive use of time.

Back in the cell, Vina, evidently tired of being ignored, finally says that maybe she could answer some questions for Pike. But only if he’ll pick a fantasy for them to live out together. Pike is only willing to go as far as “perhaps” but that’s good enough for her. So he asks just how much the Talosians can control people. Vina says they can’t actually force him to do anything, only trick him using the illusions, and punish him if he doesn’t cooperate. They’re not completely all-powerful, then—good to know. As any good gamer knows, if it’s got a weakness, you can find a way to kill it.

When asked, Vina gives some backstory on the Talosians. Evidently they used to live up on the surface many millennia ago, but there was a great war that wrecked the planet so badly it’s only just starting to become able to support life again. The Talosians that managed to escape underground found that living in caves forever is really boring, so they worked on developing their psychic powers to compensate. As Vina explains, though, this was their downfall (well, their second downfall). Once their powers got so great that they could start living out any fantasy they wanted, they stopped doing anything else. Stopped building, expanding, creating, or maintaining their own society. Just sat around all day, dreaming up fake lives. Kind of like having the internet, but even worse.

Having specimens like Pike around is really great for the Talosians, Vina explains, because when they create illusions for him to live out they get to live vicariously through him, feeling his emotions and seeing new experiences. That’s why they’ve got a whole zoo down here, brought back from all over the galaxy. She doesn’t explain how they were brought back. The Talosians seem either unable or unwilling to leave the planet, so did they just have to lure all of their specimens to them? That would indicate that all of those specimens are actually from species advanced enough to have space travel, yet the presence of any other sapient species in the zoo is never mentioned. This would seem to lead to one of two conclusions: either there are other sapient species in the zoo and Pike and Vina just don’t care enough to give them any thought, or the Talosians got really lucky and managed to lure Space Noah’s Ark over to them.

If the Talosians have been keeping all these specimens around for years, Pike works out, they must have been doing what zoos usually do with their animals—breeding them. That indicates they intend to breed them some humans, too. They’ve now got a male specimen, so where are they going to find the female one? Vina protests that Pike made a deal with her about this question-asking business, but Pike says he doesn’t have to hold up a deal with a person who doesn’t exist anyway. Vina tells him that actually she is real, as real and human as him. They’re like Adam and Eve, she says. Oh boy.

Before she can elaborate on that, though, Vina starts writhing around and screaming in pain, begging not to be punished. Then she vanishes, leaving nothing but an empty dress behind. Pike turns to see the Magistrate, who’s been watching them for a while now, and who promptly skedaddles back into the elevator. But like, in a smug way.

Back in the hearing room, Mendez asks Pike if this means he was captured as breeding stock, just in case anyone in the audience doesn’t know who Adam and Eve are. Kirk questions why, was it just to maintain their zoo? Spock says there was much more going on. Then we go back to the footage. Thanks guys, really needed that little break there, very vital for the ongoing plot.

Pike has gone back to leaning on the walls in the hopes of finding a weak spot, when he sees that a glass of blue liquid has come through a panel. He tries to break through the panel, but he’s far too late and it’s now shut securely again. Nothing left to do but check out that glass. The Magistrate, who’s come back again, tells Pike that the liquid is a nourishing protein complex, good for when you’re working out a lot. And they actually say this with their mouth, the first time any of the Talosians have deigned to communicate verbally.

The Magistrate says that if Pike doesn’t find the protein complex appetizing, it can appear to be any kind of food he wants. What if, Pike asks, what he wants is to go on a hunger strike instead? The Magistrate replies that if Pike doesn’t cooperate he can be punished. Seconds later, Pike is writhing about in a landscape of flame and boiling mud, screaming dramatically. Then, just as quickly, he’s back in the cell. The Magistrate says they drew this experience from a fable Pike heard in childhood. I presume they’re talking about Hell, but really it could be a lot of things. Muspelheim, for example.

So if Pike doesn’t do what he’s told he’ll be put in time-out in Hell, which is pretty bad. But he wonders, why not just make him feel irresistibly hungry? The Magistrate doesn’t answer, but Pike works it out himself: that’s not within their power. They can construct imaginary environments that provide certain kinds of stimulus, but it seems that directly forcing people to feel specific sensations is a no-go. But the Magistrate warns that if Pike doesn’t drink his supper they can draw even worse punishments from his mind, so reluctantly he downs the contents of the glass. Then he gets up and abruptly makes a charge for the front of the cell, causing the Magistrate to briefly step back in alarm.

What follows is two completely separate conversations happening at once. Pike is focused on the Magistrate’s reaction. In that moment, he says, he was only thinking about how much he wanted to hurt the Magistrate, which makes him wonder if the Talosians can’t read through ‘primitive thoughts.’ Meanwhile the Magistrate, stubbornly ignoring everything Pike is saying, tells him that a human ship really did crash on the planet, but in reality there was only one survivor, badly injured. They fixed her up, found her ‘interesting,’ and decided they would need to attract a mate.

Pike finally caves to the subject and notes that the Talosians seem to be trying to make Pike feel protective and caring towards Vina. The Magistrate says this is necessary for propagation of the species. So apparently, despite how advanced the Talosians would like us to think they are, the only way they can get a baby out of a couple of humans is to get them to physically have sex with each other. I mean, we don’t even have to do that anymore. On that note, the Talosians got really lucky that both of their ‘specimens’ turned out to be cis and straight, and evidently still in full possession of all baby-making capabilities. Imagine how gloriously Pike could derail this whole stupid thing just by saying, “Sorry guys, got something to tell you...” My enjoyment of this episode would skyrocket.

The Magistrate says they only want Pike to fall in love with Vina because they want their specimens to be happy. Pike immediately dismisses that as a lie, which seems fair, since so far the Talosians’ attempts to make Pike ‘happy’ have involved sticking him in a ten by ten room with a single hard bench, constantly threatening to punish him horribly if he steps out of line, occasionally providing him with a single mouthful of liquid for sustenance, and standing right outside loudly insulting him for kicks. You guys would never get AZA accredited at this rate.

So Pike naturally enough assumes they have ulterior motives. He thinks that maybe they’re trying to get him to genuinely bond with Vina so they can establish a family group, maybe leading up to a whole community. Hopefully they’re planning to get some more specimens in the mix there or that human community is gonna face some serious problems. On his way out, the Magistrate says that Vina has been properly ‘conditioned,’ which enrages Pike, who says that if they’re going to punish anyone they should punish him because he’s the one not cooperating. The Magistrate smugly notes that Pike is feeling protectiveness and, now, sympathy, which is just what they want. Then they swan off again.

I don’t know if I would consider getting a human to feel sympathy and protectiveness to be much of an accomplishment though, to be honest. I mean, humans can feel sympathy and protectiveness towards animals, plants, inanimate objects, fictional characters, Animal Crossing villagers...it doesn’t take a masterwork of manipulation, is what I’m saying.

Pike stands there glaring after the Magistrate, but a moment later the cell fades out and he suddenly finds himself in a soundstage with some trees on it—sorry, I meant, some beautiful and verdant parkland, of course. Nearby is Vina with a blanket and picnic basket, and also, a couple horses. Pike recognizes the horses as his, the ones he was telling Boyce about back in Part I, and takes a minute to happily pet one and feed him some sugar cubes. Pike’s held out in the face of being offered any kind of wild fantasy he wishes, refusing to buy into any illusion he’s been given, but getting to see his beloved pets, now, that’ll make him immediately give in a little. Which I consider to be easily the most realistic moment in this entire story. If you wanted me to buy into an illusory world, putting my cat in it would probably be your best bet.

This all seems to be a scene from home for Pike, home in the most ideal possible sense, and Vina tells him he can stay there. Pike protests that neither of them are really there, that they’re being held in a cage, a menagerie—two for one title drop there, woo! But Vina reacts very badly to any mention that this is all an illusion. Pike keeps trying to get information out of her while she sits there begging for him to just go along with it.

Eventually Vina says that it’s true the Talosians can’t read through primitive emotions like hate. I’m not sure why hate is a more primitive emotion than anything else. I could understand how any strong enough emotion could overwhelm sensitive telepathy, but no, it’s just hate, I guess. Personally I think hate is kind of an advanced emotion. I mean, do you think animals feel hate? I don’t think so. I think it’s something we invented.

Problem is, Vina says, it’s impossible to keep that hate going for long enough to really do anything. “I’ve tried,” she says. “They keep at you and at you, year after year, tricking and punishing. And they’ve won. They own me.”

Keep in mind that if Vina was really a survivor of that crash, that means she’s been here for eighteen years. Eighteen years alone with no contact except for figments of her imagination and some aliens that view her as nothing more than a primitive animal. Eighteen years of being held captive by beings that can make someone live through the most nightmarish scenarios they could possibly imagine as punishment for any transgression. Eighteen years of constant psychological manipulation and torture. Pike’s frustration with her unwillingness to help is understandable but it’s hardly any wonder that Vina just wants him to cooperate so that the hell she lives in, that she’s given up any chance of ever getting out of, could now at least become a little more bearable. We only get a glimpse of what that hell must have been like for her, but that glimpse is absolutely horrific.

Pike comforts her, because you’d have to be pretty damn hard-hearted to not react to that little speech, but Vina says he doesn’t fully realize what’s going on. She says that the Talosians picked Pike specifically because they read her mind to know what her idea of the perfect man would be. In other words, he was hand-picked to be someone she couldn’t help but fall in love with. Really, they searched her mind for the ideal man and came up with this dude? Vina. Vina, honey, I don’t mean to judge, but you could do so much better.

While the Talosians watch from their cave monitor, because they’re skeevy bastards, Pike says that he’s been attracted to Vina as well from the moment he first saw her in the camp. When you thought she was eighteen, ya creep. He says she was like “a wild little animal.” Pike...Pike, I don’t know where you learned to compliment women but you clearly need to go back and take the course again.

