#-have no talents or remarkable feats. i’m not impressive in any way. and i hate hearing shit about how ^_^ its okay! we all have something-

[salsflore]

ummmm

[just-fandomthings]

For the kiss writing prompt 💕 frostiron + 29. "...as a promise"

Read on AO3 (Post Avengers, 2012)

...as a promise. 

“During my invasion, why did you offer me a drink? You were trying to stall, I’m aware, but why was that the method you chose?”

Stark startles, dropping the gauntlet he’s working on. “What the hell, warn a guy before you appear like that, would you? I’ve got a heart condition.”

“Apologies,” Loki says honestly. “I would have thought you were expecting me; JARVIS told me you agreed I could come down.”

“Yeah, I said you could, but I wasn’t expecting you to be here thirty seconds later. Doesn't matter, I heard you say ‘drink’, are you here to finally collect on my offer?”

“Sir, Loki asked permission to join you ten minutes ago,” JARVIS inputs.

Stark blinks. “Oh. Guess I lost track of time. So, what was your question?”

Loki clears his throat. “I was wondering why you offered me a drink in your tower when you first came to threaten me.”

Stark gives him a strange look. “Well, I needed the bracelets behind the bar so I’d have a suit in case we fought- or, in your case, if you decided to throw me out a window.”

The words are said lightly but Loki still grimaces. “That doesn’t explain why you offered me the drink,” he points out after a moment.

“Why not? I needed to get my bracelets and was planning to pour myself a drink to keep you distracted, so I offered you one too. I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for here.”

“I was not your guest, you owed me nothing. I was your enemy who had just killed your friend- you should have left your armor on when you came inside, instead of selecting a new armor to don.”

“The other one was damaged,” Stark says. “Needed the upgrade- besides, do I have to remind you that was my tower you were using as home base? JARVIS had my back the entire time.”

“Indeed I did,” JARVIS agrees.

“Is this you trying to tell me I’m reckless?” Stark squints at him. “Trying to tell me not to take on an enemy in battle when I’m out of armor or something? Because I gotta tell you, out of everyone on this team except maybe Bruce, I was expecting you to understand that I am more than just-“

“No, that’s not it,” Loki interrupts quickly. “Well, I would rather you not die since you are the least annoying person on this team I’ve been forced on, but I know that you are more than well-equipped to handle any difficult situation with no more than the clothes you are wearing.”

“Thank you, I don’t know why people always assume I’m helpless outside of my armor. And right answer, by the way, I was gonna stick Dum-E on you with the fire extinguisher if you were trying to pull a Cap on me. So, what’s with the third degree, what’re you trying to figure out?”

“I suppose, I am trying to ask why you were polite to me,” Loki mutters. “You did cleverly insult my manhood not a mere minute later, but you saw me in your building, in your home, and your response was to offer me a drink. You certainly weren’t expecting me to accept and talk with you, so why offer it?”

“Uh, common courtesy? Because I wanted to?” Stark frowns at him. “Either of those, both of them really, have your pick. I really don’t see what the big deal is, you know. It‘s not like I had time to stop and think everything through beforehand, so I just did it. And either way, I was going to get a drink as a stalling tactic so I could get to my armor, so why not offer you one too? You haven’t even taken me up on it in the three months you’ve been here, by the way, what's up with that? I thought you would have, to be honest.”

Loki is quiet for a moment. “May I do so later this evening?”

“Seriously?” At Stark’s incredulous inflection, Loki bristles, about to take it back, insult him, and storm out, but Stark surprises him by agreeing, “About time you took me up on my offer! I’m game, but I need to finish this upgrade first. Is my penthouse at eight-thirty alright, maybe later?”

“It’s not as if I will be busy with nefarious plans at that hour,” Loki huffs. “Yes, that is fine.”

Stark grins. “It’s a date then.”

The first two minutes of their conversation is stilted and awkward, with neither of them apparently knowing what to say. It lasts until Stark glances at him, drains the rest of his glass of scotch and goes, “Oh what the hell, I’m going for it. Please don’t smite me for this, okay, because I know you’ve gotten defensive every time someone has asked, but I really want to know about your Seiðr. How you learned it- I’m assuming you were taught- what the scope of your abilities is, and mainly, how it works. From one genius to another, can you please give me some answers?”

Loki blinks, retort dying on his lips. “You truly wish to know?”

“Uh, why would I not? It's probably the most powerful and complex thing I’ve ever come across- which hurts to admit- and I know nothing about it, which sucks, by the way. I hate not knowing things, especially things that interest me.”

“And my Seiðr interests you?”

“Yeah, thought I’d made that pretty obvious by now. I mean, Cap told me off for practically drooling during that battle last week when you eviscerated those doombots. I would have paid good money to see Doom’s face when he saw you literally rip his bots apart with just a wave of your hand.”

“That is but a simple trick,” Loki murmurs. “You are truly fascinated by my Seiðr, aren’t you?”

Stark’s gaze is expressive and searching for a moment before he nods. “It’s probably the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t say that lightly.”

Loki exhales slowly. He thinks Stark might just be genuine. “What do you want to know first?”

It takes only an hour of discussion for them to rearrange the furniture of the penthouse against the wall to give them an open floor space so Loki can show off his Seiðr. Stark keeps up with his conversations remarkably well for a mortal, far surpassing Loki’s expectations, and he finds himself relaxing, indulging in discussion of the more technical aspects of his Seiðr.

When they finally call it a night, hours into the morning, Loki is surprised when he finds himself wishing to stay longer and discuss his Seiðr further with Stark. So few have ever been kind in consideration of his Seiðr, even less have expressed an interest in it, and for Stark to have done both...

Loki doesn’t have words to describe it.

(Later, Loki will consider that evening as the dawn of their friendship.)

It is invigorating to engage in a battle of wits and intellect with Stark, Loki soon comes to find. Such was what had initially impressed him about Stark when he had been under the control of The Other, but with his presence in his mind gone, Loki finds himself naturally drawn to the inventor now. Their conversations are thrilling, and Loki finds himself leaping at the chance to flex his intellect with Stark.

