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crab-in-a-pocket · 3 years

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reserved farmer headcanons + meeting the bachelors for the first time!

wanted to make some generally reserved farmer headcanons to kick off this blog and bc i see a lot of very friendly farmers out there and i... am not one of them LMAO

additionally, there's reference to a supposed volatile relationship with a (former?) loved one (projection time!)

also i forgot to open my askbox bc idk how to tumblr ?? i think it's open now (i hope).

tw: drinking and alcoholism, references to past trauma, one Bad Word (sh^t!)

when you first meet everyone, it's a quiet greeting and maybe a witty remark, but you don't stay for any chit-chat

close-lipped smiles are your signature move, along with the Man Nod whenever you run into someone

you are, of course, a nice and courteous person but you don't feel the need to say hello to everyone every damn time you pass by them because, really, you're too busy rushing to Pierre's for some seeds or lugging around foraged beach stuff

okay, maybe some of them think you're a little cold and an introvert who has... problems

but you're not! you are a strong and emotionally stable farmer who gets Shit Done and prefers to observe over participate and think over talk!

mayor lewis is extremely puzzled and almost mistakes you for someone else-- it's been over a decade and people change too much, too soon. he makes a remark about a wishing well your grandfather had built long ago (remember the well? how you fell in it that one time?) and you nod along politely (i didn't fall, i climbed in because i desperately needed my wish to come true)

it's nice to meet people who aren't as temperemental as the tides. maybe, for once, you could have a proper relationship with someone.

alex

easily the most annoying and extroverted person in town what with his obsession with sports and loud, brash personality but you two get along fabulously because you had that same passion for gridball in college before you were too busy being a corporate slave

he's a little surprised that you sit next to him at the saloon but he goes along easily and the conversation flows between the two of you easily, ranging from future plans (thinking of going pro... think i'll make it?) to the weather without sounding like you're making fake smalltalk (i wanted to play pro, too, and here i am now. if you really want it, you'll have to leave this all behind)

there's something genuine about him that's intriguing and it leaves you wanting to find out and see what the real alex is like inside because you can see through that wall he's made

and there's something enigmatic about you, who is reserved and quiet and seems to be a simple open book, when in fact, you are a very attractive onion with many, many layers

sam

you think he's immature. a wildchild, a manchild, a wildmanchild, really. sam, on the other hand, is drawn in by your calmness and how in-control you appear to be-- when you offer to play a game of pool when sebastian doesn't show up, he's delighted at the opportunity to know you better

okay, so he is immature and a wildmanchild but there is a softness in him that surprises you every time he shows it-- which is frequently around you

he has a soft smile to counteract his proud one and he's so in awe of how you get so much stuff done every day (i don't know how you do it, that's gotta be tough), every week, and every month (you'd like the responsibility, i think. to me, it's one big project i need to finish)

he has instant crush on you because you're so cool even though your line of profession really doesn't evoke much awe. i mean, you're attractive, you are so in control of your life, and you have a really cute smile whenever he compliments you-- how could he not?

shane

bit bold of you to sit next to him at the saloon because every knows he's can be a real asshole, but he glances at you with a hint of awe and more than a hint of annoyance. you elect to ignore this and choose to order a whisky on the rocks (if you don't drink, call it apple juice)

whisky: shane's a touch impressed because you look like a lightweight. well, it's nice that someone can hold their liquor. he makes a remark about it (planning on getting drunk, huh?) and you raise a brow at him, looking a little haughty and tell him that it's your drink for the week. he's annoyed at your remark and starts an argument that surprisingly, settles down into a civil conversation

apple juice: he snorts at that and makes a remark about meeting penny for your lessons the next day. you play along and sip at your drink, making witty remarks (thank yoba for hangovers. it's the non-drinker's edge, really. just like not having liver failure). he's not sure if he should be annoyed or impressed at your cool-as-a-cucumber personality, not sure if it's too big city or too closed-off

you offer to buy him a pizza if you can take a away his beer-- at any rate, he looks like he'll end up with liver failure the way he's going. shane aquiesces and devours the entire pizza. your conversation is slow and punctuated with his loud chewing but you're pleasantly suprised that he's quite smart and well-read about whatever you're interested in

the fourth time you sit next to him, he turns down your pizza and doesn't say a word. neither do you and it's almost like it's back to square one until you realize that he hasn't made a single salty remark about anything. you decide to try again the day after tomorrow-- nothing comes too quickly to people like you and shane.

sebastian

it was the necklace you wore that caught his eye. a shining teardrop stone hanging off a gleaming silver chain. he had spoken before he could stop himself and watched as you smiled and told him he was right-- it is supposed to be a Yeti's tear.