Vina says that she thinks she knows now why Pike hasn’t been brought in by any of the illusions; they’re all things that he’s experienced and is familiar with. A person’s wildest dreams, she says, are about things that they can’t have. Pike being a starship captain means he always has to be formal and honorable, so he must be yearning to cut loose. Wow, thanks for giving the Talosians free tips on how to psychologically manipulate humans, Vina.

Sure enough, the Talosians promptly change the idyllic scene, and Pike finds himself dressed in ornate clothing and sitting by a poolside while Vina—now appearing as an Orion woman with green skin and dark hair—dances with the accompaniment of a few guys playing music that I can only describe as ‘stereotypically exotic’. And that really is the same actress, Susan Oliver, who had a long career as an actor, director, and aviator, but mostly now gets remembered for a few minutes of dancing around with green paint on.

(A fun fact about this scene is that they had to experiment a lot to get the green makeup right, but when the film first came back from editing, the green was barely visible. So they tried another makeup, but that didn’t show up any better. This went on for a while before they found out that the guy in the film lab had been assuming that the green color was a mistake that they would want corrected, and had been hard at work undoing the makeup artist’s hard work. That’s the only fun thing I can come up with about this scene, though.)

Apparently Pike’s wildest fantasies also include a bowl of fruit and a couple of incredibly sleazy guys sitting next to him just to round things out. Luckily for him, all this is being observed not just by a bunch of smug jerk aliens, but also by the court martial attendees watching it on the screen in the present, while he sits there unable to leave or say anything or even turn around. And yes, the scene cuts back to the present, just in case anyone might have forgotten about that. Kirk even asks Pike to confirm that that is Vina as the Orion slave girl, for no reason I can think of except to just embarrass him. Mendez muses that “[Orion women] are like animals—vicious, seductive. They say no human male can resist them.”

Excuse me, I need to just step away from my computer for a moment.

[distant sounds of a head banging against a wall]

Okay, I’m back. Where were we? Oh, right. This.

The sexy dancing goes on for longer than is frankly necessary—although really, any amount of time at all would be longer than is necessary—while Pike sits there vibrating in place before he can’t stand it anymore and flees through a nearby door. Beyond is a series of, guess what, more caves. As Pike looks around for an exit he finds that the way back is now gone, nothing more than a solid stone wall. And then Vina, still in green, appears behind him, holding a torch.

What happens next is left to the imagination—probably for the best there—as we then finally return to the Enterprise, where a landing party is assembling. Number One and Spock give the rest a grim briefing: they’re hoping to beam down to the inside of the Talosians’ base, but there’s always the possibility that the Talosians could manipulate what the transporter officer sees and cause people to be beamed inside solid rock. Gee, the transporter sure is fun. Number One says that, given that lovely possibility, anyone is free to back out now without judgment, but no one does. No one ever does when someone gives that ultimatum, come to think of it.

So they all get on the transporter and prepare to head off, but when the switch is hit, only two of the six people actually go anywhere: Number One and a red-haired female crewman who’s been around but hasn’t been named yet. Or, as Spock hilariously declares rather loudly, “THE WOMEN!”

The transporter operators fumble desperately with the controls, but to no avail: the women are, indeed, gone. Specifically, they’ve gone to Pike’s cell. The inside of his cell, unfortunately. Pike is evidently still inside the illusion doing I-don’t-want-to-know-what with Vina because he’s just standing there staring into space while Vina has her hands on his shoulders. Upon seeing the new arrivals she screams, “No! Let me finish!” and storms away.

While Vina sulks and the other two women realize that no one else got transported with them, Pike re-enters reality, and promptly tears open the redhead’s landing jacket. No worries, though: what he’s after is the phaser she’s carrying. He takes Number One’s, too, but to his frustration neither phaser seems to be working. Neither is Number One’s communicator.

So Pike adopts a new strategy. He stands over by the panel where the food-drink came out, drops the phasers in front of it, and begins loudly talking about how he’s imagining beating up the Talosians, filling his mind with that most primitive of emotions, hate. Meanwhile, Vina moves on to picking on the other women, sneering about how the redhead is “a fine choice for intelligent offspring” and that “they’d have more luck crossing him with a computer” than Number One, who somehow has already figured out that the Talosians are trying to breed humans from Pike. Number One fires back that Vina was an adult crewman on the crashed ship eighteen years ago, meaning she should not be looking quite so young and sprightly anymore. Yeah, you really get a sense that Number One is logical, emotionless and detached, by how her response to one half-baked insult is to immediately go, “Oh yeah, well you’re OLD.”

The whole argument is derailed when the Magistrate comes back to tell Pike that since he’s been resisting Vina, they’ve brought him two more women to choose from. Great. Lovely. Look, I, uh...I don’t really want to examine the practicality of breeding humans too much, y’know, but...I don’t understand why the Talosians are so focused on Pike and only Pike here. When they only had one human on hand, and wanted a lot more humans, trying to get more humans out of that first human makes...sense, I guess. But now there’s a whole ship up there of some four hundred humans (and one half-human), and they’re completely ignoring all of them except Pike and two women that they only brought down to entice Pike some more. Sure, they’ve decided Pike is the ‘prime specimen’ or whatever, but he’s only one guy. If you want to build a whole community, you’re going to need a lot more genetic diversity—not to mention the additional skillsets offered by the rest of the Enterprise crew, that the Talosians themselves clearly don’t have, and the fact that having so many more extra specimens means your whole plan isn’t ruined if one of them dies or is infertile or refuses to get with the program. This plot is obviously incredibly ethically wrong, but it’s also just incredibly stupid on a practical level.

The Magistrate proceeds to inform Pike that both women have qualities in their favor: Number One is really smart, and the redhead is young and strong. Also apparently she’s been crushing on Pike for some time but considered him unreachable and is now realizing that that’s changed. Sure, because any woman’s first thought upon suddenly being imprisoned to use as breeding stock would be “oh cool, I get to screw the captain now.” That’s ever so realistic.

Pike is still yelling at the Magistrate about all his hateful thoughts, but the Magistrate puts a stop to it by giving him some kind of mental punishment, presumably another trip to hell. They smugly tell the assembled captives that wrong thinking will be punished and right thinking will be rewarded. Then they flounce away.

Sometime later, everyone’s sitting around looking glum—or taking a nap, in Vina’s case—when Pike sees the panel in the wall start to slide open. The Magistrate is making a grab for the phasers Pike dropped there earlier. But this time Pike is ready. He pounces on the guy, hauling them out into the cell, pinning them to the floor, and grabbing them by the throat. The Magistrate responds by making themself appear to be some kind of big hairy thing with tusks, but Pike is undeterred and hangs on, threatening the Magistrate into dropping the illusion. So then the Magistrate says that if Pike doesn’t release them they’ll destroy the Enterprise. Vina says they can do it, by tricking the crew into working the wrong controls, but Pike thinks they won’t.

He tries the phasers again, but they still don’t seem to be working. So he turns the phaser on the Magistrate. He’s guessing that the phaser did work and the Magistrate just illusion’d over it, but they’re probably not going to be able to do the same thing if Pike shoots them in the head. The Magistrate gives in and, sure enough, a big hole suddenly appears in the front wall of the cell. Well, fancy that.

Everyone makes their way out of the hole, Pike hauling along the Magistrate with a phaser still pointed at their head. Back in the present, the screen goes off on its own. Spock, for the first time during all this, seems unsure and worried, especially when Mendez comments that “it seems the Talosians have deserted you.” He asks them to just wait a moment, but the screen still remains white. I feel for him. It sucks when you’re trying to give a presentation but the projector’s just not cooperating.

Mendez asks Pike for his verdict, but Spock begs his former captain to signal for a wait instead, telling him it’s a chance for his life on the line. Kirk questions what Spock means, exactly, by all this ‘chance for life’ business, since all that we’ve seen indicates that ‘life’ with the Talosians means being kept caged and treated like a zoo animal performing for amusement. You know, Kirk, that’s a mighty good point. We’ll get back to that later.

Spock insists there’s more to it and tells him to watch, but there’s nothing to watch. It sure is a pity Spock has completely lost his ability to explain anything himself and can only rely on the screen to do it for him. Tragic.

With no more footage forthcoming, Mendez pushes again for a verdict, and Pike votes with a single long beep: guilty. Mendez himself votes guilty as well. Attention turns to Kirk, although with two guilty votes it doesn’t much matter what he says now. Still, there’s quite the dramatic chord when he votes guilty as well. Although it’d be pretty hard to not vote that Spock was guilty right now. I mean, he put in a guilty plea. They know he did indeed take the ship to Talos 4 because they’re on the ship and it’s going there right now. Spock may (or may not, it’s debatable) have good reasons for doing what he’s doing, but it’d be kind of ludicrous to call him innocent of the charges.

After the break, the bridge calls in to say that they’re entering orbit around Talos 4. Spock says that the Talosians are controlling the ship like they did thirteen years ago. Uh. The Talosians didn’t control the ship thirteen years ago, though, did they? They tricked the people who did control the ship into going there, but there was never an indication that they could actually control the ship directly. You might say they were just controlling it via illusions again, except they can’t do that because no one is actually flying the ship right now. It’s still computer controlled. So what’s going on here, Spock?

Spock’s not forthcoming about this but he says they’ll see the answer as to why right now. And sure enough, the screen comes back on. Man, all that drama about whether the record would keep playing, and voting Spock guilty or not, that sure led up to something, didn’t it. Here they are, all still in the room. Watching the screen. Why did it go off in the first place? Nobody knows.

On the screen, Pike and co take the elevator back up to the surface, where it turns out that the giant laser cannon actually did blow the door clean off, and took out a bunch of the surrounding rock, too—the Talosians just put an illusion over it.

Pike orders Number One to contact the ship, but it seems she can’t. The Magistrate gloats that their escape attempt was futile and actually they wanted the prisoners to get up to the surface. Oh, fuck off. If they wanted the humans on the surface, they could have taken them to the surface at any time. There was no need for an elaborate charade of pretending to be taken prisoner. This punk just got their ass handed to them and is too terminally smug to admit it. “Yeah, this was our plan! We wanted you to do this all along!” Bullshit.