They spend the following months spending an increasing amount of time together, even more so following the cease of Stark’s relationship with Pepper Potts. (Stark isolates for two weeks after that, before he emerges with an impressive performance of being fine.) They discuss in length his Seiðr, Stark’s technology, and other pieces of their lives that they both find interesting.

Stark’s technology, in particular, holds Loki’s attention, for while the designs that Stark has managed to come up with are far superior to anything else on Midgard, a select few are also unlike anything he has come across in his travels of the Realms. It’s an impressive feat, and Loki tells him so.

Loki is also especially fond of Stark’s creations, finding himself impressed by how his bots seem to have such curiosity and personality. (Dum-E and U both, he quickly realizes, are fiercely loyal of Stark.)

As their conversations of his Seiðr continue, it grows impossible to go without mentioning Frigga. Loki isn’t sure what he expects Stark’s reaction to be when he first mentions her, but Stark’s gentle smile and, “She sounds incredible, she must be proud of how talented you are,” far surpasses anything he had expected. The sentiment touches him, and something in their dynamic changes that night.

(Perhaps, it is because that is the night Stark changes to Tony.)

Despite this, they still do not engage in conversation easily about personal topics, both of them with too many difficult stories to wish to recall such information. Still, however, there are many nights where their respective nightmares leave them stripped of their shields, with only vulnerability left behind. It is on those nights that their bond is solidified; empathy and understanding found through sharing stories of past tortures and betrayals.

During one of those nights, Tony tells him of a man called Stane, sharing with him how Dum-E first, and then Pepper, had saved his life. His voice is broken, no more than a whisper, and his hand remains firmly on the device in his chest the entire time he speaks; a further testament to the pain of that betrayal.

Loki vows to him in that moment that he will never betray Tony, he swears it, for he would rather stab his own heart than cause his (only) friend pain in any way.

Tony just looks over at him, his expression sad and resigned all of a sudden. “I don’t think that’s a promise you want to make,” he says quietly. “Not when I’ll likely give you a reason to break it.”

“You know me; I say no less than what I mean,” Loki tells him. “And I can think of no reason that would ever make me want to hurt you or betray you.” He has betrayed others throughout his life, for reasons so little as for fun (stabbing Thor), but he knows he could never harm Tony.

Tony just shrugs. He doesn’t seem to believe him, but he provides no further argument. The blanket covering their laps as they sit together on the sofa suddenly feels stifling, but Loki resolutely ignores it. He understands that Tony’s skepticism is not personal, it is just a mere consequence of being betrayed time and time again by the people he cared about most. Loki knows he would hesitate to accept such a promise as well, even from Tony. Life has taught them both that it’s not safe to trust.

(Perhaps together, they can learn to trust again.)

The other members of the team remain wary of him, distrustful to the point that Loki is certain he will never be able to earn an ounce of trust with them. Outside of Tony, Thor seems to be the most accepting of the fact he is serving a ten year sentence for his attack on New York as a member of their team. Knowing he has Tony‘s friendship makes it easy, however, to disregard the fact that the others do not trust him, even on the field of battle. Never mind that his Seiðr has been limited to keep him in check, they clearly do not trust him to fight on their side. Loki pays this no mind; their belief in him or lack thereof is of no importance to him.

When he finally meets Pepper Potts, Col. James Rhodes, and a man named Happy Hogan, they all threaten him past the point of any return should he hurt Tony in any way. He believes them. The CEO of Tony’s company, his ex, however is the one whose threat genuinely gives him pause. He knows better than to anger her.

But for all their initial threats, the three of them all seem to accept him as Tony’s friend, therefore, as a part of their lives as well. It is awkward at times to be around Potts or Hogan, or even Rhodes when he is able to return home, but those moments of awkwardness, he finds, are worthwhile if it means he can remain at Tony’s side.

It’s a thought that should scare him, that he wants to be wherever Tony is, but he finds himself oddly at peace with that fact. They have grown close over the last five, almost six months since they first shared a drink in Tony’s penthouse, and Tony is incredible, a force of light wherever he goes; it is impossible not to be drawn to Tony, he thinks.

It’s a brisk day in mid-March when he and Tony crowd together on the sofa in his penthouse with a video feed in front of them to watch the fallout of their latest prank on Barton. Tony bursts out laughing at Barton’s indignation and leans against Loki as he praises their prank, saying they absolutely have to prank Cap next. Loki is overcome with joy realizing just how lucky and happy he is to have a friend who partakes and enjoys mischief just as much as he does.

That is also the moment Loki realizes he’s falling in love.

Tony has gone quiet as his side, eyes still sparkling with joy even as he asks, “You okay, Lokes?"

“I’m fine,” Loki reassures. “Just thinking of what to include in our next prank against Captain America himself.”

“I love the way you think,” Tony laughs, snuggling into his side the way he seems to do so frequently, now that Loki thinks about it. “Well, hit me with it. What’re you thinking?”

It’s easy enough to conjure a list of possible pranks at a moment’s notice, and from that moment onward, Loki’s feelings fall to the back of his mind, always quietly lingering in his every thought. Given enough time, he knows they will become a force he cannot hope to control, but that is a problem he can deal with in the future; the present includes planning a prank, and that comes first.

(Later, Loki will consider the moment he realized he was developing feelings for Tony as the day everything changed.)

“Can I join you?”

Loki startles minutely, so caught up in his reading, so relaxed, that he had not been paying attention to his surroundings in any capacity. But this is Tony who has come to his bedroom, and Loki knows he need not keep his guard up when the inventor is around. "Are you alright?" Loki asks, lowering his book to his lap.

"Fine," Tony says automatically. He looks uncertain. "I know you're reading and it's late, so if you want me to leave, don’t hesitate to say so.”

“Nonsense, I always enjoy your company,” Loki reassures absently, frowning at Tony’s haggard experience. He gestures to the space next to him on the bed, adding unnecessarily, “Please, sit.”

