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mystery-star · 5 years ago

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The Biggest Compliment – Spock

Pairing: Spock (AOS) x gender-neutral reader

Warnings: none

Words: 3944

Please do not repost my work on other sites or platforms!

Of course everyone in the 23rd century knew about Starfleet. But while you were certain that you would never join them, you had not believed that you would need to work together with their Academy one day. You hadn’t known what they wanted of you, when you had been told that your designer talent was needed. First you thought they might want to have new uniforms but probably a tailor would be better for this. Then you speculated over the possibility that they wanted a new logo. Or maybe it just was something like an advertisement for new recruits or so.

The thing they needed your help with, however, turned out be a test. Well, a simulation, to be exact. They wanted to animate the whole thing new. And not just animate, as you heard also the coding hat been redone, for whatever reason. After they had shown you what the old simulation looked like, you were introduced to your co-worker; the one who had written the new coding. It was a Vulcan and you didn’t know what to think of that. Not because he was not human but because you had never seen a Vulcan ‘close-up’ but hat heard a lot of, not so good, things about their race. As it seemed, also the instructor who was showing you around didn’t seem to be a big fan of him and leant closer to you before he left you in your new office.

“Don’t mind him, he can get pretty prissy sometimes” he whispered to you before he wished you good work and then left, leaving you alone with the man you’d spend the next weeks with. You looked at him for a while and didn’t know what to say.

“May I see what you have?” he asked. It was the first time you heard his voice and you had to admit, it sounded quite good.

“What do you mean, what I have?”

“I am certain you have already prepared something” he said it with such a certainty that made you feel bad that you had, in fact, nothing.

“No?” he raised an eyebrow “Look, I literally heard what they want from me half an hour ago. Before, they only told me that they needed my as a designer and I had no idea what it was” he remained silent and you didn’t like that “All I have are a few notes. I’m sure you couldn’t have made drafts beforehand if they just called you to their office for making a new code without telling you what it was about first”

“That is not quite correct. I have asked to reprogram the test myself and therefore have arrived to the meeting sufficiently prepared” you rolled your eyes

“Well as I said, I only took a few notes during the simulation I watched”

“May I see those?” he held out his hand to you

“It’s just the basics, like what notes what it is about. Because I was told that you would tell me exactly what you need” he still didn’t move his hand, so you sighed “Fine, here you go” you pulled out your PADD and placed it on the table. Because you didn’t want to give it into his hand if he behaved like that. He had a look then pointed at the title.

“The simulation is called Kobayashi Maru, not Cobrayoshi Moru”

“Well excuse me for understanding it wrong” he didn’t reply and continued

“What do you mean by ‘good ship’?”

“The ship, this Kobayashi Maru that is in distress”

“Then please describe it accordingly

“As I said” you hissed “this are only first notes”

“Besides, I already have defined the amount of the Klingon warbirds to five, so your note that reads ‘ca. 4-5 enemy ships’ is inaccurate”

“I counted them on the screen of the simulation I watched. And apparently that wasn’t good or else you wouldn’t have reprogrammed it, right?”

“I have solely noticed inconsistencies in the coding. The animation itself was not much flawed”

“Okay” you took a deep breath “How about we sit together and you tell me exactly what you want, so that I can get working on it?”

“For now, I solely need one of the animated warbirds”

“But that’ll take hours to make. I could make a sketch in 5 minutes or so”

“I need a three-dimensional model of it”

“Well, I don’t have one right now. The only ship that I can offer you as a model of a cruise ship. Or no, maybe we also have one of a science fiction starship somewhere”

“I do not need a cruise ship or a random starship” he explained that he needed the actual ship that would be used in the simulation so that he could finetune the programmed movements with the animation.

“Good then give two hours and you’ll have a draft-model. I can still change it later on when you have calibrated it”

“Very well” he gave a nod and you sat down at the desk that had been prepared and started unpacking your stuff before you got working on some sketches. Suddenly, you noticed that someone was standing behind you and you turned around.

“Please don’t do that”

“What are you referring to?”

“Looking over my shoulder. It’s distracting. I can’t work like that” he raised an eyebrow but left you alone.

About half an hour later you were ready to present him your three drafts of the ships.

“I only requested one”

“Yes, but I made three versions. Drafts”

“I have not asked for drafts, especially multiple ones”

“Do you have any idea how design works? Obviously not or you’d have done the damn animation yourself” you muttered the last part “I always make drafts for a client after they told me what they need, which you didn’t even do, so sorry if I don’t get it quite right on the first try.”

“I have informed you that I need to have a model of a Klingon warbird”

“And here you have three drafts” you pointed at three models “Which one do you like best?”

“I do not like them” you had to bite back a sigh and a part of you just wanted to smack him right in the face.

“Good” you said, taking a deep breath and picking up your stylus “Then what would you like instead?”

“I would have preferred if you had invested all your time into one model instead of three”

“Look, I will put more work into one of them, just tell me which one is the best”

“They are all flawed” at least you now totally understood what this other man had meant with that he could get prissy.