Anyway, the Magistrate says it’s time for the reclaiming of the planet surface to begin, once Pike chooses a lady. Pike says that he’ll stay with Vina if the Talosians at least send Number One and the redhead back. Number One then drops this stunning line.

[Image Description: Number One, a white woman with long dark hair wearing a blue landing party jacket over a gold uniform shirt, saying, “It’s wrong to create a race of humans to live as slaves.”]

REALLY, IS IT? I NEVER WOULD HAVE GUESSED. Man, Star Trek really coming in with the hard-hitting moral lessons here. So cerebral! I’m in awe.

To prove her point, Number One has set her phaser to start overloading, which will kill all of them. The Magistrate is, for once, quite thrown by this sudden determination to die rather than live in captivity. Pike tells Vina and the Magistrate that they still have time to get back underground before the phaser goes off, but Vina says that if they all really find it this important, she’s staying with them. After all if the Talosians have any human beings left they’ll probably just keep trying this whole thing all over again. And poor Vina may well be thinking now that going out in a phaser overload is preferable to more time as a captive under such awful circumstances.

Before anyone can get vaporized, though, a couple more Talosians come up in the elevator. Apparently they’ve got some information from the Enterprise records that they’re here to deliver to the Magistrate telepathically, though not before getting in yet another dig about how crude the humans are. The Magistrate is stunned at this new information: that humans have such a hatred for captivity that they’ll choose death instead, no matter how pleasant the captivity is. Yeah, we really hate captivity. Not so much, of course, that we won’t subject lots of other humans to it if it’s convenient for us, but, y’know.

At any rate, from this information (wherever they got it from—was there just a subheading in the Enterprise archives about How Much We Hate Captivity, Boy We Really Do?), the Talosians figure that using humans for their slave race is never going to work because they’re just too violent and rebellious. Since the humans are no use, the Talosians are going to let them go. Oh. Well okay then.

Pike is annoyed that they’re not even getting a “sorry we kidnapped and tried to enslave you” or anything, but one of the Talosians points out that without a slave race, the Talosians are condemned to die, so Pike should be happy with that. Oh sure, blame it on the humans. You were the ones who got yourselves into the situation where you needed a slave race to survive. You have only yourselves to blame.

But apparently humans were the Talosians’ best shot, as they were unable to find any other species adaptable enough for the purpose. Pike wonders if there might be, y’know, some middle ground between survival by slave race and extinction—trading, perhaps—but the Magistrate says that humans would eventually pick up the Talosians’ illusion powers and destroy themselves too. That’s a remarkably confident prediction. How do they know humans are even capable of developing that power, or that they would react in the same way to having it?

Oh, never mind. Pike’s done with these idiots and ready to get back to the ship. All eyes then turn to Vina—who says she can’t go.

Up in the transporter room, they’ve suddenly got power again, and the helm is responding once more. Oh, I guess the Talosians did have control over the ship? Since...when? It seems to be enough for them to transport Number One and the redhead back up, at any rate. But not Pike just yet. He’s still down there talking to Vina.

As dramatic music plays, the illusion fades away from Vina, revealing her TRUE FORM: an old woman with a couple scars and a hunch. Hideous.

[Image Description: Vina, an old white woman with stiff pale hair, a scar running across her face and another under the corner of her mouth. She is wearing a shimmery white-gray garment and her right shoulder is hunched up close to her ear.]

Vina says the Talosians found her in the wreckage of the crash, horribly injured, and were able to save her, but because they had never seen a human before they had “no guide to putting [her] back together.” So they were able to figure out human anatomy well enough to restore a dying crash victim to full health, while somehow also not being able to figure it out well enough to make the human look right—even though the Talosians are pretty human-looking themselves and, one would think, would have a decent idea of where all the arms and legs and things go at least. Of course, given that all we can see is Vina’s face and some of the shape of her upper body, it’s rather hard to tell what the Talosians even did that was supposedly so bad. Maybe we’re supposed to imagine the rest of her looks like a Necromorph, but as it is, you’ll forgive me for not dropping my jaw in horror at an old woman with a hump.

Pike, however, seems to be considerably more squeamish, and stands there gaping like an idiot. The Magistrate tells him that they had to show him that Vina did in fact honestly want to stay behind, but they’ll give her back her “illusion of beauty” and “more.” I mean they psychologically tortured her for eighteen years, but we can probably trust them with her welfare.

So Pike returns to the ship, and when asked if Vina isn’t coming with, he says, “No, and I agreed with her reasons.” Oh, you agreed, did you? Once you saw her “true form” wasn’t attractive to you, you realized it was better for her to stay with the aliens that tortured and enslaved her. God forbid she should walk among humans again. She might drive people mad!

The Enterprise heads out, and in the present, the screen goes white again—presumably that’s really the end this time. Kirk gets up, shares a long look with Spock, then turns to say something to Mendez—but Mendez promptly disappears. An image of the Magistrate then appears on the screen, speaking telepathically.

The Magistrate says that Mendez never left the base—he’s been an illusion ever since the shuttlecraft. Having heard from Spock what strength of will Kirk had, they were afraid that Kirk would regain control of the ship, so they made this illusory court martial to distract him. Well if that was the case, why the frell did Mendez keep trying to end the court martial? You’d think they would want him to be extending it as much as possible instead of constantly saying he wanted it stopped.

Anyway, the Magistrate says Pike is welcome to come stay with them for the rest of his life, where he can live in a virtual world instead of being stuck paralyzed forever. Kirk wants to know why the hell Spock didn’t just explain all this to him, because after all Kirk is always down for breaking Starfleet regulations if the Right Thing To Do is on the line. But Spock says that he wouldn’t have Kirk facing the death penalty too. Uh, he kind of is, though? Because it’s his ship so he’s responsible for everything that happens on it? Did we not go over this? I think we went over this.

At that moment, though, a message comes in from the real Mendez, saying that they received the transmissions from Talos 4 also, and in light of how important Pike has been to the service, they’re going to drop the death penalty thing this one time. And Spock is off the hook. Oh, well, that’s super nice of them. I guess the only thing left to do is ask Pike himself if he wants to go.

Pike says yes, so Spock takes him off to the transporter room. Kirk, left alone in the room, is shown an image of Pike—young, healthy Pike—returning down the elevator hand in hand with Vina. “Captain Pike has an illusion, and you have reality,” the Magistrate says. “May you find your way as pleasant.” And there we end.

There is so much going on here I don’t even know where to start. The ending that Vina gets is, quite honestly, an outrage. It’s presented as an utterly obvious fact that her appearance means that staying behind on Talos 4 is best for her. Did anyone consider that maybe if they brought her back she could be treated by human doctors, who, y’know, generally have seen a human or two in their time and might be able to help her a wee bit more than the clueless aliens? Even if not, even if they could do nothing for her, why the hell shouldn’t she come back? It can’t be that she’s somehow unable to leave, such as from some kind of medical issue that only the Talosians can treat, because she outright says “everything works.” It’s an ending that pretty bluntly says that for a woman, being disfigured is such a horrible fate that it’s better for her to remain a captive of the aliens that imprisoned, tortured, and attempted to breed her to make a race of slaves, than for her to live with other humans. Some enlightened future this is!

It’s a bad enough for a character of any gender, but it’s hard not to see it as being directly related to her being a woman, because we have a male example to directly compare it to: Pike. Pike’s appearance after his accident helps demonstrate his condition but it’s otherwise pretty much incidental. No one ever comments on it. All the focus is on his quality of life--which it should be in that situation, but no one ever talks about Vina’s quality of life. So for Pike to consider going to live in a virtual world with the jerkass aliens he has to be completely paralyzed and barely able to communicate with anyone, but for Vina, well, she doesn’t look nice anymore, so that’s basically just as bad, right?

Not that the whole question of going to live with the jerkass aliens is itself not weird as hell. The idea of choosing the virtual world isn’t so much the problem. I mean, I spend way too much time playing video games to call anyone else out on their decisions in that regard. If this was some neutral situation--a planet or machine that naturally generates these illusions, or that the Enterprise had stumbled upon aliens with this power accidentally, maybe, for Pike or even Vina to choose to live there because they felt their quality of life in the real world was no longer good enough, that would be an understandable decision. But we’re not talking about that. We’re talking about the aliens that kidnapped five people, put them in cages and treated them like zoo animals, tortured them for not obeying, and intended to breed a race of slaves from them. Did everyone just forget that?! Vina outright described being tortured for eighteen years by the Talosians. Why would anyone remotely be okay with the idea of continuing to live with them? Why would you trust that they genuinely had good intentions for Pike and Vina now or that they’ve become definitely reformed in the past thirteen years? Why are we expected to treat this as an unambiguously happy ending?

I acknowledge that there were limitations when it came to writing The Menagerie--they had to work with an existing story which wasn’t written with the later framework in mind. But they didn’t have to frame that story in the way that they did, which, I’ll be honest with you, I did not find that great. It starts out interesting enough, with this whole question of what could possibly be going on with Spock, and what’s so terrible about Talos 4, but once they get to the actual court martial it just peters out. They keep trying to maintain tension in both storylines, but all the drama in the present one falls flat because it’s meaningless. Periodically the screen will stop or Mendez will go “I’ve had enough of this!”--and then nothing happens and everything carries on as it was. Then at the end it turns out Mendez wasn’t real and, despite Talos 4 apparently being SO DANGEROUS that it warranted the only death penalty in the Federation, Starfleet is like “oh okay yeah no it’s fine” and that’s the end of that.