Tony hesitates for a moment and then sits down on the bed next to him, leaning back. His hands twist unnaturally together; a sign of his anxiety.

Loki marks his page and sets his book on the nightstand. “Do you wish to talk about what has you so tense?”

“Not really,” Tony mutters. “Not like there’s much to say anyway though. I fell asleep working on an upgraded set of arrows for Clint and woke up screaming. J said you were awake still, so I came up.” He pauses and then adds, "You've been reading all this time? Usually you call it a night at midnight."

"I got enthralled in an old journal on Seiðr and lost track of time. When I realized it was past two, I figured I would wait until I came to a natural stopping point before I retired for the night,” Loki admits ruefully. "I'll be tired in the morning, but it will be well worth it."

"I think I'm rubbing off on you," Tony says lightly. "Staying up until all hours of the night to finish something is my shtick, not yours."

"You have a point. You did, after all, initially encourage my pranks, then you took to assisting me with them, and now you have me staying up to all hours of the night," Loki points out, teasing, participating in the lighthearted atmosphere Tony seems to be trying to create. A distraction for his nightmare, perhaps, and Loki is happy to help. "You are a rather bad influence on me."

"Guilty as charged," Tony agrees, snorting. "Though I'm pretty sure everything prank-related is a result of you being a bad influence on me."

"A mere pleasant consequence of our friendship. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you first let me share a drink with you in your penthouse."

"I did knowingly sign up for all the mischief and chaos, you're right." Tony shrugs, looking pleased. "But as Rhodey will be more than happy to tell you, I caused plenty of trouble throughout my life, so you sadly don't get the privilege of claiming responsibility for all of my evil ways."

"I plan to ask about those stories, just so you know."

Tony laughs, looking lighter now than he had when he had first appeared in Loki's doorway. "Pretty sure you'll have to clear your schedule for the weekend when you do- but keep in mind, Rhodey did also participate in a lot of my plans. He was my partner in crime. So don't let his exasperated tone fool you, he's just as much a prankster as we are."

"In that case, we will have to include him in our plans to prank Thor whenever both your colonel and Thor are present in the Tower," Loki muses.

"Deal," Tony responds instantly. He goes quiet just a moment later, his expression darkening a little.

Loki frowns at the sudden shift in mood. "What's wrong?"

"I should probably go, let you finish the chapter you were reading so you can go to bed."

“I am more than happy to have you here," Loki says carefully, sensing that there is something else weighing on his mind. "But if you wish to go, that is your choice to make.”

“I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Then prepare for bed and lay with me,” Loki says without thinking. He pauses, realizing what he just said. Norns, he had not meant to offer that, but the offer has been extended and he is not one to take back his words. Still though, he clarifies quickly, “It’s an innocent offer, no more than the simple opportunity for you to not be alone tonight, if you don't want to be.”

Tony looks startled. “You want me to stay?”

“You are welcome to, if you want.”

“Why?”

“You are my friend,” Loki says simply. “We have fallen asleep watching movies together on the sofa before and that is fine, is it not?” At Tony’s nod he continues, “So too would your decision to stay here for the night. Nightmares are painful, and if I can offer some small comfort or reassurance of safety, I would happily do so.”

“You’re sure?”

“I mean every word I’ve shared,” Loki says gently.

Tony sighs and leans against him, his head on Loki’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he says softly. “For letting me stay and for not judging me.”

“You know how common my own night terrors are,” Loki points out. "I have nothing to judge."

Tony shrugs but doesn’t offer a response.

“Go, get ready for bed,” Loki says, nudging him with his elbow. “I have placed an additional toothbrush and nightwear for you in the bathroom.”

Tony nods silently and gets up, disappearing into the bathroom. Loki uses the privacy to lay down, trying to quell his racing thoughts and pounding heart. There is something charged and vulnerable between them; it feels like he is balancing precariously on a fraying line. What may happen if it snaps, he’s unsure.

When Tony exits the bathroom a few minutes later, he pauses at the side of the bed for a moment before he pulls back the covers. He doesn’t lay down, however, just says quietly, “You don’t seem as bothered anymore to be serving part of your sentence on the Avengers.”

“Is that a question?” Loki asks, never one to make things easy when he can help it.

“An observation, I think. Am I wrong?”

“No, you are not wrong,” Loki says. He takes a shuddering breath and admits, “I hated this team in the beginning. I was no more than a collection of broken pieces being held together by pure spite, and being placed on this team felt like a death sentence. I expected to hate every moment of my time here, for an abundance of reasons.” He swallows hard, suddenly certain he should not keep going, not when he has already stripped himself bare.

“But?”

As always with Tony, he is the exception to the expectations and restrictions Loki sets for himself. He finds himself staring up at the ceiling and admitting, “But I made a friend, someone who cares about me genuinely for all that I am. It took the work of months before I realized that all the reasons I expected to hate being on this team were insignificant in comparison to the friendship I had found. These last several months, I have found myself slowly recovering from the damage The Other inflicted on me- I am trying to at least- I am trying not to be the monster I was destined to be, and I somehow even find myself happy on occasion, something I thought I was only capable of when creating chaos.”

His bedroom is quiet for a moment. “Sounds like your friend is pretty special,” Tony quips.

“Special is not the most accurate term; short, on the other hand, or perhaps, talkative, or even-”

“You're an ass,” Tony interrupts him, laughing. His expression is pensive, however, as he lays down on his side and looks over at him. “Is that all we are though, just friends?”

Loki freezes. It takes a moment for him to remember to breathe, and then he exhales slowly, rolling over on his side to face Tony as well. “I’m not sure,” he admits, “Are we just friends, in your mind?”

“I asked you first,” Tony points out, smirking a little.

“I gave you a response, however vague, and then asked your thoughts. It’s your turn.”

“Uh huh, you want my thoughts on what exactly? You haven’t really specified what we’re discussing.”

Loki refrains from rolling his eyes despite the way his heart is threatening to pound out of his chest. “What are your thoughts on us,” he emphasizes. “That is what I wish to know.”