you're pleased to meet someone who is also a homebody and a touch more reserved than a lot of other people in town. he's easy to get along with (oh, you're kidding, you really have the signed edition?) and he's got pretty good taste when it comes to literature-- after all, who can refuse a good sci-fi book? (of course i do, i'm dedicated fan)

oddly enough, your conversation is quick and eager and not all reserved. instead of the companionable silence everyone assumes you two to have, you two nearly talk over each other because you finally have someone to complain to about everyone's over-friendliness and he finally has someone who understands what it's like to be trapped in a small world

you tease him about the corporate rat race and he fires back at you about being a part of it. you like sebastian and he likes you-- it's as simple as that.

elliot

he had heard of you through leah who had heard of you through emily who had heard of you through gus who had heard of you from lewis. it was a long grapevine and he's not sure how much of the truth was preserved and it's almost a relief to meet you because, to be frank, he's tired of being the town's newcomer.

first-- you're not peppy and overly cheerful at all. second, you are definitely not hot-tempered. and third, there's something so fascinating about you, something hidden under your calm, pragmatic character. he finds a kindred spirit in you, save for the flowery words and, admittedly, the vanity.

you're amused to meet a writer living on the beach. the cabin was built by one of your grandfather's old friends, a rather surly man who had taken a liking to you when you were much younger. while the hut is in no way fancy, you can't help but consider how pretentious and, contrastingly, humble the writer must be. pretentious in such a way that he thinks living in a sandy, damp shack is a way to beat writer's block (it's odd, it's rarely a choice people make) and humble in such a way that he accepts and bears with living in a worn house with little complaint (it's admirable, if not a little silly!)

you find yourself in his company late at night when you can't sleep and it's so easy to open up to him because he's kind, he listens, and most importantly, he's not embarassed to admit he's got faults, at least to you. you let him see past your collected facade and into your cracked heart far sooner than you think and elliot doesn't mind at all

harvey

you might be the most mysterious person in town simply because of the way you present yourself. he finds himself always stuttering a little whenever you're around because of the way you watch him, set in a relaxed stance, your gaze flat and cool. later, he realizes that it's your resting face. he wonders about what you'd look like if you smiled-- really smiled

he's touched at the fact that you buy him coffee whenever he had to patch you up-- which is frequently, given your liking for the mines. you're adorable when he gives you general anesthesia. he had run out of local anesthesia and you needed a fair amount of stitches and though you told him that you have a high pain tolerance (stitches are far more painful than you think. i really don't want to put you through that), he insisted and you let him (fine, fine. get on with it, doctor). you had let out several inappropriate jokes under anesthesia and your cheeks had hurt from laughing non-stop

harvey's entranced. there's no other way to put it-- he's bewitched by your bright character hiding under that collected facade. he never pries for your secrets because he's got secrets, too. you like harvey because he's sweet and compassionate and even though he has to put up a firm, professional affectation, he wears his heart on his sleeve.

you see him as a friend at first, all platonic and it seems to be the end of it. but one day, as you hand him a coffee, he laughs and smiles and hands you a coffee just the way you like it. you're falling for him so hard and fast you think someone's put a spell on you that makes you notice the minute expressions on his face and mull over the way he talks to you. you're in love with him-- you can only hope he feels the same way too

#stardew elliott #stardew harvey #stardew sam #stardew shane #stardew alex #stardew sebastian #stardew headcanon #stardew farmer #sdv hcs #sdv headcanons #sdv sebastian #sdv elliott #sdv harvey #sdv sam #sdv alex #sdv shane #sdv reserved farmer #sdv farmer #my phone hates me but here :D

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aurorawest · 4 years

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Title: not really sure how to feel about it, something in the way you move Author: @aurorawest Rating: T Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki Relationships: Loki & Stephen Strange Word Count: 5,888

Wrote this for the no excuses writing meme, askbox version - @mareebird sent me POV and I (of course) got extremely carried away. Please find below chapter 3 of Sleight of Hand from Stephen Strange’s POV.

How was it possible that he got so much mail? He wasn’t exactly giving this address out—if anything, he’d kind of fallen off the grid. But somehow, they still found him. Exterminators (huh, if only they knew), his alma mater asking for money (not even the med school; what was this, the liberal arts school? Christ), an offer to renew the extended warranty on the car he’d wrecked along the banks of the Hudson (had he even had an extended warranty?).

Stephen Strange flipped through envelope after envelope as he stood in the Sanctum’s foyer. How many trees had died just for him to toss this stuff in the trash?

There was a sound upstairs, distant enough that it wasn’t coming from the second or third floors. That meant it was coming from the attic. Stephen grimaced. Only one possible source, then, since Wong wouldn’t go up there. Hard to blame him, considering who had been living up there for three months.