Why not just...I don’t know...present the story as a flashback? Why go to all the trouble of setting up circumstances of letting them view the footage on a screen in a way that’s so weird the characters straight up have to say “hang on this doesn’t make sense” just to get the audience to accept it? Set up a situation where the present day Enterprise crew is dealing with something a little like the Talosians and have Spock go “oh we encountered something like this once” and Kirk go “oh tell me about it” and then at the end Kirk somehow gets an idea of how to deal with the current situation because of that story. Or maybe someone makes contact with Talos 4, maybe they’ve changed their minds and want to ask for help after all, maybe Vina’s changed her mind and wants to go home, but Spock has to relate the story because no one else knows what’s going on. Hell, maybe Spock and Kirk just meet Pike in a bar and he’s like “hey Spock remember those dumb aliens we met that one time!” There’s lots of potential frameworks that would be less overly complicated, and less prone to setting themselves up to an unsatisfactory conclusion, than the one we got.

The Cage was infamously rejected because the executives thought it was “too cerebral.” What, exactly, they thought was cerebral about it is a mystery to me. Was it Pike fighting a snarly guy in a fur hat for five minutes? Was it the bit where a woman in green body paint dances sensually while a lot of men ogle at her? Was it the giant laser? There’s so many amazingly cerebral things in this story, it could have been any of them. But whatever their reasons, I, for one, can only say I am glad that they did reject The Cage and that we got the show that we did instead.

TREK TROPE TALLY: None once again this episode--unsurprisingly since we only saw two main cast members and they just sat in a room the whole time. Next time we’ll be enjoying intrigue and Shakespeare references galore with The Conscience of the King.

#star trek #star trek the original series #star trek season one #1.12 The Menagerie Part 2 #recap tag #star trek TOS recaps #1.12 The Menagerie Part 2 recap

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svarmodiig · 5 years

Text

CHRISTMAS SHORTS

Ⅰ. @fatestouched

✦ ▪ As Inigo’s eyes meet with Owain’s own, he can feel his pulse accelerate, heart beating at such a rate it almost feels like it could implode at any minute, setting free the countless butterflies which swarmed within. His breathing slows, each breath heavier than the last. They’d been friends for years now, and yet each time he laid eyes upon Owain, he had the same reaction. By now, he’d come to realise that it wasn’t normal - he didn’t get this with any of his other friends, but then again, none of them were like Owain. He was special. There was a warm feeling that seemed to surge throughout him when Owain was around, like a blanket, one which wrapped itself around him so tightly he felt comfortable. When they were alone, the world around them felt so distant, nothing more than a backing set to the main stage which they were centered upon. These feelings, they were what everyone dreamed of at some point, whether it be through idle daydreamt illusions, or through envy of a happy couple before them, real or fictional alike. There was something about romance which everyone seemed to want. Everyone wanted their own dream match, and yet that was the beauty in it. Dreams are just that. No one matched with the person of their dreams, not really, and yet as they met with their fated one, those ideals seemed to align into something entirely new. One could dream up someone entirely different to the person they met, and yet that dream would somehow take form of their newly beloved. Aspects of their dream begin to appear before them in a reality they could hardly have dreamt up. Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps dreams purposefully misalign with reality, so that reality can be so much more than the dream. Owain was, by no means, the perfect match that Inigo had once dreamt up, yet such dreams had come to an end, replaced by dreams of him.

He can feel himself staring, but can hardly bring himself to stop. There was something about Owain’s emerald green eyes that he seemed to lose himself in, like a whole other world revealed itself behind those eyes. (In some realities, it likely did. Owain’s imagination was capable of quite nearly anything, yet in this moment, Owain himself was not living in his fantasy world.)

“I- I suppose we should hit the sack, huh?” Inigo manages to ask through his nerves, a smile hiding the fear behind his true self.

Despite having years of friendship behind them, the two had never been forced to share sleeping quarters together before, yet times grew direr and such luxuries could no longer be afforded. He didn’t mind, quite the contrary, in fact. What made it so difficult was these feelings he harbored. Owain was within arm’s reach - literally, rather than figuratively, for once - and yet he couldn’t feel further away. How long could this go on for? He couldn’t say for sure, but something told him these feelings weren’t unreciprocated. He’d picked up on all of the eye contact by now, the way in which Owain seemed to grow defensive of him yet such a sentiment hardly expressed itself for anyone else. There was a soft spot in Owain’s heart, sure, but Inigo couldn’t be sure if it was in the same way as he had a soft spot for him. Was it platonic? Did he think of Inigo as merely a friend? Or was there more there?

“Heh, I suppose you’re right. War waits for no one, we should rest while we have the opportunity, friend!” Owain responds in an unusually calm manner, albeit one still expressed with his usual flare. It unnerved Inigo, he had expected some theatrical monologue about the realm of dreams from Owain, and yet his response had been… normal. A somewhat nervous laugh manages to escape his mouth, though he plays it off with a grin.

“Oh? No dramatic performance this time? Are you feeling alright, Owain?” He asks with a chuckle, watching Owain closely for any attempts to cover up his true feelings behind a mask.

“Ah- sorry to disappoint Inigo, I didn’t realise you secretly enjoyed them. I’m sure I can think up something cool, just… give me a second here.”

“No, No. There’s no need, truly, I was just expecting one, you usually respond with them, it’s a little surreal to hear you talk so casually around me.”

“Hm? Well… I suppose it’s because I feel safe around you. I don’t need to keep the act up, not while we’re alone like this… But to be clear, if you tell anyone about this, I’ll get you back.” Inigo can feel as his heart skips out on a beat, thrown off by Owain’s comment. He watches, with some guilt, as Owain stares out into the empty, unpainted canvas of the night, trying to create something beautiful out of nowhere with his words. Before he can, however, Inigo cuts him off.

“Heh, it’s our little secret, I promise. I’m honoured - happy - to hear you feel comfortable around me… I feel exactly the same.” Inigo smiles affectionately at Owain, mirroring the blond’s own. Unsure of where to take the conversation from here, Inigo abruptly decides to end the moment. Carefully, he turns over to blow out the lantern beside him, dimming the scenery around the two boys, leaving only Owain’s silhouette in his vision as he turns back. “Goodnight, buddy, rest up well.”

“You too, Inigo. Goodnight.” Owain responds, following suit and blowing out the candle on his side. Owain stays facing that direction after, however, unlike Inigo who had turned to look back at Owain. He studies the waves which ran through Owain’s golden locks, the way they curled back into themself on his neck, how they spiked up unruly atop his head. He adored Owain’s hair, it perfectly reflected his own personality, unpredictable and yet presentable in its own unique manner.

A discomforted sigh escapes Inigo’s mouth as he covers himself with the makedo blanket he’d been provided with. Their sleeping situation was hardly a comfortable one, he’d come to expect as such by now. He missed the days when he could sleep comfortably in his own bed, tucked in by his parents after reading a story to send him adrift. Such days were long gone by now, nothing more than distant memories or hopeless dreams.

In the vast emptiness of the prolonged night, time seems to flow in a much crueler manner. Seconds feel like minutes; minutes like hours; and hours a new measure of time somehow immeasurable. With his vision reduced by the darkness, other senses heighten. Each beat of his heart feels infinitely stronger. Each breath feels less unnoticeable. He can hear as Owain shuffles, trying to find a comfortable position no doubt. In the end, he, too, lets out a sigh, accepting the reality of the situation. Inigo could hardly remember the last time he’d slept well. It was only a matter of time until he passed out from pure exhaustion, that was usually how his nights came to an end. Yet, he found some solace in Owain’s discomfort. It was reassuring to know that his experiences were shared by the others. Truly, no one was in this alone.

“Trouble sleeping too?” Inigo asks, after some time, completely abandoning the notion of sleep and hoping ease himself from his nerves. Owain turns suddenly, facing Inigo once again, and even though Inigo can hardly see him, their eyes still meet across the small space in between them.

“I hate to complain, I know this is the best we can do, considering… But I just can’t get comfortable. We’ve all sacrificed so much, I just can’t help but wish for more, you know?”

“I do…” Inigo responds, eyes dropping to the ground before him. “We’re still alive, and that’s more than some could say, and I try so desperately to remind myself of that with each passing moment… But that doesn’t change the fact that these blankets are hardly enough to keep you warm, or comfortable.”

“Right? I can’t remember the last time I slept on any surface that wasn’t the ground.” Owain remarks, letting out a chuckle as he does. Inigo finds himself laughing along, almost forgetting the discomfort he was in. “Still, I suppose we should be thankful. There are people out there suffering each night, unable to defend themselves from the monsters which plague this land, trying to get by every hour of the day… They probably dream about being in a campsite like this… They’d probably appreciate these blankets, because it’s got to be better than nothing….” Owain continues after a moment, his tone serious. Inigo feels a surge of guilt overwhelm him. Even if their situation wasn’t the best, it was better than those of the innocent bystanders who were caught up in Grima’s onslaught. Clenching his first, he shakes himself out of the selfish thoughts which had taken root in his head.

“I suppose you’re right, this may not be the most luxurious life but it’s bearable… And we chose this life… Those people didn’t. That’s why we’re here, now.” With his resolve fixed, Inigo can’t help but let out a slight laugh, shaking his head. “Heh, who would’ve believed that you of all people would help me remember this situation.”

“--HEY! I think about them too you know? I might play the hero all the time, Inigo, but that’s because I have to - because SOMEONE has to. I don’t let it show, because… Honestly, I’m scared I’m not good enough. At least if I pretend, none of you expect anything from me, and I can avoid disappointing my own friends.”

“H-Hey, Owain… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it… It’s just. You always seem so confident in yourself, I look up to you in a way. I wish I could be half as strong as you are, even if it is just a facade.”

“Heh, you look up to me? I look up to YOU Inigo. You’re always so optimistic about things. Always trying to get everyone to smile and not let things get to them… We’d be lost without you Inigo, no one would have any hope, no belief that we’re doing the right thing.”

“Well... Just like you, it’s all one great pretense. I know everyone needs to hear those words, but the truth of the matter is, I need to hear them just as much as the rest of you do.” Wearing a slight smile on his face, Inigo shifts his focus to Owain’s silhouette once more. “I guess we’re all just pretending to be stronger than we are, huh?”