Tony’s eyes search him for a moment, perhaps trying to assess if this is part of a joke or if he is being genuine. “I think that you’re a royal pain in the ass a lot of the time, as well as dramatic and passionate, but I like that about you. You’re also mischievous and clever; you're a genius that speaks the same language as me. I also think you have feelings for me, just like I do for you. And I want to see if there can be an us...but maybe after I kiss you?”

“Is that a promise?”

“The romantic speech or the kissing part?”

“The part where you mentioned wanting to see if there can be an us, do you mean that?”

“Of course I mean it." Tony pouts at him.

It suddenly is so easy now to see what has been in front of him for months: their close proximity to each other, the way they are drawn to each other's side, their flirting; it has all been leading to this.

Loki leans over and kisses him. Tony gives a quiet sound of surprise and then relaxes, easing into the kiss with an approach that somehow already feels familiar.

“We need to do this more often,” Tony murmurs when they pull back. He's grinning.

Loki laughs, happy. “That is a promise I can easily keep,” he vows, and kisses him again to prove his point.

End.

[imagine-loki]

Between pages

TITLE: Between pages

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki always carries a book. Not because he’s reading 24/7, but because he likes tucking flowers from the bouquets you make and leave in the shared kitchen in between the pages. 

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: There is fluff in my soul and I will not apologize for it. Language, extreme awkwardness, and unlikely friendships ahead. Let Loki be soft 2020.

=

Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, Rightful King of Jotunheim, Odinson was a master sorcerer. His talent was unmatched in the Universe, and he was capable of feats that were previously unheard of in all the Nine Realms. He could defy the laws of physics, of imagination. He could bend the very fabric of the Universe and arrive at a different planet with merely a step in any direction. He was awe-inspiring and nightmare-inducing in equal measure.

So, how in the fucking hell did some silly flowers become his ruin?

Groaning pathetically against the plumpness of his down-filled pillow, he contemplated escaping the Tower. He had run away from more dangerous places before. Surely, walking out of Stark’s prized building would be little more than child’s play to a sorcerer of his caliber. However, any time he reminded himself that he was, indeed, a sorcerer the wound on his ego would split and bleed fresh, once more.

It would have been so easy to explain away. There was a reason they called him the Silvertongue, but he just stood there. Like a moron. He just… he just handed it over, and now…

He groaned again, teeth bared in a half-snarl as the memories flooded his mind.

There were few things in this little, mortal trash heap of a world that intrigued Loki. The supersoldiers held his interest for a moment or two, until he had all but uncovered the secrets of their endurance and had promptly become bored. The spies were fun to watch, if only to watch Barton squirm under his intense gaze, thinking he had another plot to put him under mind control. Banner was… well, he didn’t mess with Banner. Or Stark, for that matter. They were on an unspoken truce upon which his very survival was pinned. After all, Loki was nothing if not self-serving in his quest for continued breathing.

Then, there was the mutant; the plant witch.

The five-foot-nothing little imp who he could not seem to put the fear of god in, no matter how much he tried. The mortal had talked back, disobeyed direct orders on the field, sassed, hugged, and blackmailed him over a hobby in the course of less than a year. Loki would be impressed at her ruthlessness of character if he wasn’t utterly annoyed at her existence.

Well, that, and the fact that he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how her powers worked.

And that was the source of his current anguish.

Lily, the little mutant, had a predictable daily routine. She would wake up with the sun, make breakfast for the whole team, go to the gym and be back in time for the meal. Once she set the table, she would always conjure a handful of flowers in the vase in the middle of the table. It was never the same arrangement, twice, and it was never the type of arrangement the mortals would overpay for at the local flower shops. Wild variations of popular flowers, bits of flowering tree branches, weeds–wildflowers of all types that brought in butterflies from the open balcony windows and delighted all.

At first, he thought she simply picked them outside and coaxed them into bloom. It wasn’t until one morning, when he had been up uncharacteristically early that he had been proven wrong. He watched her kneel on a chair at the table, hands held aloft around the vase before every vein visible pumped a fluorescently-bright green. Like seedlings, the flowers grew from tiny roots until they overflowed from the jug. Loki had walked over, almost reflexively, watching how the petals bent under his fingers and how the cool stems still felt like they were thrumming with life as if freshly picked.

Fascinating.

Loki, while talented in his own right, had never been able to conjure a flower that looked so much like a flower. They usually looked too perfect, almost artificial–like a painting of a flower brought to life. He plucked a bud and tucked it between the pages of the book he had been reading (ironically, it had been Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman). He decided that he would study this specific specimen and figure out her secret. Surely, it would be easy to conquer the skill that a mortal wielded.

He had been horrendously wrong.

That first failed attempt at replicating her craftsmanship prompted him to grab a few more samples, the next day. And the next. And the one after that, too. After a while, he had all but given up on learning how to conjure these life-like flowers, with their slightly irregular patterns and charming blemishes. But the habit had stuck and he still collected them.

Every morning, like clockwork, he would go to the kitchen for a glass of water, pull a bloom and press it between Whitman’s promises to return to his beloved dirt. The team had started making jokes about his current inability to put down the poems book, everywhere he went. They wrongly assumed that he was simply enamored by the mortal’s views of humanity or that he was learning what being human really meant. In reality, all Loki was doing was carrying the vessel for his preservation and lying in wait for the opportunity to be all on his own to snatch another souvenir.

He’d be loathe to admit that his theft was now out of pure admiration. Flowers were always his mother’s thing and he never really cared much for gardening, but he could appreciate the intricacies of every subtly veined petal and rough leaf. His fingers often ran the length of the stems and leaves, gathering the light coat of dew that glistened on the greenery, smiling to himself all the while. He supposed he had never found the need to conjure a flower or anything of the sort meant to be a soft gift–it wasn’t really his style–but the fact only made him all the more awestruck.

“You like today’s bouquet, Lokes?”