He stood there for a second, listening as footsteps drew closer, and then he went back to flipping through the mail. Their houseguest would be there in three, two, one…

“Oh good, it’s you,” Loki of Asgard sneered from the stairs. Stephen glanced up at him. “You know, I don’t think your lackey is relaying my complaints to you.”

Feeling a muscle twitch somewhere in the region of his temple, Stephen looked back to the mail. He guessed Loki of Asgard maybe wasn’t appropriate anymore, what with Asgard being vaporized and New Asgard being off limits. “It might be because you keep referring to him as my ‘lackey’—which is apparently one of the nicer things you’ve called him.”

‘Goat’s arse,’ ‘feeble-minded cretin,’ and ‘tedious shepherd of a pile of musty, worthless tomes’ were among the epithets that Wong had relayed to him. “So you two aren’t friends yet,” Stephen had said. Wong had given him a flat look and walked away. There was a certain art to Loki’s venom, Stephen had to admit, but it took a masochistic streak to enjoy being the subject of his bile.

Of course, Wong had also mentioned that Loki had sneeringly referred to him as ‘Beyoncé,’ which had given Stephen pause, and not in a particularly good way. He didn’t like to think of Loki and him being anything alike.

A sneer still on his face, Loki said, “Your hurt feelings aren’t any of my concern.”

“Uh huh. You’ve made that pretty clear.” There was nothing worthwhile in this pile of mail. He tossed it on the table. Loki was obviously spoiling for a fight and Stephen didn’t really want to have it here in the foyer. There was too much furniture in here and some of it was probably valuable.

Instead, he gathered a bundle of the Sanctum’s magic to teleport them to the study and twisted it—

—Only to come up against a solid, hard barrier, like a pane of glass. It felt like someone had punched him in the gut and he tried not to stumble. Loki was staring at him, a blazing look on his face. So. Loki didn’t care for that method of transportation, and he’d come up with a way to stop it. “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure out how to do that,” Stephen said, trying to smile a little.

“Don’t patronize me,” Loki snapped back.

Stephen held up his hands. Christ. Never a quiet moment. Loki looked like he was going to kill someone. Probably worthwhile to calm him down. “Okay,” Stephen said. “Let’s talk. But do you mind if we do it in the study? I need to sit down with a cup of tea; I’m exhausted. Interdimensional squid monsters don’t just defeat themselves.”

When Loki didn’t object to this, Stephen summoned a cup of tea for himself, only half full, because otherwise the cup would shake and he’d spill hot tea all over his fingers. Burn scars on top of the surgery scars; what a look. No wonder he couldn’t get a date. Tea in hand, he asked, “Want one?”

There was a tense moment, and then Loki nodded. Another cup materialized on the table where Stephen had tossed the mail. He was half convinced Loki wouldn’t lower himself to going to get it, but he did, and the two of them went into the study.

While Stephen made his way to a chair, Loki lingered in the doorway, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cup of tea. His expression was the kind of closed-off anger that Stephen had always thought was easy to read and easy to deal with. Angry people were boring.

Loki, though, wasn’t boring.

“Have a seat,” Stephen said, gesturing at the other armchair as he sank down into his favorite one. Loki didn’t. He remained on his feet, looking stiff and out-of-place.

No. Wrong phrase. He didn’t look out-of-place in the Sanctum. He never had. At first it had really bothered Stephen. Now, he just tried not to think about it. There were a lot of implications to Loki looking like he belonged at the Sanctum that were better left untouched.

Maybe the right word was unwelcome. Loki looked like he felt unwelcome.

“Did you have a good day?” Stephen asked, taking a sip of his tea. The question was probably unnecessarily sarcastic. But something was kicking at his chest, agitating him, making him irritable. It wasn’t Loki’s mood. He could handle Loki’s foul mood—hadn’t be been doing it for three months? Granted, he tried to stay out of Loki’s way as much as possible, and the feeling was mutual.

Sometimes he’d catch himself looking up the stairs towards the attic, wondering what Loki was doing up there. What did a god do to keep himself from getting bored? Besides insult Wong? What did Loki do to keep himself from getting bored? The answer seemed obvious: get into mischief. But there’d been a distinct lack of mischief. Stephen didn’t know if he was thankful or worried that he just hadn’t noticed it yet.

Clearly, Loki had picked up on the sarcasm. Not a surprise. Not much got past Loki, especially if he thought you were insulting him—and he seemed to usually think you were insulting him. “Oh, yes,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “An absolute peach of a day.” When Stephen shrugged, anger flashed through Loki’s eyes like knives. His voice tight, he snapped, “I’m sick and tired of being locked up here, wizard. I’m sick and tired of being in that room, wasting time. I’m sick and tired of you telling me that it’s for the good of the universe for me to rot in this house.”