“Do you think....” Owain halts, shaking his head visibly, “No, nevermind.”

“No - Go on, what did you want to ask?”

“Do you think we’ll ever be okay? That this war will ever come to an end? That we can truly win? Or are we just holding onto false hope?” Owain asks with evident hesitance, and he quickly follows up. “Ah, sorry… I didn’t mean to ask so many questions… I just. Even though we’re all always together, it feels so lonely sometimes… I guess it’s nice to have someone to talk to about this.”

“Don’t be sorry, Owain, it’s okay… I ask myself those questions all the time… I wish I could answer, I wish I could help you. The truth is, I don’t know. There’s no real way to know, not really… But we have to hold onto our hope, it’s the only thing we have, the driving force behind everything we do. We can’t let it go, not now. We’ve come too far for that.”

“...Thank you Inigo. You’re right, we can’t afford to let go of our very reasoning for being here.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Owain, that’s what friends are for, after all.” Inigo pauses for a moment, reaching out to rub Owain’s shoulder gently. “You’re not alone. You can always come and talk to me, no matter the time of day, or whatever the topic. I’m here for you.” Though he knows Owain probably can’t see it, he flashes a sympathetic smile. Inigo tenses up slightly as he feels Owain shift, placing his own hand on Inigo’s own, taking his fingers in between his own and squeezing his hand gently. His heart flutters, chest tightening as the action registers in his brain. He clenches his fingers, pulling Owain’s tighter into his own, taking hold of his shoulder more comfortably.

“You’re a god send, Inigo, you know that? I couldn’t ask for a better sleep shift buddy than you.” At the title, Inigo laughs, his smile reforming unknowingly as he does.

“I- I just…” Inigo stutters in response, though no further words manage to follow.

“Hm… Our hands have warmed up a little like this, haven’t they?” Owain asks, leaving Inigo confused for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure of Owain’s train of thought in that moment.”Perhaps we ought to lay side by side, that could warm us up.”

“Y-You mean, like spooning?” Inigo responds, startled by Owain’s suggestion.

“O-Oh… No, No! That wasn’t... I just meant...” Tension rises between the two, one that sends Inigo’s blood boiling, a nervous heat radiating from his body. “...That would be more effective though… If you don’t think it would be weird?” A lump seems to form in Inigo’s throat, choking him ever so slightly. It feels almost as though his heart has ascended - and he’s ready to throw it up, to hand it over to Owain there and then. Through gritted teeth, he brings himself to let out a response.

“N-No…. Of course not, w-with all we’ve been through, I s-suppose spooning is harmless in comp-parison…” Still, his heartbeat fastens, violently pounding against his ribcage, trying to escape, to free itself of the tension which crushed his chest. He hears a few bursts of nervous laughter come from Owain as he desperately tries to look at anything but Inigo.

“I think I already know the answer but… you’d rather be the little spoon, right?” Instinctively, Inigo’s nerves force a laugh, nodding his head in agreement to Owain’s question. He flinches as Owain tosses his blanket at Inigo, telling him to put it atop his own to double the warmth. He narrowly has time to do so as Owain rolls over, coming face to face with Inigo, the tips of their noses touching. They share a small laugh, Inigo staring once again, as he had done so early, He’d never been this close to Owain before, and though he had scanned the blond’s face a few times, there were features he’d never had the opportunity to notice before. His freckles were one he’d noticed a few times now, they were fair, lightly decorated on his face, though he hadn’t observed the pattern they made. They seemed like a constellation of stars, each holding the dreams of the innocent boy they covered. Blending in within them, a few scars serve to remind the cost of the war, close counters that he’d been spared from. He wanted to run his fingers across each scar, to kiss them better, to ease the burden of this war from Owain. Flashing a smile, Inigo pulls himself back to reality, turning away from Owain to allow the blond to wrap his arm across Inigo’s body, resting his hand on his stomach. Abruptly, Owain pulls Inigo closer, resting his chin on Inigo’s shoulder gently, his chest placed against Inigo’s back. Inigo can feel Owain’s pulse match his own, beating furiously from Owain’s chest into his back. He doesn’t say anything, he’s scared to ruin the moment, to make things awkward. “Are you comfortable, Inigo?” Owain asks, his breath warm on Inigo’s shoulder.

“I am… I…” Inigo stops himself from saying he’d never felt more comfortable, that this was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever dreamt of since he first saw Owain. This closeness, this intimacy, he wanted this feeling always. “Are you?”

“I am…” Owain replies, and Inigo can feel the smile form on his face. Inigo shifts his right arm up, placing it under Owain’s own against his stomach, and he takes Owain’s hand as he does, holding it tightly.

“Thank you Owain… Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Inigo.” Owain replies, placing a soft kiss on Inigo’s shoulder. Without saying a word, he’d answered all of the questions Inigo never asked. It was mutual.

#▸ ‹ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ ᶜᵃᶰ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ᶠᶫᵒʷᵉʳ ᵇᶫᵒᵒᵐ › 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 #𝒞 ▸ ᶠᵃᶦʳʸ⁻ᵗᵃᶫᵉˢ ʳᵉᶠᶫᵉᶜᵗ ᶦᶰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉʸᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶫᶦᵖˢ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ʰᵃᵖᵖʸ ᵉᶰᵈᶦᶰᵍ ❥ 𝑜𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓃 #{ Placed under read more due to length #gee i hope you guys didn't think I just posted and left #been working on since last night #and I had to sleep of course #Finished on 2749 words #all for the best boys }

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sserpente · 6 years

Photo

A/N: I believe I once read that in the Marvel Universe, LokI’s birthday is set on the 17th of December. So let’s just say it’s today, alright? I got inspired, so here’s a birthday themed Imagine. I loved writing it so much! Happy Birthday, God of Mischief. ♥

Words: 3316 Warnings: none (well maybe fluff)

“So basically what the phone does is scan your face and add a ‘filter’.” Thor with bunny ears was by far the funniest thing you had seen in a long while when you hit the camera symbol and took a picture. Snapchat really was a great invention for people who regularly fought alien threats from outer space. It made pretending to be a silly girl with silly dreams a lot easier.

“It looks sweet.” The God of Thunder declared, grinning wildly as he did. You nodded, saving the picture. This would go in your secret photo album you kept, to store funny and priceless memories with the infamous Avengers.

“I am dreading to ask but what are you doing?” Your heart skipped a beat when you suddenly heard Loki approaching you from behind, tilting his head when you turned to face him. You probably imagined it but he looked more handsome than he had yesterday. Did he do that on purpose?

Raven hair, enchanting blue eyes… you wanted to rip those clothes off his body and lick every inch of him until he moaned and… clearing your throat, you tore your gaze away from his captivating glance and instead focused on his neck. His neck which you wanted to bite and kiss and… oh stop!

Living with the Avengers was exhausting and dangerous enough. Your undying crush on Loki made it even more complicated. He was charming, way too charming for his own good. His silver tongue had, on many occasions, lured you into thinking naughty, naughty things and his good looks and dominant demeanour had not only once had you masturbating in your room, screaming his name when coming undone.

“Taking pictures!” You finally managed to choke out when Thor left with a court nod, attempting to scare the dirty thought away. “Come here, I’ll show you.”

Giggling to yourself, you chose a dog filter and held up your phone until you could see both the God of Mischief and yourself on the screen. Two dog ears and a nose instantly latched onto your faces, making you giggle childishly once more.

“Stick your tongue out, you’ll have a dog tongue.” You offered, changing the angle so you would both fit on the screen properly.

Loki shot you an annoyed look. “I will not stick my tongue out.” He stated.

Why not? I would love to see that tongue of yours. “Come on, it’ll be funny!”

“No.”

“Oh, fine.” Quickly, you snapped a picture, grinning at how a still of Loki with dog ears and a dog nose appeared on your phone.

“Delete that.”

“Definitely not,” you teased playfully. “I’ll keep that. Maybe I’ll print it and hang it over my bed.”

“Delete it.”

You could practically feel the burning hot danger radiating off him, his dark glare sending pleasant shivers up and down your spine. It was just a picture. He wouldn’t actually harm you, you were very well aware of that. So, you decided to take it a little further.

“No!” Bolting the room with your phone, you rushed through the living room into the hallways, looking back for only a second to check if he was following you—and he was. He wasn’t even running. Going after you with determined and powerful steps, his blue gaze never left your form. The sparkling in them intrigued you—he wasn’t actually mad at you but he would get his way.

Turning right, you almost tripped over your own feet when suddenly, he appeared right before you. A green shimmering light surrounded him for a second, making you bite your lower lip. Oh, you wouldn’t fall for that.

So you didn’t stop—until you crashed right into him, knocking you both over. It was like colliding with a brick wall. Pain cursed through the side of your face and your hips as you sat up, still lying on top of him.

“Ouch… god, what are you made of, solid rock?” You complained.

Loki gave you a taunting look. You could tell he was hiding a mocking smirk. “Next time you run from someone, try not to run straight into them.” He explained.

“There was a fifty-fifty chance you were an illusion, give me credit for that!”

He didn’t hide his amused chuckle this time, the sound tingling right between your legs and your belly. Damn him. Clearing your throat, you rolled off him and got back on your feet, just in time before Natasha entered the hallway and raised an eyebrow at the two of you.

You quickly bolted before she could get Loki in trouble or alternatively, before you could get yourself in trouble by saying something stupid like ‘please fuck me here and now on the ground’.

You lay awake that night, spending hours looking at the picture you had taken again and again. He was so much more than he let on. The way he had stared you down when you had rested on top of him, your faces only mere inches from one another… you had felt his breath against your lips and if he hadn’t spoken up, you would have kissed him.

Swallowing thickly, you bit your lower lip. He’d been somewhat… carefree today. So unlike he usually behaved around the Avengers, despite his warning to delete that damn dog picture. You sighed as you glanced at it once more.