He nodded, a little distracted, having just pressed the most perfect daisy, with a little notch in one of the petals into the book. The small, leather-bound tome rested beside him on the table, golden lettering catching Lily’s eye.

“Oh my gosh, I love Leaves of Grass,” she exclaimed, and Loki had mindlessly handed her the book for her to peruse before he even had the good sense to panic. “I know. Surprise, surprise, plant babe likes plant-themed title of book, but I truly loved it when I read it in high school. It’s sad, but a good type of sad, if that… makes… sense…”

It was her trailing voice that had made Loki blink away from the flowers. Green eyes trailed from the vase, to his empty floating hand, to the table. His book was no longer there… and he was the reason for that. When his shocked gaze flickered up to hers, he found her dainty fingers trailing over a perfectly dried dandelion that Loki had chosen because it had a singular freckle amidst a canvas of soft yellow.

Loki had disappeared before she even looked away from the keepsake.

“Maybe I should just take my chances in the dungeons. I’m sure Father dearest would rather see me in a cell,” he moaned petulantly before he stiffened.

There was energy crackling in the air, making it smell like ozone and magic. Loki sat up in bed, retrieving a dagger from under his pillow and noiselessly stepping onto the carpeted floor. Beneath his feet, the carpet felt odd. With a frown, he glanced down, finding the floor covered in green and yellow–a blanket of buttercups. By the door, Lily smiled shyly, her body slumping slightly against the wall as the green faded away from her veins.

“You’ve overtired yourself,” he remarked, drily, ignoring the fact that his cheeks burned in a way that told him that he was flushed crimson. His feet shuffled beneath him, grounding him to reality and allowing him to resist the urge to bend down and run his fingers through the blooms.

She shrugged. “I’ll feel better after breakfast.” There was a tense silence between them for several more seconds. Lily held the book out in her hand, but Loki hesitated crossing the landscape to retrieve it. “You always pick the iffy ones.”

His brow pinched in with confusion. “What?”

“The flowers. You always pick the ones that aren’t perfect. Spots, notches, missing petals or stamens–”

“It makes them real,” he interrupted. “The flaws make them real. Machines can make flawless flowers.”

“I agree. I just… didn’t peg you for the type who could appreciate that, y'know?” Lily sighed, trying to suppress a grin. “Then again, I didn’t peg you for the type who pressed flowers, either.”

Loki glanced at his feet with a frown. “Everyone likes flowers,” he muttered under his breath, just shy of defensive. He managed to will his feet forward, relieving her still reaching hand of the book without glancing at her.

He swore that he hadn’t been this pathetic before he moved to Midgard.

Lily cleared her throat awkwardly, tipping a golden flower back with the toe of her trainer. “Would it be OK if I brought some flowers for your room, every once in while?” She gave him a hesitant smile before adding, “I-I need the practice,” in a rush.

“Don’t you think the others would be more deserving of them?” Loki hated the fact that he sounded somewhat bitter.

She giggled under her breath. “The others won’t really appreciate them, will they?” Before he could offer a witty retort to try and dispel the awkwardness he felt, Lily had grasped his wrist and tugged him along out the door. “Come on, we’re late for breakfast,” she remarked, conversation already forgotten.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

A Flame For A Cabbage (Part 1)

Summary: The world is at war, it has been for a hundred years or so. The tribes have fallen and the Earth Kingdom is next. In the midst of a war, an ambitious merchant simply tries to sell cabbages. Azula-Cabbage Man Role swap AU

The sky hanging above the wall is an incredible sight, a canvas of orange with splashes of pinks and golds. It is a fine opening to what may very well be a final day. In her travels, Azula has heard tell of it. Of a device that set to breech Ba Sing Se’s walls. Even still, she has a job to do. She isn’t particularly worried about trifles outside of the wall. She fashions her hair into a scraggly topknot--she can never seem to tame her locks--and slips into her day clothing. 

She doesn’t have much in way of possessions just a  small cabbage stall--already twice destroyed by the Avatar and his companions--and the essentials, a few changes of clothes, a makeshift comb, a waterskin, a few pairs of shoes, and some kitchenware and gardening tools. She puts on her conical hat and heads out and into the streets. 

She can hear the rumbles even from this distance and considers that maybe it is a horrid idea to find herself outside. But then, maybe she can sell a few doomsday cabbages. She pushes a cart full of them into the center of the market square. 

The square is bustling and jovial. Azula can’t help but be intrigued, it perplexes her how they can be so happy with their sanctuary seconds away from a breech. A woman passes by her stall. “Would you like to buy a cabbage?” She asks. “It may be your last chance to buy one, now that the war has reached Ba Sing Se.”

“Excuse me?” The woman tilts her head. 

Azula conceals an exasperated sigh. “The city is going to fall and we are all going to die today. I recommend buying a cabbage as your last meal.”

The woman gulps and walks away. A rather brisk and hustled walk. Azula pouts to herself, she never has been particularly great with people. Not friendly conversation anyhow. She wonders if she may have come on too strong. She approaches the next passerby differently, “would you be interested in a doom’s day cabbage?”

“Doom’s day?” The man asks. 

“Yes. Doom’s day.” 

“What do you mean?”

Azula blinks, “I mean that the wall is about to be breeched so I am offering you a good quality final meal.” She pauses, looking at the tray of food that he is already holding. “Rather something to enrich the one you already have.”

The man seems to consider for a moment and Azula dares to get her hopes up. She thinks that today will be her lucky day. With the Avatar and his friends preoccupied with the wall, there is no one to make a mess of things. The man pats his pockets. “I think that I just spent the last of my money on this.” He motions to his meal. 

Azula nods. “You should make better spending choices in the future. Good day.” 

The man frowns and makes his way away from her stall. She is almost certain that she has offended him somehow, but she opts to pretend that he had simply been mournful of his lost opportunity. 

She greets a second man and offers him a cabbage. 

“Maybe tomorrow.” The man smiles. 

“But there will not be a tomorrow.” Azula insists. 

He halts in his tracks. “Why wouldn’t there be a tomorrow.”