“Well it are only drafts” you explained “Don’t Vulcans do drafts?”

“We do not prepare several different versions if only one is needed since it would be a waste of time”

“Good speaking of wasting time; just tell me which model you want me to edit and make it perfect”

“No matter how much work you will put in it, it will always stay an animated model and therefore will never be perfect”

“Which. Ship?!” you hissed gesturing at your PADD.

“This one” he pointed at the second draft “However….” You had to fight not to roll your eyes. Of course you knew there was a ‘but’ coming. You did your best to not become upset when he told you what mistakes you had made on your draft, while you made notes on the most important points. A part of you wondered how long you could take it before you just broke his nose, cut off his ears, ripped off his bangs or rammed your stylus in his eye. Or all together.

While you started to get working on the chosen model, Commander Spock took the draft to link it with his coding, while you tried to make the starship as authentic as possible which was not so easy without an accurate source or idea how it looked like except for the description you had gotten. When you left for the day, your client seemed to be a bit disappointed that you could not finish the model already. For that reason you decided to come an hour earlier the following day but to your dismay, the Vulcan was already there

“Did we not agree that you may start at 0830 hours?” you had been in the office for three seconds and already were pissed off by him again although you had tried not to be anymore.

“Yes but since I didn’t come as far as I wanted yesterday, I decided to come earlier today. The sooner I get the animation done the better” because it meant, among other, that you would be rid of him. Luckily, you didn’t need to talk to him that much today. But then he requested you to get a second model for the second ship. “Give me a second”

“I doubt you can create an accurate model in a second”

“Just watch and see” you tapped on the model you were already working on and duplicated it “there. Took me a little under two seconds”

“You cannot just duplicate the model”

“Oh but I can. I can also centuple it” you glared at him, tapped the model again, called up the settings and set the number of duplicates to 100 and when you returned, the whole screen was filled with ships “There. That should occupy you for a while”

“As I already said, there are only five ships that I need for the simulation. Besides, I cannot use these duplicates. If you wish to copy your models, you need to use a template”

“Well okay” you said “But that’ll take me a couple of minutes” he gave a nod “Why thank you, (Y/N)” you muttered to yourself “Thank you for your co-operation and withstanding my coldness”

Because he wanted all ships to be visually different, you decided to change minor details on them before you gave him the new model. Once you had prepared all ships, even the Kobayashi Maru, you needed to take care of the surroundings for which you designed the space, of course in the dimensions that Spock had told you. Then you set your models into it and adjusted their positions so that they more or less corresponded with the coordinates that Spock had programmed for them. When he had a look at the model he raised an eyebrow

“What now?” you asked, knowing that something did not please him at all.

“The positions of the Klingon warbirds one, three, four and five need to be adjusted slightly” At least he was now calling the ships by numbers and not the stupid model names he had given them in his code. It had taken you almost two days to get him do that and you had just written his model name onto the according ship in ugly red letters so that you knew which one he was talking about. “Move ship one 2.3 millimeters to the left and 1.8 millimeters down, ship two….”

“Woah wait… I never heard anyone saying decimals of millimeters. This model doesn’t even accept them. I can give you half millimeters but not point three or point eight. Besides, no one can actually know if the ship is perfectly aligned when they do the simulation. And if we align the weapons right they will still hit the ship if they enter the coordinates of the ship”

“I know but I wish that it is as accurate as possible. Speaking of accuracy” he explained that the surroundings were not accurate either because the constellations were wrong and did not look like this ad the place the simulation took place

“In other words you want me to fucking re-align every single star correctly?”

“It does not need to be completely accurate, yet I do ask you to adjust their positions so that it does have more similarities with the coordinates where the simulation occurs”

Well, in contrast to you I don’t have a fucking stellar map saved in my brain” he walked away and then handed you a PADD, explaining that it would turn into a 360° stellar map if you opened the correct program and entered the coordinates you wanted.

So you just spent the following three days on redoing the whole surroundings, this times even with micrometers as unit so that you could adjust the ships perfectly as he wanted. At times you found it easier to agree to what he wanted and have more work instead of discussing with him, which would result in you doing as he wanted anyway. You hadn’t even been able to make it clear to him that sometimes you need to be polite and say please and thank you, to which he replied that such formalities were illogical since they did not change anything about the request and that he would never say please in an order to subordinates.

Since it was a bigger project, it took up several weeks of collaboration with Spock and somehow the thing that bugged you most about working with him was the fact that you had to admit to yourself that, despite everything he did or said, your stupid, illogical heart had managed to develop romantic feelings for the Vulcan. You didn’t know if that just was because of his appearance or if it also was his almost dominating behavior that made you feel that way. One thing was for certain; the more you worked with Spock the stronger these feelings got. So, you were a little relieved when the semester started again and he wasn’t around all day but spent a great part of his time teaching classes. But at times that also brought problems because you had learnt that sometimes it was better to just ask him if he was okay with something sooner rather than later because if he wanted you to change many things about it you’d have more work later on. So you would just leave your office and go looking for him instead to show him what you had done. He had forwarded you his timetable so that you knew where to find him at which time. If you found the correct classroom, of course.