You had set it as your lock screen, cheering you up instantly whenever you looked at it. You would give everything to see him like that more often.

“Hey FRIDAY,” you started quietly, an idea striking you like one of Thor’s lightning bolts. “When is Loki’s birthday?”

“According to Mr. Stark’s database it is on December the 17th.” The computer voice replied equally quiet.

17th of December… “That’s tomorrow! Where does Tony have that information from?”

“Research resources tell me Thor Odinson provided it.”

“Alright… thanks, FRIDAY.”

Tomorrow! He hadn’t mentioned with a word it was his birthday tomorrow and neither had Thor or any of the other Avengers. Granted, they didn’t exactly like Loki after what he had done in New York. Hell, Tony suffered from PTSD thanks to him and apart from Thor, they all held an undying grudge against him.

You hoped, sincerely, that Loki knew you didn’t hate him. You’d made an effort to show him, after all. And perhaps tonight, you should take it a step further. Smiling to yourself, you crawled out of bed and got to work.

The next morning was unspectacular. Steve was up early to go out for a run, Tony and Natasha were drowning in their coffee and Thor was in an awfully good mood. No one had yet found what you had hidden in the fridge and hopefully, no one would. They were all busy preparing for a trip.

Overnight, it had snowed again. Bright white covered the vast landscape outside, creating a magical and Christmassy atmosphere.

Taking a sip of your own coffee, you shrugged your shoulders, watching how your crush finally entered the kitchen. He barely made an effort to greet the people in the room, only nodding into your and Thor’s direction.

The Thunderer grinned. “Good morning, Loki.”

You already opened your mouth to congratulate him when he went on cheerfully. “It’s a very special day, brother!” He said, patting his shoulder so hard he flinched.

“Is it?” Loki smirked, holding back his anticipation.

“Yes! Tony will finally take us to go snowboarding and skiing! You know, those long boards you tie to your feet and then slide down the hill in the snow!”

His smirk faded in time with your heart skipping a beat. Thor didn’t remember. Thor had forgotten. His own brother… swallowing thickly, you buried your nose in your coffee. Tears burned in your eyes, the pain Loki must feel clawing at your own heart like an angry wildcat.

“Well, have fun, brother.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

“I’d rather spend my time reading than tying two pieces of wood to my feet.” He said, rolling his eyes in the process.

But this was perfect. If the Avengers left to spend a day in the snow, Loki and you would get to be alone. You could spend his birthday with him…

“Leave him. I’ll enjoy this day more without him,” Tony tossed in sternly. “No funny business, reindeer games.”

The God of Mischief only rolled his eyes in response.

“What about you, (Y/N), are you going to come?” Thor continued. Shrugging, you shook your head.

“No… too cold. Besides, I have to get another paper done for university, so…” You lied.

“You’ll miss out.”

You shrugged once more. “It’s alright.”

“Okay then… let’s get going.”

Loki watched them through the window of his room, his soft hands clasped behind his back. An actual sad expression was plastered on his flawless face as he watched the Thunderer climb into the car, leaving him behind. He hadn’t expected any of the Avengers to congratulate him. If anything, he would have ridiculed them for it but Thor… somehow, against all reason and much to his dismay, he had wanted his brother to remember.

Back in Asgard, birthdays didn’t hold a high value, much more important was Yule or All Hallows Eve but still, it was tradition to honour the person concerned.

It broke your heart seeing him standing there so lonely, wishing desperately to read his mind and find out what was going through his head. He had looked so disappointed back in the kitchen…

Knocking softly, you caused him to spin around to face you. He frowned when he spotted the round chocolate cake in your hands, watching you set it on his drawer carefully. Ten green and yellow candles were burning on them, given you didn’t know his exact age.

You cleared your throat nervously. “I mean, I don’t know about Asgard but here on Earth we eat cake and blow out candles when it’s our birthday.” You explained timidly, gifting him a shy smile.

Loki’s voice was barely a whisper when he replied, not quite believing what you were saying. “What?”

“I asked FRIDAY about your birthday. I’m so sorry, Loki. Thor should have remembered. But… I mean, if you want, I can spend the day with you. Do typical birthday stuff together. For now, blow out the candles. Oh, and don’t forget to make a wish first!”

The God of Mischief approached you, still suspicious and unbelieving. “You baked a cake… for me?”

In fact you had spent all night creating this chocolate monster. You had barely slept, which was why you couldn’t stop drinking coffee now.

“I did. Come on, blow out the candles.”

Loki smirked, your heart skipping another beat. He was going to be the death of you and yet, you couldn’t be happier you had cheered him up—at least a little bit.

Nodding, he did as he was told before he pursed his lips to blow out the candles. Grey smoke ascended into the air, fading slowly and spreading an alluring scent in his room.

“And now what?”

“Now we eat it and open a bottle of champagne. Tony keeps tons of these in his bar, I’ll just steal one, he won’t miss it.”

Picking up the cake again, you felt bold enough to grab his hand and tear him with you back into the kitchen. Quickly, you reached for a knife and handed it to him, causing him to frown once more.

“You have to cut it.”

“Alright,” His smirk grew when he took the piece of metal from your hands, your fingers brushing against each other in the process. Alarmed, you sucked in a deep breath, focusing on how he cut the first piece.

“Wait, not that big! The cake is all yours, you can eat as much as you like, really but I wouldn’t even eat half of that.”

You giggled when you took the knife from his hand and cut two smaller slices, putting them on some plates you had prepared along with two champagne glasses. Tony always bought the best stuff, so when you cracked open the bottle, the scent of expensive liquor already filled your nostrils.

You hardly ever drank, only on certain occasions and you figured—if there was one, it was today.

“Here’s to you!” You shouted, winking as you filled the two glasses and handed one of them to Loki. He kept mustering your every movement so intensely you feared to faint, increasing your desire to turn into that champagne glass he touched with his lips. Was he still suspicious? Or just surprised you made such a fuss about his birthday?

Well, for now, you wouldn’t bother and enjoy the time you could spend with him. You desperately wanted Loki to know you liked him—even a lot more than you probably should but you could hardly tell him that to his face, not like that.

No. You settled for the more complicated way. He was a smart man. Surely he would find out, eventually.

“It’s really good.” Loki complimented you when you started eating the cake in silence, fork after fork of the brown mixture disappearing in your mouths.

“Thanks,” you giggled. “I was half asleep when I made it, so I guess it’s alright. So, what do you want to do today? I know I’m technically not allowed to let you out of the mansion but if you wanted to…. I guess, I could… I mean…”

Had he ever smiled this often in one day? You doubted it. Loki’s blue gaze softened when it met yours. He crossed his arms after he finished the cake, his scrutinising glance never leaving your face.

You swallowed thickly.

“Thank you.” He replied. “But I’d rather stay inside. I am not particularly fond of snow.”

Given he was a Frost Giant, that statement was rather absurd and pretty ironic but who were you to judge? You didn’t like snow either. It was wet, it was cold, it slowed down the traffic and when you needed it the most—namely on Christmas, it melted.

“Okay. We could watch a movie. You know, those visual stories Tony told you and Thor about?”

“Which one?”

“It’s your birthday, you pick. Oh, I almost forgot.”

You had pondered over what present to get him for hours. Even when you had finished the cake, the mind-blowing idea still hadn’t come to you… and you had run out of time but then, after lying down again and eyeing the book on your nightstand, you came to a conclusion.

You remembered Loki and you having a conversation about Shakespeare and how he admired literature from all of the nine realms. There was one thing you owned that was special, one thing you knew he would appreciate as much as you did—besides, what else would you have bought him? He was a god, he could just take whatever he wanted.

Grinning, you reached under the table where you had hidden the small package and handed it to him. Loki frowned once more, even if you knew through Thor that presents were in fact an Asgardian birthday tradition as well.

“Happy Birthday!”

Still hesitating, Loki took the package from your hands and carefully ripped the wrapping. You had chosen green paper with golden gift ribbon you had already bought for Christmas. You loved his colours. In fact, your underwear was green. You secretly enjoyed wearing it along with golden jewellery, wishing Loki could see you in it. Wishing, he would want to see you in it. Wishing how he would slowly tear it off your body to expose your… stop.

The sound of ripping paper brought you back to reality, scaring the naughty thoughts away. Loki revealed an old book, the brown leather battered, the pages yellowed and the title hardly readable. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.

“It’s my personal copy. It must be hundreds of years old.”

“Where did you get it from?”

“Actually, I bought it on the flea market. Paid less than twenty dollars for it. A librarian then told me it’s worth several hundreds, so I guess I got lucky. You should have it. My favourite pieces are ‘Hamlet’ and ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.”

Loki’s blue eyes locked with yours, sincerity and cordiality glistening in them. “Thank you.”

And then, just like that, silence filled the room, with both of you simply staring into each other’s eyes without saying a word. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, merely… intimidating. Your feelings intimidated you.

Clearing your throat, you got up to clean up the plates. “Should we watch that movie now? Maybe we should see ‘Harry Potter’, it’s about a boy who discovers he’s a wizard and then goes to a magical school where he has to fight the most evil wizard of all times.”

Loki chuckled. “Now that sounds a little dramatic.”

“They’re great movies though.”

“Plural?”

“Yes. There’s eight. Seven books and eight movies. Don’t worry, we don’t have to watch them all at once.” You appeased him, winking at him once more.

What could you say? Loki was in love with the plot line. He kept asking you questions, making assumptions about who was behind the troll and the attack on the Quidditch pitch. He figured out quite quickly that Snape wasn’t at all the villain and when the movie was over, he urged you on to start the second.