Azula founds herself staring in bemusement again. Could it be that they really don’t know about the drill. That they are absolutely oblivious to what transpires just on the other side of their walls? Azula parts her lips. “There’s a drill.”

“A drill?”

She nods. “It is Fire Nation. They are going to breach the outer wall very soon.” 

The man gives an uneasy chuckle and shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He mumbles something before taking off much like the first woman. Azula sighs. She wonders if the Earth King knows about this, perhaps word has not reached him yet. Mayhaps it is she who should bring it to his attention. Her expression dims, who is she kidding? She can’t even sell a single cabbage much less be able to deliver profound information to the king himself.

She re-adjusts her hat and decides to herself that if she can sell just one cabbage, she will bring her news to the Earth King. She tries to draw consumers in but she doesn’t have the spunk nor vigor that the woman running the meat cart does. And she doesn’t have that suave and slick voice that the man running the jewelry stand boasts. She certainly doesn’t have the perky, cheeriness of the brother-sister botanist duo. 

She is just Azula. 

She supposes that her voice is pleasant enough and that her appearance is at least somewhat charming. But the baggy cotton pants and shirt she wears do her no favors. She is exceptionally average in those regards. But she has a sharp mind and she is something of a prodigy. She knows so, her father has said as much. Even if he hadn’t, she hasn’t seen anyone grow a cabbage as fast or as large as the ones she grows. The sheer amount of them is impressive if she must say.

She decides that she is wasting her talents on people who can’t recognize her talents. If she wants to do this, if she wants success--and she will have it one way or another--she will need to be bolder. 

She looks towards the sky; it is clear and blue. Early afternoon. She still has much of her day to accomplish what needs accomplishing. 

.oOo.

“This drill is a feat of scientific ingenuity and raw destructive power. Once it tunnels through the wall, our troops will storm their city. The Earth Kingdom will finally fall, and you can claim Ba Sing Se in the name of Fire Lord Ozai. Nothing can stop us.” Vows Qin.

Tylee taps her chin, “hmmm, what about those muscley guys down there?” Once quick glance into the drill’s binoculars reveals a team of well chiseled men. They slam rocks up against the drill’s framework. 

Sie listens intently to the conversation, wondering just were his life has gone wrong. He doesn’t wonder for too long, he thinks that he can pinpoint the exact moment when things had taken such a stark turn. 

Qin flashes a confident and boastful smile. “Please! The drill's metal shell is impervious to any earthbending attack.”

But that doesn’t alleviate the queasiness in Sie’s stomach.“Oh, I sure hope it is, War Minister Qin…” He trails off, he knows how these things usually go after a healthy amount of experience. “...but just to be on the safe side.” He looks to Mai and TyLee. “We should probably take care of that.” He cringes to himself as another rock collides with the drill. 

Twirling knife around her finger, Mai remarks, “Finally.”

Sie winces to himself, he hates when she does that. One of these days she is going to take someone’s eye out. 

“Something to do.” Her words are punctuated by a clunk and a shout. There it is. The moment he had dreaded. Mai apologizes less than half-heartedly. 

.oOo.

There, that should do, Azula thinks to herself. She knows that her task is no longer going to be easy. She is well aware that she has maneuvered herself right into the general vicinity of the Avatar himself. But she is a girl of goals and plenty of determination.

“Excuse me! You can’t be out here right now!” Calls the general. 

“I can be! And I will be! Maybe you don’t have the nerve to come down here and do what is necessary, but I do. I’m stronger than you.” Is what Azula would have declared had she heard the man over the sound of whirring mechanics and rebounding rocks. Instead she continues arranging her stall as though he hadn’t spoken at all. Because, as far as she is concerned, he hasn’t. And really, if a plea falls on def ears, has a plea really been made at all? Azula doesn’t ask herself this question because she has no reason to. 

Instead she taps one of the earth warriors on the shoulder. “Would you like to buy a cabbage. Battles are exhausting, you will have an advantage if you aren’t fighting hungry.”

“WHAT?” The man hollars over the noise of the drill. 

“These cabbages will help you prevent the apocalypse.” Azula speaks with more volume.

“WHAT!?” He repeats again. 

She flinches as the man drops to the ground. The man’s attacker waves before cartwheeling over to the next. Azula narrows her eyes, to think she had a sturdy sales pitch going for her too. 

.oOo.

Sie is growing more and more anxious. Mai and TyLee have returned and the earthbenders have been dealt with. But he knows that there will be more of them. He just knows it. He is also well aware of just how much trouble the Avatar can cause after having run into him in Omashu. But where is he? Where. 

A horrid noise violates his ears. “Congratulations, crew. The drill has made contact with the wall of Ba Sing Se, start the countdown to victory.”  

So why is it that he begins counting down to their defeat. It might be that he knows deep down that the protagonists always win. That those are the rules and he can deny them no more than he can deny the knife-related background death of one of the drill staff. His corpse has already been drawn out of the frame (blood and all) with no trace of it ever having been there. But with no place for it to have been reasonably moved to. 

He decides that it is also worth noting that a cabbage stall has been erected just outside of the wall. He wonders what kind of ploy this may be.

“War Minister, an engineer was ambushed! His schematics were stolen!” Declares one of the personal, confirming his suspicions about that damn cabbage stand. 

“Titans, go!” He coughs, “Sorry, I mean, let’s go ladies.” Whatever that cabbage merchant has planned, he won’t let it succeed. Too much is at stake here. His nation is depending on him and the Fire Lord, his father, has set expectations high. He dreads to think of what could happen if he comes home without victory. He can’t allow himself to end up like his banished and scarred brother. 

.oOo.

She watches them fall left and right, her potential customers drop like flies. The worst of it is that they actually seem interested in buying cabbages off of her. The problem is that by the time she has successfully communicated over the drill’s volume, they only have time to smile and say, “yeah, I’d like one” before a Fire Nation soldier intervenes. 

Feeling utterly defeated and rather useless, she makes her way to the infirmary. The least she can do is offer them a free cabbage for their troubles. She has an excess of them and she decides that it wouldn’t pay to waste a perfectly good cabbage. 