Stephen had been watching Loki’s fingers clench more and more tightly around the cup during this speech, which was the most he’d heard Loki talk since that day he’d arrived outside the Sanctum, falling on the sidewalk, Tesseract in hand. She, Stephen guessed. Loki had been a woman at the time. To this day, Stephen didn’t really know why, but he’d recognized her immediately. No question in his mind that he had been looking at Loki.

He waited for Loki to go on, but he just gulped down his tea, wincing. The cup vanished once the tea was gone.

There was silence. Then, Stephen asked, “Are you done?”

“Did you want to hear more?” Loki asked.

It almost made Stephen smile. But he wasn’t supposed to smile at Loki. Loki was the guy who had attacked New York in 2012. He was a threat. He wasn’t a good guy.

That was oversimplifying everything, and Stephen hated it when people oversimplified things. At Stark’s funeral, Stephen had approached Thor, because…well, he didn’t really know anyone else there, except the Guardians, and he’d pretty much exhausted all the conversational possibilities with them within five minutes. And there was the Parker kid, he guessed, but he could do better than chatting with a high schooler.

Saying he ‘knew’ Thor was kind of overstating it, but at least they’d had more than a two second conversation. But he knew he’d made a mistake right away. Thor had been drunk and definitely hadn’t wanted to talk; after attempting to make conversation for a minute, Stephen had given up and walked away.

He’d almost stepped on Rocket Raccoon, who was on his way to Thor and who had glared at him and muttered something that had definitely begun, “Fucking wizard…” under his breath.

Stephen had bitten back the urge to tell him how many raccoons he’d hit over the years. “What’s with Thor?” he’d asked. The weight, the hair, the beard, the booze, the crushing defeat slung around his shoulders—it wasn’t really a ‘what’s with him’ kind of question, but Stephen was hoping Rocket would give him the short and surly answer.

Rocket had rolled his eyes. “Gee, I dunno, where should I start? Dead mom? Dead dad? Dead sister? Dead brother? Blown up planet?”

Which was when Stephen had known. Loki was dead. Banner’s story about Thanos attacking the Asgardian refugee ship hadn’t included the fates of the Sons of Odin. But this had clinched it. No one had told him what had happened and he wasn’t about to ask Thor or his friend, the woman with the sword who had glared at anyone who had looked sideways at Thor. But Stephen had gotten the feeling that Loki had gone down fighting, that whatever had happened between the guy charging him with a couple of knives and Loki’s death, that him and Thor had made up.

It also made everything he’d seen make a shit ton more sense.

When he’d looked at those fourteen million, six hundred and five futures and found the one where Thanos was defeated, he’d looked further ahead. Of course he’d looked further ahead. How did he know there wasn’t something worse coming right after Thanos? He had to be sure he was choosing the right one. So what had he seen? Death. So much death. His own, over and over and over and over again. His own and everyone else’s. In the end, Natasha Romanoff’s and Tony Stark’s. Steve Rogers’s, too, in a way.

He’d seen Thor, an absolute wreck of a man who needed to find something on his own before he could find the thing he really needed, which was his brother. Yeah, the dead brother. Because Stephen had seen Loki, too. Loki, living at the Sanctum, Loki befriending Jane Foster, Loki and Thor together, Loki—

Well. The point was, he’d seen Loki.

There were actually a lot of reasons he didn’t want to smile at anything Loki said, and to blame it on him being ‘the bad guy’ was disingenuous.

Carefully, Stephen set his cup of tea down on the table next to his chair. Did he want to hear more? That was an open question, and he wished it wasn’t. “I think I get the general idea,” he said. “You know you’re not confined to that room, right? You’re free to go anywhere in the house.”

Not that anyone had ever actually come out and told Loki this, because the fact was, there kind of were places that Stephen and Wong didn’t want him going. Once or twice, Stephen had caught Loki slipping like a shadow through the house, trying not to make eye contact with the Sanctum’s other occupants, but staring longingly into the library. Stephen had almost told him he should go in and read whatever he wanted. But something had stopped him. Maybe that had been wrong.

Loki snorted. “And trip one of your booby traps? I don’t think so.”

Stephen took a fortifying breath. “Don’t get into anything you’re not supposed to, and you won’t.”

Loki’s face twisted. “And how, pray tell, am I supposed to know what I’m allowed to touch and what I’m not?” he snarled.

“You’re a wizard, aren’t you?” Stephen asked, unable to stop himself from throwing Loki’s preferred slight back in his face.