You had nuzzled into him at some point. Uncontrollably, really! It had gotten rather cold on the couch and when you had wrapped yourself in a blanket like a burrito, Loki had… he had offered you to lean against him. An especially inviting suggestion, especially since he was wearing… casual clothes. He had traded his Asgardian garments for comfortable sweatpants, a white shirt and a grey jacket made of the softest fabric you could imagine. It must have cost a fortune—and quite frankly, you were quite surprised Tony had spent this much money on him, even more so that Loki actually voluntarily wore them. He looked absolutely ravishing in them.

For two hours now, your heart had been beating like a steam hammer, every cell of your body drawn to him like a thin needle by a magnet. You wanted to do so much more than just cuddle him. Heavens, you wanted to kiss him until he ran out of breath. But that would probably confuse and disturb him. And you.

“Loki?” You whispered when the credits of the second movie started. The darkening screen made you only too aware of the growing darkness spreading in the living room. It was turning night outside and you were getting sleepier with every second that passed. Baking a cake in the middle of the night had taken its toll on you but it had been worth it—it had been so worth it.

“Hm?” His soft voice echoed through the room like soft butterfly wings. You suppressed a sigh.

“How old are you actually? I mean, how old did you turn today?”

“In human years?”

“No, in cat years.” You giggled. “Of course in human years.”

“Let me see… 1049. I turned 1049.” Good thing you liked elder men.

Wow. “That’s… very old. I’m only (Y/A).”

Loki smiled mischievously. “Well, you are mortal.”

“Yeah…” It was the last thing you muttered before you fell asleep, one of your arms tightly wrapped around his body. You barely noticed how he lifted you up, carrying you into your bedroom like a cherished bride.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” He murmured gently, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. Hope flooded his veins when he closed the door behind him, the smile creeping up on his lips for once honest and truly happy. Maybe he was not so bad after all. Maybe at least one other being in this godforsaken manor liked him. Perhaps even more than they should.

#loki #loki imagine #loki x you #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #tom hiddleston #marvel #marvel imagine #thor #thor imagine #the avengers #the avengers imagine #thor ragnarok #thor ragnarok imagine

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loki-hargreeves · 7 years

Text

Loki Imagine - ‘You’re different’

Your P.O.V.

Pure chaos and fear was spreading across the streets of New York. People were running in different directions, hiding, screaming out in pure horror. ‘The end is here’ ‘please don’t kill me!’ and more. I was frozen by shock as I listened to this all. I had just wanted to spend a normal day at the library but instead some aliens wanted to destroy everything.

Thunder roared in the sky and I saw clouds gathering around a hole in the sky. It was so barbaric to think about. My heart started beating harder in my chest. I saw someone that looked like Iron Man flying, destroying one of those robotic creatures in process. Parts of it flew everywhere and that’s when I knew I had to get into a safe place. Maybe I stood there too long. A huge chunk of the creature was coming straight at me.

That’s it.

I attempted to dodge it but someone grabbed me and ran away super fast. I screamed and held onto this person with my life. He didn’t stop going as fast as lighting. He just ran, probably trying to hide me. I dared to look at the person and my breath got lost. The blonde hair was flowing with the wind and I saw scratches here and there from battle. It was Thor!

‘‘Hold on’‘ He growled to me. Truly, I was confused. It mixed with my fear and nothing made sense. But of course, I did as told, clinging onto him the best way I could. Then I looked behind in, realizing why he was going so fast. We ere being chased! My eyes widened and I felt my body going numb.

‘‘You can’t get away, brother!’‘ The man yelled darkly. He was using a platform to chase us. I locked eyes with the man. He had dark raven hair and piercing green eyes. His clothes were different but the colors suit him- green, black and gold. He even had a strange helmet. As our eyes met, his smile faded.

Thor’s brother was going to say something but Thor did wasn’t going to listen. I don’t know how but with his other arm in the air, he let go of the ground. I almost screamed when I noticed we were flying. Why didn’t he let go of me! ‘’Holy fuck’’ I breathed out as tears stung my eyes. The air was cold and we were getting higher. It was terrifying to look down so I closed my eyes.

A few seconds later everything stopped. Thor put me down and I opened my eyes. We were on top of a building, but I didn’t know which one. Then he looked right into my eyes, very seriously as well. ‘’Hide’’ Was all he said before jumping off the roof, probably to fight those alien creatures.

I was astonished by now. My entire body was trembling and Thor’s demand echoed in my head. Why should I hide? Why did he save me? Although a million thoughts raced around in my head, I decided to do as told. I ran to the door and opened it, then running down some spiral stairs. As I reached the bottom, I saw a penthouse. It looked very luxurious and expensive.

There was a fireplace with fire in it, roasting the wood. I looked around in panic in desperate need for a hiding place. There was a piano but anyone could find me from underneath it. Then I saw a door. I ran over and shut it, locking myself into the room. As I looked around, I saw that I was in someone’s bedroom. Whoever owned this place wasn’t home. At least it seemed like it.

I sat down on the bed and once again found myself listening to the explosions and screams. This time, they were quieter. Probably because I was up here.

What was happening to our city? As I sat in silence, tears started to roll down my face. I hugged my knees and started sobbing, sad because so much got destroyed. Thor’s demand scared me. I didn’t know whether my few friends were alright!

‘‘Shit..’‘ I hissed and tugged my own H/C hair. I saw my reflection in the mirror. My heart skipped a beat as I saw myself. My usually E/C eyes were icy purple and they were glowing. I held my breath in shock. Then I saw my surroundings. I had to look around me for real to know it was real. Some objects were floating around in, surrounded by the same purple glow. A candle was on my right as the pillows were hovering over the bed. Even a chair started floating in mid air.

The door opened and all the objects fell down. I turned around swiftly, expecting the owner of this penthouse but man, I was wrong. My gut twisted as I saw the person entering the bedroom. It was the man who had chased Thor. ‘’You!’’ He growled and pointed at me with some sort of a wand with a blue light in it.

A shiver ran down my spine and I had a feeling that this was bigger than what I could understand. ‘’You’re different’’ The man smiled, getting even closer.

‘’W-what do you mean?’’ I stuttered with a very small voice.

‘’Oh Y/N’’ He chuckled at me. How did he know my name? ‘’Let me introduce myself, I’m Loki and I will soon be your king’’ He introduced himself very confidently. King?

Was this even real?

It couldn’t possibly be real!

‘‘Anyway, back to you my dear’‘ He sighed and touched my jaw with his toy. It barely touched me but I felt a weird sensation. ‘‘Why..this is interesting’’ He purred and looked at me closely. I was both afraid and curious. This Loki wasn’t chasing his brother. He chased me. Then my fear grew larger. Thor had told me to hide.

‘‘It doesn’t even work on you. So they were right about you’‘ Loki spoke words that were nonsense to me. Then I stepped back, not wanting to be in touch with his weird toy.

’‘Can you please be clearer?’‘ I asked, hoping that he wouldn’t find me arrogant and kill me. I mean, he wasn’t from this world. I had no idea what he could do!

‘‘With pleasure. I need your..help to take over this world’‘ He told me like it was nothing. For me, it was a sentence that made my heart drop. I pointed at my chest. ‘‘My help? I’m just a normal human. I can’t possibly help you!’‘ I defended myself, silently praying for Thor to show up again. What the fuck. This day had become so wild I was expecting a damn God to show up and save me. I was going bonkers!

‘‘No no no..I already told you. You’re different’‘ Loki growled and hit the floor with his toy. I flinched, not daring to move a muscle now. ‘‘Would you like some proof?’‘ He continued, almost excitedly. I shook my head no as more tears ran down my face. ‘‘Well, I’ll give it to you anyway’‘ He sighed and raised his toy. The blue light grew larger and I knew exactly what he was doing.

He would shoot me with that beam!

I heard a ‘pew’ sound and I screamed, closing my eyes and shielding myself with my arms. The floor shook a little bit and I held my breath. I waited a little while for a burning pain but it never came. I opened my eyes and gasped. I was surrounded by a purple beam bubble- or whatever it was. Loki looked at me with a big, mischievous grin.

I couldn’t believe this. Did I create that? Everything outside the bubble besides Loki, was broken. Things had turned ashy and some things were on fire. As I lowered my arms, the shield faded away. It was way too much for my mind to handle. I was dumbfounded. So I fell onto my knees and stared at my surroundings.

‘‘I’m only a normal human!’‘ Loki mimicked my voice. Then there was multiple versions of him, all surrounding me. He was using his magic.

‘‘No..’‘I breathed out.Then I sniffled. My head started to ache madly from this all. I had no idea what the hell was real anymore.

My palms touched the floor and I stared at my fingers, trying to breathe but I found it hard. The temperature dropped in the room and I felt cold. Goosebumps appeared on my skin and my breath turned foggy. ‘’I know this is much for you but I know how you feel, Y/N. I also went through the shock as I found out I wasn’t who I thought I was’’ Loki started speaking more seriously.

I shook my head no, refusing to believe I was anything but human. I was quivering and crying, on the verge of having a break down. A hand touched my jaw and made me look up. Loki was down on my level and he looked deeply into my eyes. His other versions vanished into thin air and it was just the two of us left.

Then I saw something shocking. He let go of me and I kept looking. Then his flawless pale skin turned darker, almost dark blue and it even looked like he was frozen underneath. It started from his head and the color change moved towards his fingertips. He shut his eyes and sighed. My heart was beating so hard it felt like it would escape my body. Then Loki opened his eyes. They were bright red. That’s when I backed off a little bit, stumbling so I was sitting on my bum.

What just happened?

‘‘Allow me to show you your true colors. We could work together greatly’‘ Loki tried to make me work with him again. Before I had a chance to speak, we heard a loud thud. Loki turned around and got back to normal just before the door flew open. I saw Thor once again.My headache developed into a lightheaded feeling and I swear I would faint soon.

‘‘This isn’t right’‘ Thor growled angrily at his brother. ‘’You wouldn’t understand! You never have!’‘ Loki fought back, growing angry. They were both holding some weapons, a hammer and a wand with a blue light. I gulped, afraid they’d have a brutal scene right here.