With a pang in her heart, she gathers a few of them into her arms and wanders back within the wall. This, of course, would have been a pristine opportunity for Sie to make a move but he has already opted to go after the ambushers. So, as most mishaps accidentally are, Azula blissfully avoided her own.

For some reason she ponders what everyone used to say of her; that she was born lucky. 

The sky is still blue and the temperature is pleasantly warm. Several of the soldiers take comfort in her cabbages. She supposes that, that is what matters; that people know the value of tedious and painstakingly grown produce. Particularly of the cabbage variety.  

Despite their suffered injuries, they seem happy. 

In fact, they thank her for the cabbages. 

No, she decides, she has hasn’t been born lucky. She forges luck for herself.

[cabinboy100]

BABY DRIVER: Take a Ride w/Edgar Wright's Rockin' Wheelman

Thanks to the Brattle Theatre and the Independent Film Festival of Boston, I got to watch BABY DRIVER at an advance screening last week!

It is a gorgeous musical roller coaster ride of a film. Writer and director Edgar Wright supercharges another beloved cinematic icon-slash-genre—the Wheelman or Driver—with his remarkable style, vision, wit, and rhythm. While not *a* musical, per se, BABY DRIVER is very musical, delivering snappy dialogue, sharp looks, slick moves, death-defying driving, and brutal gunplay, all choreographed to a soundtrack beautifully interwoven with the film…

There's not a lot more to say, really, beyond additional superlatives upon superlatives, and I don't want to go into scenes or characters too deeply and give up any of the fun. I think I'll just let one of the trailers do the talking…

Bottom line—GO SEE THIS MOVIE! And see it IN THE THEATER!

[rant] And for Space Pope's sake, do NOT take your phone out for any reason while the movie is running. You just paid $10 to $20 for this amazing experience! We live in an age of wonder that allows you to ignore a movie for free at home. Save the spacebooking, twitting, and txting for later. Or if you're gonna do that, or even look at a message on your annoyingly-bright-in-a-darkened-theater phone, get out of your seat, walk to an exit, behind a barrier, or *maybe* the back wall, out of anyone's view, and then have a look, respond if you must, and get back to the show. If you're waiting on your wife to finish delivering, or the funeral parlor's supposed to call about Pop's arrangements, or you're expecting a call from the doctor with those test results—WTF are you doing at the movies? If your phone lights up and you can see it, believe me, everyone next to and behind you can see it. Keep it in your pocket. If you see someone next to or near you futzing w/a screen, do everyone a favor, be your own (and my) hero, and ask them to put it away or take it outside. [/rant]

Beware, beyond this point, I'm gonna start lobbing spoilers into my rambling. So, exit pursued by a bear now if you haven't seen BABY DRIVER already!

CRITS (oh-so-minor, probably more like backhanded compliments).

I don't feel the heart in this that I do in the Cornetto films. Those films—SHAUN OF THE DEAD, HOT FUZZ, THE WORLD'S END—had relationships at their centers. But I have to say that my not feeling that with BABY DRIVER is very fair and true to the driver genre. You don't get the warm fuzzies thinking about BULLITT, THE BLUES BROTHERS, or THE FRENCH CONNECTION, right? Well, okay, maybe THE BLUES BROTHERS. =)

The characters tend to be flat and archetypal, taking a back seat *sorry-not-sorry* to the action and style. Wright does get me rooting for some of the baddies along the way, because of their professionalism, circumstance, charisma, and, well, moral relativism. And while they may be flat, they own their two dimensions and are memorable, essential, love- and hate-able in their own ways.

Of course, we know who we're rooting for—our Baby on board.

Maybe this isn't fair to BABY DRIVER, but I'd *just* seen Walter Hill's THE DRIVER, right before it, and was so frickin' impressed with its style and tension and story-slash-chase-telling cinematography. I found myself wanting more from the final car-v-car showdown in BABY. I feel like both Wright's BABY DRIVER and Refn's DRIVE put their tightest and tautest chase set piece at the start of their films. They are a-ma-zing intros to each film experience, but greedy me, I want even higher peaks in the middle and the end.

Oh, don't get me wrong—there ARE more peaks, gorgeously choreographed, executed, shot, and edited peaks, throughout. It's been a week now and I still feel my thoughts are vibrating from the experience.

I'm gonna see it again, so maybe I'll revisit this notion of the "starting with dessert" problem, if that's what it is. Maybe it was having THE DRIVER on my palate affecting my perspective…

LOVES.

I love the reason that Baby is always listening to his music. I don't know which movie or story first used music as a way to time and count off the steps to a heist—at the moment I can only think of HUDSON HAWK =) —but I was almost surprised that that seemed to be what was happening with Baby's character in the film's opening chase scene (w/Buddy, Darling, and Griff). It almost seemed too, well, easy…y'know, for Edgar Wright. But it *is* Edgar Wright, so we know he's gonna do something brilliant with it.

Yeah, I know. Sometimes I wish I could watch a movie with my 9-yo brain, and not think so much.

Then we see Baby on his apparently regular walk to Octane coffee, and in a beautiful "Harlem Shuffle" music video starring Baby against the graffiti of Atlanta streets, we learn that music permeates every moment of Baby's life. Man, when Debora walks by outside the shop in front of the rainbow heart—so simply perfect. =)

And I'm pretty sure that when he retraces his steps, "Shake Shake" has been added to a column or wall that had "Right" on the way in.

Later we learn that there's more method to Baby's madness for music. Doc explains that he suffers from tinnitus, and music helps keep the ringing in his ears at bay. Later still, we learn that he has a habit of recording much of what he hears, using the audio as samples in musical creations of his own. I really wish we'd been able to see him create some more of those, and/or hear more from his extensive library.

WRIGHTS.