“Master of Magic,” Loki shot back, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Right.” This was going nowhere. Antagonizing each other wasn’t going to solve anything. Loki was stuck here and they both knew it. “Look, we’ve been over this. I’m sorry about keeping you here, but this is the way it has to be.”

Clenching his fists, Loki said, “It has to be this way, does it? I know you can look into the future, so tell me why, exactly, the universe’s fate hinges on me being stuck in this house. It seems just a bit unlikely.”

No argument there. Fourteen million futures unlikely. But Loki didn’t know what. Steepling his fingers in his lap, Stephen said, “If you’re referring to the fact that I used the Time Stone to see if we could beat Thanos, yeah. I looked past that moment to make sure there wasn’t some kind of world-ending, Avengers-level event coming right after it. I saw possibilities.”

They’d had this conversation several times already. That part usually went okay. It was the next part that pissed Loki off. Narrowing his eyes, Stephen went on, “What I saw was that it’s better for the universe for you to be here. I wouldn’t presume to tell you the fate of everything rests on you crashing in the attic room. But I can’t let you leave. There’s too much probability that millions of lives are at stake.”

There was devastation on Loki’s face. Stephen didn’t relish it. He didn’t like causing this man pain. Man? God, he guessed. But he knew Loki didn’t see it that way. He knew Loki thought he got off on being a prick.

Well, maybe he had, at one point in his life. Not so much anymore. At least, not to Loki, who, three months into this unwilling roommate situation, was pretty clearly very damaged, hurting badly, and profoundly lost. And goddammit, Stephen knew that feeling so, so well.

“What do I care for millions of lives when my brother—” Loki paused and seemed to gather himself. “—when my brother needs a kick in the arse, preferably from me?”

Then again, Loki didn’t always make it easy to not be a prick.

And it was better if he pushed Loki away. It didn’t necessarily seem smart to make the God of Mischief hate him, but it ultimately seemed preferable.

“That’s sweet,” Stephen said. “I hope he can feel the love, even if he thinks it’s coming from beyond the grave.”

Anger twisted Loki’s face. “I didn’t ask for this,” he snarled. “I was ready to die. You lot are the ones that messed up the fabric of space and time. The only reason I’m here at all is because someone let a group of rank amateurs loose in something they knew nothing about and couldn’t possibly hope to understand the ramifications of. So if my presence here is such a problem, such a wrench in the continued existence of the universe, blame them. I’d tell you to take it up with your counterpart in the other timeline, but—oh yes, I had to erase it from existence, so I suppose you’ll never know why he was so adamant that I be sent here, to you, in this particular year.”

Another big speech from Loki. Stephen had noticed that when he got upset, when he got agitated, he talked more, his words spilling over each other like rocks tumbling along the riverbed in a swift current. His anger didn’t make him less eloquent. There was something admirable about that. To be honest, there was something mesmerizing about watching Loki get more and more angry. His fury was something to behold—like something wild, like a storm, like something that no one would ever be able to control. There was something kind of beautiful about that.

And, nope. Better for Loki to hate him.

Keeping his face impassive, Stephen asked, “Is there more you’d like to say?” When Loki remained coldly silent, he went on, “You know, I couldn’t keep you here if you really wanted to leave. You stay because you think what I’ve told you is true.”

Harsh laughter tore itself out of Loki. “What can I do but assume it’s true? Do you know what I’ve been through?”

“Only what you’ve told me. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy.”

“Your sympathy means so much.”

Stephen knew he was pushing every button Loki had. It wasn’t that hard. He had an unfair advantage, after all. He’d seen the future. But even if he hadn’t, he still thought it would be easy. There was something about Loki that was easy to understand, when he should have been impossible. And Stephen really, really didn’t want Loki to be easy to understand. Not for him. Definitely not for him.

Meeting Loki’s eyes, Stephen said, “Loki. I’m not keeping you here because I have some sort of vendetta against you.” Loki just glared at him, so Stephen sighed. “Your brother has things to do and he needs to do them without you. You can’t help him right now. That’s what I’ve seen. There are a lot of possible outcomes, but in most of them, you staying out of Thor’s life right now is best for everyone.”

Stephen had known this wasn’t the right thing to say. But he had to admit, even he hadn’t guessed just how wrong it was.

Something…happened. Magic screamed out of Loki, blasting into everything in the room. It slammed into Stephen, a shockwave that passed through his skin and lungs and bones, roaring through him, invading him, and for what felt like forever, he couldn’t breathe.

This was the sort of thing he’d trained for, though. This was what made him a Master of the Mystic Arts. This was what made him Guardian of the New York Sanctum. As glass and wood shattered around him, he called a spell to his hands and cast it, magic flowing from his hands. Everything in the room stopped, suspended in midair, a tableau of frozen destruction. The only two things moving in the room were Loki and Stephen.