‘‘Let’s get going’‘ I heard a whisper next to me. I startled and turned around. It was Loki! Then I looked back at Thor. Loki was in front of him as well! ‘‘He’ll find out it’s just an illusion soon. We must go’‘ Loki grabbed my arm and pulled me away. He opened another door in the huge bedroom and pushed me through it. I guess I didn’t have a choice but to play his game.

Loki opened a window and then grabbed my waist, holding me tightly. In the middle of this chaos, I felt surprised by his touch. I didn’t get a chance to think until he moved to his next move. He didn’t say anything as he jumped out of the window, pulling me with him. I screamed for dear life and shut my eyes. We were free falling! Then we landed on something. I grunted in pain but it wasn’t too bad.My entire body was quivering and I was panicking. Loki here acted as if everything was fine and in control. We landed on some platform he used to chase us.

‘‘See?It wasn’t that bad’‘ He chuckled and let me weep by myself. It felt like I could fall over the edge any second but somehow, I didn’t. Then I looked down, seeing how New York got destroyed. The sight was unbelievable but what messed with my most was my powers.

It felt like I had never known myself. Like my life so far was a lie. What was the truth? Would Loki tell me?

Solely for the truth I would stick with Loki. It’s not like I had a choice anyway. My thoughts seemed to get the best of me. My vision got blurry and I lost my balance.Then I blacked out, feeling way too overwhelmed by everything to be up and think more.

A/N: Sorry if this is bad, it’s my first Loki imagine :)

#loki laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson imagine #thor #marvel #loki fanfiction #loki preference #loki imagines #lokie preferences #frost giant loki #tom hiddleston

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theopentable · 3 years

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What We Might Discover Amidst the Rubble of Our Self-Stories

Genesis 11:1-9, Matthew 5:3

The Ache

Us human beings do something a little funny.

Researchers have shown we have this curious habit of regularly stretching the truth in the stories we tell about our own experiences to those around us.

In often small and subtle ways we embellish or exaggerate certain details. We caught a fish THIS big.

Or maybe we happen to leave some certain details out or minimise some inconvenient truths about ourselves. We’ll hide the stupid or embarrassing things about ourselves.

I had a horror experience at the start of the year that barely a soul know about. I was picking my boy up from school one afternoon. He’d only just started school for the first time. I was organised, got one of the good parks that only goes to the parents who are particularly early to school pick up. The problem was I had an upset tummy for whatever reason which I grossly underestimated. And I mean gross because a horrible accident happened while I was waiting in the car which compromised my ability to pick up my boy from class (I won’t spell it out). I had to call my wife to come and save the day. A horror! This sort of thing can happen on a holiday in Bali, but not in the school car park while you’re waiting to pick up your kid from school.

Clearly, I didn’t want anyone in my sons school knowing about this. Not the parents. Not the staff. It doesn’t even feel good writing this. It’s a story better kept private for obvious enough reasons.

I don’t like the story of me having tummy bugs and having toilet accidents on the way to pick my kid up.

I don’t want to be the guy that makes people cringe with awkwardness or pity.

I like the story about me being a wonderful dad who has his stuff together.

And then there’s the other story about me being a minister of religion, which doesn’t usually include pooing your pants in public. This doesn’t fit great.

So we leave some of our stories on the shelf. We share our stories selectively.

Or we edit them.

Why do we do this? Is it because we’re compulsive liars, agents of manipulation?

The real reason is far more innocent and understandable.

We just want to belong. We yearn for connection. We want to be seen, cared for, and included as a member of a group. If you get separated from the tribe you might not make it.

We care what others think of us. We want them to see us in a particular way. We desperately want to belong.

The Illusion

What happens is that in our yearning for belonging and connection we imagine that our way into this belonging and connection is through our own specialness.

So craft a conceptualised version of ourselves based on stories about who we are and what we do.

You belong when you’re special – when you’re strong, clever, able, beautiful; when you’re specially trained, an especially good cook or musician or whatever.

We become a story – a story designed to make us likeable, special to others.

We might think this Genesis story about people building a tower to make a name for themselves is strange but in reality, this is one of our strongest preoccupations.

We’re obsessed with building something that makes us look impressive, that gives us credibility, that makes us special or even needed. We’re trying to spruik things that give us an “in.”

We desperately want to make a name for ourselves.

And our tower-building, this story-crafting, becomes our strategy for how we’re going to stay connected, how we’re going to belong, how we’re going to be part of the group or tribe.

What happens along the way is that we become attached to our ideas of who we are and defend them as if they are literally true all the time. Our attachment to these ideas forms the structures of our ego.

Steven Hayes and Spencer Smith in their workbook Get Out of Your Mind and Into Your Life (2005) suggest that if you want to discover your own Self-Stories simply spend some time completing these sentences:

I am a person who...

I am a person who does not...

My favourite part about myself is...

My least favourite part about myself is...

I have been wronged because other people have...

I am a person who is bad at...

The problem with our attachment or our investment in our “tower” or our Self-Story is that it means we have to hide the parts of ourselves and our experiences that don’t line up with the stories we have woven - not only from others, but from ourselves as well.

So we lie, often in small ways that we’re hardly aware of, to defend, protect or prove whichever theme of specialness we’re trying to develop.

And when we do this we end up feeling more alienated and alone. It actually gets in the way of the belonging and he connection we desperately wanted in the first place.

Not only that, the more we develop our Self-Stories the more we find ourselves constantly comparing ourselves to others.

When we’re comparing or competing we’re not connecting. We’re either better than or less than others.

And when we don’t measure up we end up berating ourselves for any time our tower doesn’t soar into the sky as the highest or most impressive.

And ultimately, when we fool people to get them to like us, to include us, to belong, we develop the concern that if you really knew me you wouldn’t like me. If I were an open-book you wouldn’t want to be with me.

The whole process creates distance between ourselves and others when all we really wanted in the first place was to be close to others.

In our attempts to be special we drive ourselves out of the group.

We lose connection. Loneliness isn’t defined by the presence of others; loneliness is defined by the absence of connection with others.

And we lose connection, ultimately, with ourselves.

Our own fiction gets the in the way of Reality – we block our awareness of who we ultimately are.

The Invitation

But what if we could see beyond the smallness of our Self Story and reconnect with a much deeper sense of belonging that lies inside human consciousness itself?

We’ve been circling around this theme in the first beatitude blessed are the poor in spirit. What does that mean?

For a moment let’s dabble in the area of ontology which is really about the nature of being.

What do we mean when we talk about spirit?

According to the scriptures we’re a unique combination of body, soul and spirit (1 Thessalonians 5:16).

Our human spirit, according to the scriptures, is the deepest part of ourselves – even deeper than perception and beyond our senses. The human spirit is our innermost-selves, the part of us that orients us towards relationship with God.

You could think of our spirit like a God-given homing device that is the source of our spiritual intelligence, the part of us that provides us with a God-consciousness.

So all human beings are built with this kind of spiritual sensitivity and receptivity.

Now let’s come back to the witness of the scriptures as we delve even deeper into the implications here. 1 Corinthians 6:17 says,

17 anyone united to the Lord becomes one spirit with him.

Blessed are even the poor in spirit because your spirit has become one with God’s Spirit.

Which means that the deepest part of who you are is the place where God dwells, where God’s Spirit mingles with our spirit in a bond of union that cannot be broken or divided.

It’s impossible to underestimate how significant this unbreakable union between our own spirit and God’s Spirit truly is.

This union represents our ultimate grounds for a secure sense of self.

Our most true identity is the “us” that is united to God - stamped with God’s gracious choice and commitment towards us that has only to do with whether we will invite God to share in our lives.

This is where we discover the royal blood coursing through our veins. Our beloved identity. Our dignity.

This is where we discover our True Self,

the “us” that is eternal,

the “us” that is defined by God’s closeness and connection,

the “us” that has nothing to do what whether we are good or bad.

Here we are pure being at home in God.

If we can learn to rest in this our worthiness concerns disappear out of the window and we can get on with simply being “us”.

It’s not about whether you are good enough, kind enough, wealthy enough, smart enough, attractive enough, fit enough or any category we wish to cling onto.

Not in an ultimate sense.

They are Self-Stories.

Towers we build to make a name for ourselves.

And towers are notorious for coming crashing down.

Which brings me to my final wondering.

What if we able to hold our Self-Stories a little more loosely and instead we were able enter into a larger awareness of who we are grounded in union with divine love?

What if we could take the healthy energy of our yearning to belong and swing it towards reconnecting with our Ultimate Identity, our True Self, our Transcendent or Eternal self – the you that has always existed from eternity?

What if we came back to those previous questions that help to map out our Self Stories and were able to simply circle the worlds “I am” and let the rest of the sentence go?

What would it be like to simply sit in the words “I am”?

In Exodus 3, fresh from the burning bush, Moses wants a name from God in case the people ask who is sending Moses to them. God replies, “I am who I am.” “Say this to the people of Israel, “I am has sent me to you.”

Who is God? God is “I am.”

Silence: Our Way Into Our Ultimate Identity

We can enter into the deepest truth of who we are simply by practicing silence. Part of what silence offers is an opportunity for your tower of Babel made up of all your various Self-Stories to come crashing down, at least for a bit.

The easiest way to do this is simply to close your eyes, focus on your breathing. Try and still your thoughts for a while.

One way of doing that is simply by repeating a word that helps to centre you.

You might like to use the words “I am.” You can just repeat “I am” inwardly, silently as a simple way of entering into the larger awareness of who you are in Christ.

As you come back to the words “I am” you could be referring to yourself - your more authentic, transcendent and eternal understanding of who you are - or maybe the “I am” your return to over and over is God.

Don’t worry if the distinction isn’t clear as you return to your prayer word.

That’s the gift of silent prayer and meditation – we’re not entirely sure where we end and God begins.

That’s the ultimate truth of who we are in the deepest regions of our being.

#Spirituality #psychological flexibility #meditation #identity #perspective taking #connection #belonging

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