Some little bits of fun that I feel are somehow Wright-ian, whether intended by the director or not. =)

J.D., of Bats's crew, is given a simple assignment—pick up three HALLOWEEN Michael Myers masks for use in the robbery. What does he show up with? Three Mike Myers (as Austin Powers) Halloween masks. When questioned about his cluelessness, one of the gang tries to clarify—The Bad Guy from HALLOWEEN, the movie! To which he replies—Oh! You mean Jason! And hey—What's Buddy's real name? Jason! As in Jason from FRIDAY THE 13th? As in the guy who keeps getting killed by never dies?

(This exchange inspired me to goof a BABY DRIVER: Halloween the 13th meta-mashup poster = )

And what's Baby's real name? M I L E S of course!

Hrm…Good thing Wright didn't make this movie on the continent somewhere or in Canada or his name would've been Kilometers! *groan*

Bananas! Doc reveals that's the phone call confirmation code word he receives from his contacts after a successful interaction. Darling reacts to the playing of one of Baby's tapes—"Is he slow?"—with B-A-N-A-N-A-S. When the Butcher's Atlanta PD colleagues show up for revenge on Doc, they give him the code word—"Bananas!"—along with some hot lead.

The invisible camera returns! In WORLD'S END, Wright shoots a scene between Simon Pegg and Rosamund Pike in the restroom of a pub with the camera pointed squarely at the mirror on the wall. Sure, it could be digital magic, but I can't help but wonder if Wright has pulled off some practical magic. Just the right lighting combined with a glass plate at the correct complementary angle or something? Well, whatever he did then, he does again in…I want to say at least two shots—maybe three, with reflections in a car exterior?—in BABY DRIVER. My lame brain is now only recalling one, tho, in a pan across the washing machines of a laundromat, a sweet bit of Courtship, American Style.

Yeah, probably some "simple" digital trickery…But maybe only for the last 10% that some Houdini-like stage magic couldn't quite cover? I want to know but don't want to. =)

And speaking of courtship—I kind of adore how Baby sharing his earbuds with Debora physically connects them while they're moving around the laundromat and talking. It turns their conversation into a sweet dance number. A bit of Wright magic.

Becky & Ella? In the elevator down to P1, P2, and P3 after the first job, Buddy promises to take Darling to Bacchanalia, for the best wining and dining around, or something to that effect. When Debora presses Baby for an idea on where they'll go out, he tells her what sounds like "Becky and Ella" for the best wining and dining around. NB: Found out Bacchanalia *is* an actual ATL restaurant, but I don't believe we ever see its name or signage on screen.

I WONDER…

About the "Spirit of 85" or whatever it was called. Doc mentions it to help establish Baby's cred. Apparently Baby tied the Atlanta PD in knots on what sounded like a crazy prolonged chase involving a cloverleaf interchange of highways. I think the word "spaghetti" was used? No doubt native Atlantans will appreciate the description of the feat. Baby's Kessel Run? =)

Oh, man! Who is responsible for Baby's wardrobe? For half if not most of the film, he is strategically yet uncannily decked out in duds that scream "Han Solo" to me. I'm talking A NEW HOPE—black vest over white shirt with dark pants.

(Baby’s taste in clothes—as well as his backstory and talents—inspired this BABY DRIVER: Nerf Herder mashup… =)

After the film, I was told that our Baby, Ansel Elgort, had been on the short list for the young Han Solo film. I honestly had no idea as I did and do my best to block that sort of "news" as much as possible when it comes to films I'm looking forward to.

Was this Wright, Elgort, or another member or members of the crew expressing their support for HANsel? I have no idea how the timelines of young Solo casting and BABY DRIVER shooting line up. But if the decision was made before shooting, maybe Ansel’s turn as Baby becomes a kind of what-could-have-been/what-you-missed strutting? =)

When I heard about the LEGO MOVIE directors being dismissed from the project, I thought that maybe they'd seen BABY DRIVER and realized that Edgar Wright had already made the movie—what's the point now? =)

And in the Hollywood minute before Ron Howard was announced, I wondered if maybe BABY DRIVER might possibly be the perfect proof of capabilities for Wright as the new director. Alas—*sigh*—not to be.

I wonder just what the heck happened with Disney/Marvel/ANT-MAN and Wright.

CINEMA SERENDIPITY…

I love it when my experience of films and shows connect in little unexpected ways…

Last week, I got to see Edgar Wright's amazing action jukebox, BABY DRIVER. The next night, I caught Kumail Nanjani and Emily Gordon's hilarious, heart-warming and -punching rom-coma-com, THE BIG SICK. And tonight, a week later, experienced Bong Joon Ho's OKJA on the big screen before it streams on Netflix.

Yeah, none of that connects on paper, but in my head it's a different story… =)

In THE BIG SICK, Kumail and Emily's non-dating dates reveal his obsession with cricket and appreciation of zombies, which of course would logically add up to a SHAUN OF THE DEAD poster on his bedroom wall. That's some solid math, and reminded me that I've followed some twitter exchanges between them about movies (about ROGUE ONE, Riz Ahmed, representation, and a buddy heist film).

The content of OKJA does not directly connect to anything Wrightian (as far as I could tell on a first viewing), but Bong Joon Ho's previous film, the must-see sci-fi fable SNOWPIERCER, features Jamie Bell as a character named Edgar, apparently named for Wright. That note, plus the fact that Edgar was best buddy of Chris Evans's Curtis, inspired a couple of mashup posters, one of them a meta-mashup starring SCOTT PILGRIM's Lucas Lee.

Yeah, like I said…it's all in my head.

Why do I have a feeling like this will be read back to me in court at a later date?

BABY DRIVER AT AN ADVANCE SCREENING…?

Oh—how did I get to see all these films in the theater? And before their wide release dates? The Brattle Theatre and the Independent Film Festival of Boston are my enablers-slash-suppliers. If you're Boston-local and love moviegoing, I *highly* recommend you check their schedules and membership privileges, join/donate/support either or both, and see some amazing movies!

Allright, enough a-ramblin'. If you made it this far, I'm sorry and thanks much. Now, get thee to the theater and BABY DRIVER up!

Keep on keepin’ on~