Stephen flicked a hand and everything settled back to where it was supposed to be. This was the first time he’d really seen what Loki could do—it was the first time Loki had unleashed his magic. And unleashed was the word. Loki’s chest was heaving. His eyes were bright with rage and his face was open in a way that Stephen had never seen, even if it was only open enough to be twisted with fury and pain.

He was…magnificent. Incandescent. He looked every inch a god.

And Stephen Strange did not want to think so.

So he waited a moment. Steeled himself. And then, he said dryly, “Looks like I hit a sore spot.”

The other thing, that hadn’t been meant to wound. This definitely had been.

Knives appeared in Loki’s hands. “Shut. Up.” His voice was shaking. An attack would be easy to stop, but Stephen didn’t want to have to do that. His shoulders still heaving, Loki said, “I would rather be trapped in your pocket universe, falling into infinite blackness, then have to look at your insufferable face and listen to your smug, sanctimonious, pedantic explanations about why I’m here for one—more—SECOND.”

How hard did he want to push? How much did he want to make Loki hate him? Stephen had to look away from him. Watching Loki, enraged, threatening him, radiating anger, was a little too much like looking at the sun. “That can be arranged,” Stephen said, folding his hands in his lap.

Loki stepped forward, holding his dagger up, leveling it between Stephen’s eyes. “You’ve wanted to since day one. Put your money where your mouth is, sorcerer.”

At this, Stephen looked back up to Loki, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze. He could see Loki thinking about it, those blue eyes of his cracking with anger, with dislike, maybe even with hate. Hell, if their positions were reversed, Stephen would probably be tempted to stick a knife in his own chest to shut himself up.

This was too much. There were good reasons for Stephen to antagonize Loki; good reasons for them not to be friends, or even friendly. But this didn’t sit right. He couldn’t keep doing this.

Loki lowered his arm, sagging, as his fingers loosened around his dagger. Stephen’s eyebrows drew together. What was happening? Why was Loki giving up? That seemed unlike him. In the encounters they’d had, Loki had always snarled a vicious parting shot before stalking away. Nothing seemed to cow him.

That wasn’t right though, was it? Loki was cowed. Thor and Loki were like mirror images of each other. One wore his pain and brokenness on the outside, the other stuffed it down and papered over it with rage. But at the end of the day, it was the exact same pain.

Sounding defeated, Loki said, “Do it, Strange. I promise I’ll only blame you a little bit.”

Christ. Seriously? Did Loki really think Stephen was going to trap him in a void, falling forever, or until Stephen felt like freeing him? Well, to be fair, he guessed he’d done it before. But those had been extenuating circumstances.

Extenuating circumstances. Right. His whole life was a series of extenuating circumstances, now. He had an Asgardian prince living in his house and he hadn’t informed anyone—except people he trusted at Kamar-Taj—that Loki was here at all. Extenuating circumstances: if he was right about what he’d seen in this future, then Loki would never be a threat to Earth again.

Stephen’s list certainly didn’t think so. A few days after Loki’s arrival, his name had disappeared from it. Stephen had thought something might be wrong with it and he’d checked it, a pit of ice forming in his stomach. But of course nothing was wrong with the list. He already knew Loki wasn’t a threat. Every time things played out exactly the way he’d seen them play out with the Time Stone, he felt a little more sick. Most of it was fine; most of it was great, but he’d caught a glimpse—there was a future that he didn’t want, and if he could nudge things just a little off course—well, it would be better for everyone.

Watching the anger flicker out of Loki’s eyes was like watching a storm recede. No pocket dimension for him. Anyway, he’d find his way out of it before long. “Yeah,” Stephen said, “I’m not going to, but your permission’s noted.”

They couldn’t keep going like this. Stephen was pretty arrogant, but even he wasn’t cocky enough to think he could break Loki. But something—stupidity, sentimentality, shortsightedness, all of the above?—made him realize that he didn’t even want Loki thinking he was trying to break him. That wasn’t who he wanted to be, not for himself, and not for Loki, either.

All of the above, definitely. With a really large helping of stupidity. Taking a breath and tilting his head to disguise his own swirling thoughts, he said, “You know…you might have a point. Not about the pocket universe. But about being cooped up. It’s probably bad luck or something to keep a god under house arrest, even here.”

The daggers vanished. “I’m listening,” Loki said warily.

Stephen got to his feet, mainly so Loki wouldn’t be able to see his face. Up until this point, he’d been a mainly passive observer in the events he’d seen. He’d give up the Time Stone to Thanos, but other than that, he’d set nothing in motion. His job was to be part of all of it, not to guide it. But there were certain things that he’d glimpsed, things that he didn’t understand how they could come to pass without him initiating it. The problem was, he didn’t know when any of it was supposed to happen. A year from now? Four months? Next week? Today? There was no way to know. The Time Stone didn’t subtitle dates at the bottom of its visions.

Which left him to use his own judgement. There was a time when just about the only person’s judgement he’d trusted was his own. The bizarre vicissitudes of his life had taught him better. Humility made him hesitate. How did he know this was the right time? If he set things in motion now, he couldn’t stop them. What if he acted and it wasn’t time? What if he had it all wrong?

He cast spell after spell to clean up the room, feeling Loki’s presence at his back. As the last lampshade fit itself back into place, a realization hit him like a train. Humility? He thought he’d learned humility? He was still the same arrogant son of a bitch he’d always been. This wasn’t about him. It had never been about him.

He recognized the pain Loki was in. This was about Loki.

There was no way for him to know the right time to set events in motion. But it didn’t matter. Loki needed this now, whether it was the right time or not.

Stephen hesitated for another second. Once he spoke, he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t undo it.

He turned around to face Loki, who looked like a caged animal, desperate to run but with nowhere to go, his rage barely subsided, simmering just under the surface. And Stephen spoke. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. I’m breaking every patient confidentiality law on the books.”

Surprise flickered across Loki’s face, though he immediately wiped it away. “Then please don’t feel compelled to.”

Stephen ignored him. “I was at the hospital today—”

“Why?” Loki interrupted. With a pointed look at Stephen’s hands, clearly meant to be cruel, he added, “Don’t tell me they’re letting you cut people open?”

He deserved that. But it still rankled. He thought he actually preferred the knives. “I thought you said you were listening,” Stephen said. Loki backed down, holding up his hands. The expression on his face had returned to wariness. “I was visiting a friend,” Stephen went on. “While I was there, I walked by a room that listed the occupant as Jane Foster.”

This was…not exactly a lie. Stephen had been by Metro-General recently—not today, but within the week—and he had seen Christine while he was there, but he’d gone for the express purpose of seeing if Jane Foster had taken up residence there. The little ball of ice in his stomach had grown a bit more when he’d seen her name on the door.

Loki started at the name and immediately scowled.

“Someone you know?” Stephen asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.

“An acquaintance,” Loki replied, raising one eyebrow.

This shouldn’t have charmed Stephen, but against his will, it did. Something in the arch of that eyebrow, the glint in Loki’s eyes, which wasn’t quite mischief but was sharp and pointed and keen as those daggers he carried around on his arms. God knew Loki had never tried to be charming in his time at the Sanctum. Somehow, that made the flashes of his natural charm way more genuine and likable.

“Uh huh,” Stephen said. “Friend of Thor’s, right?” Loki shrugged and Stephen grew serious. “I looked at her records. Another broken rule, by the way. Same Jane Foster. She’s dying.”

“Of course she’s dying,” Loki said, shrugging again. “You humans are in a perpetual state of mortality. It’s just what you do.”

Less charming. Stephen felt his lips thin. “She’s terminally ill. She has weeks. Maybe a couple months, if she gets really lucky.”

This seemed to hit some kind of nerve. Or maybe Loki just realized he was being an asshole. Finally, he said, “I see. And?”

“And nothing.” There was still a shattered vase in the corner. Stephen magically repaired it and it settled back into place on the table that held it. He tried not to take a deep breath and make it obvious how much he was bullshitting his way through this conversation. This was it. “Unless you want to go see her,” he said.

If this had been a movie, the music would have swelled and then abruptly dropped away at this point. The audience had to be clued in that this was a Big Moment. But of course, only Stephen knew that. Loki had no idea. His eyes narrowed and he asked, “Why would I want to go see her? I barely know the woman. My brother was the one who couldn’t stop mooning over her.” Something seemed to occur to him and he quickly added, “He dumped her, by the way.”

To be totally honest, Stephen didn’t care about the love lives of the Asgardian royal family, or lack thereof. But there was something kind of sweet about Loki insisting on this point, which told Stephen that it absolutely wasn’t true, and Jane had definitely dumped Thor’s ass.

“I was under the impression you wanted to do something nice for your brother,” Stephen said.

Loki made a series of spluttering noises, then finally managed, “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“You don’t say,” Stephen said, his tone deadpan. When Loki glared at him, he added, “Why don’t you think about it?”

“Why don’t you let me go tell my brother that I’m not dead?”

Point to Loki. Probably. Stephen had kind of lost track. He’d felt like this was a game he was going to lose from the moment Loki had appeared on the sidewalk outside, anyway. He sighed, less at Loki; more at the situation. “Do you really want to do this again today? I just got done cleaning up.” This drew an unwilling snort of laughter from Loki, and Stephen felt a tendril of an emotion that he wasn’t willing to name unfurl ever-so-slightly within him.

“By the way,” Stephen said, to distract both of them from the fact that he had just made Loki laugh, “Thor isn’t even on Earth right now.”

Picking at the armor on his hands, Loki said, “I know.”

Stephen felt his brow furrow in surprise. Loki looked at him, taking this in. “You do?” Stephen asked.

“I heard you and Wong talking about it.” Loki looked almost guilty. He cleared his throat and said, “Something about some people calling themselves the Guardians.”

Huh. Well. What else had Loki heard?

“You have good hearing,” Stephen finally said.

With a faint smile, Loki replied, “I’m very good at overhearing things that people don’t want me to.”

Good to know. Stephen wished he’d known it three months ago. He’d have to comb through his memories to figure out if Wong and he had talked about anything sensitive within Loki’s impressive earshot.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stephen said.

Exiting a conversation at the right time was a skill Stephen had always prided himself on, and he knew this one had run its course. Something momentous had happened here, though Loki didn’t know the half of it. Stephen didn’t know if he felt like a puppet master or a puppet himself, a marionette whose strings were being jerked around by the universe the same as everyone else’s. He just happened to know about it.

Loki seemed like the kind of guy who you could have really in-depth philosophical discussions with. Get him started on a conversation about free will, and Stephen had a feeling he’d be fascinating. Stephen had heard him invoke the Norns, and as soon as that particular argument had ended, he’d pulled out his phone to google the word.

The Fates. Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld, the most important of them. They wove mortals’ fates, pulled at the threads, followed them, tangled them, untangled them. Stephen had no idea what Loki thought about free will, but he had a feeling it was complicated.

Another thing Stephen was good at? Leaving a difficult conversation on top. He held out a hand and Loki stared at it. His open confusion was kind of satisfying. “Oh, sorry,” Stephen said. “The cup you vanished. I’ll take that back. They’re antique. I’m trying to keep the set together.”

Total bullshit. They were from the thrift store a few blocks over, and before that, probably Kmart, and there were already several pieces missing.

But Loki didn’t know any better. Stephen didn’t even know why he was messing with him. Maybe just to see if he could. There was, after all, the aforementioned feeling that he’d lost this game before it had even started. Anything to get the upper hand, no matter how temporary it was.

Smirking, Loki twitched his fingers, and the cup appeared out of thin air, dropping into Stephen’s palm. Without another word, Loki turned to leave. But then, in the doorway, he stopped and turned around. “How do I get to this hospital?” he asked. “In case I do decide to go see Miss Foster.”

Check. Did the Norns play chess? Whatever. Stephen wasn’t sure he believed in them.

Then again, he hadn’t believed in magic either, had he?

With a small smile, Stephen said, “We’ll get you a Metro Card.” He couldn’t read Loki’s face. Probably he didn’t know what a Metro Card was. Lucky guy. In all seriousness, though, Loki was, what, a thousand something years old? But he didn’t know much about Earth. Given an opportunity, he’d probably learn everything he could about it. And that reminded him. The library. Giving Loki free rein in there was something he should have done a long time ago. Wong would hate it, but…Stephen would pick up his tuna melts for a month or two and he’d get over it. “And Loki? I think you’ll find that the library has a number of books that might interest you.”

There was an impossibly long silence while Loki stared at him. Would he accept this? As peace offerings went, it was pretty paltry. Peace offering? Stephen kept his face still, but inside, he snorted at himself. He guessed so. For the past three months, he’d either outright ignored or tried to alienate Loki. Something momentous had happened here without him knowing, too. This relationship had changed. Stephen had Seen Things, but he didn’t have a roadmap. He didn’t know where this was going. He didn’t know what to expect.

The knot of ice was still in his stomach, but it seemed to thaw a little. Maybe he wasn’t entirely a toy of the Norns.

Finally, Loki inclined his head, a graceful, courtly gesture that reminded Stephen forcibly and viscerally that this was a prince. It wasn’t something that he cared about, per se. He was a person first and foremost. And last, when it came down to it. But somewhere in the middle, he was a prince, a god, a onetime villain. And he was also a brother, a son, and—

Definitely not a friend. Not to Stephen, at least.

“Thank you,” Loki said. Stephen nodded to him, and Loki turned and walked away, his footsteps quiet on the wood floor.

No, not a friend. But maybe, just maybe, not an enemy, either.

#loki #stephen strange #fanfiction #soh #mareebird

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