“Spock, I think I finally could make the final….”

“Can you give me three minutes?”

“Fine but then don’t complain that we’re three minutes behind in schedule” you muttered

“There is no such detailed schedule. I even do not have a fixed date on which we need to be finished but rather a time interval”

“So that means we don’t just have one more month but two in total?”

“Yes” you gave a nod

“Good then I’ll let you finish your stuff”

One thing you always loved about your work was to see it in action. In that case that was, when everything was finished so far that some test people could make the simulation to see how everything was working. It was mainly to test the simulation itself, to see if the coding worked but you had been asked to be there as well so that you could have an eye on the animation and make sure everything happened in life time and correctly. You were quite proud when you noticed that almost everything was working perfectly fine and that there only were a few details you had to change. As well as some details on the ships themselves because Spock still was not perfectly happy with them.

“And?” you asked after four goes at the simulation

“What do you wish to know?” Spock asked

“Well what you think of it”

“I have noticed that there are a few instances that you will need to go over” you crossed your arms

“What?” you couldn’t believe that this was his answer and to your dismay he started listing up some flaws. “Stop” you growled, making him raise an eyebrow “I know that there are some imperfections but I’m sorry that I’m not as perfect as you”

“I never claimed that I was perfect. I am a being and all beings are flawed”

“Wow that I got you to admit that”

“To claim that I am perfect would be a lie and highly illogical”

“You and your stupid thinking in code”

“The assumption that I think in ‘code’ is not correct”

“But logical. You think logically, as a Vulcan. Coding is pure logic”

“I see, yet the conclusion is still incorrect” you sighed

“Wow, you’re never ever gonna compliment me or my work, huh?”

“It would be illogical to point out points that do not need modification anymore. Therefore I only tell what you will need to work on again”

“Well but I’m human and we sometimes need reassurance that what we did is good!”

“As you can derive from my statement, your work can be considered as good, when there is nothing that I ask you to change about it”

“You don’t get my point, do you?”

“I do but I do not think it is necessary to point…”

“Just one compliment about my work. I stood your behavior for weeks now”

“Four weeks, five days and 3.6 hours to be exact”

“See, even worse. You have to be so precise and perfectionistic every fucking time”

“However, if you had a problem with something you would have addressed it”

“No. Because humans don’t always do that. But I am complaining now”

“Very well. What do you wish me to change?”

“Well you could make just one simple compliment or something that you like about the way I work on this project” he raised an eyebrow and was silent “Or are you just as fed up with me as I’m with your behavior?”

“You work highly focused” you let out a huff

“Well at least something”

“Besides” he added a bit more quietly and after a pause “I find your hands and fingers to be pleasingly shaped and they move gracefully”

“Okay that was hella unexpected” and even a little creepy “Did you pay that much attention to my hands?”

“When you were showing me something, yes I was at certain times” you frowned. How could he still have noticed so many flaws in your work then if he had just stared onto your hands?

“That is a little weird, don’t you think?”

“No”

“No?”

“Hands hold a different value on Vulcan” he explained that their hands were extremely sensitive and often were something like a symbol of love in their culture.

“So if you told that another Vulcan… what would happen?”

“Usually, Vulcans will only compliment their bondmate’s physiology”

“Hm okay. Are bondmates something like a spouse?”

“Or what you call fiancés”

“But back to my question, what would happen?”

“I cannot say because some might react emotionally in such a situation”

“So you’re saying that you’re not acting emotionally? Like never?”

“We are sentient being so we all will act emotionally at times, whether we want it or not”

“Okay. But what do you want to do, now that you told me how much you like my hands?”

“I have never stated that I like them” you frowned

“That sounds like something is bothering you”

“It is of no consequence”

Come on, tell me. You already told me you like, no wait you… whatever, find my hands pleasing or how you’d want to formulate it. And now something is bothering you”

“I was wondering… whether you would let me touch you”

“And you ask that?” you just took his hand in yours and ran your fingers of the other hand over the back of it. His hands were softer than you had imagined but also colder. When you looked up at him, you saw a slight green blush on his cheeks and smiled “Suddenly so flustered, huh?”

“Touching hands is something rather intimate in Vulcan culture”

“Oh” you let go of him “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know that” but maybe you could have thought about it, considering what he had told you about the meaning of hands on Vulcan.

“I did not tell you, therefore you could not know” he said “You do not need to reproach yourself” you gave a nod and were surprised when he continued “In fact, I have found it rather pleasing” you smiled. For some reason you just held out your hand to him again and he actually took it. Well not really, he more or less just traced his fore- and middle finger over your skin, making you shudder a little

“You’re right that feels nice” he raised an eyebrow and placed his other hand at your back and pulled you closer, then lifting your head and leant down until your lips were inches apart

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all” you breathed and then his lips were on yours. For some reason you could not really say what you were feeling and you wondered if it was right to do this, you were working with him after all, at least for now. Contrary to what you had imagined, he was a pretty good kisser and his fingers still were stroking yours and while you liked the feeling, you wondered if it felt even more sensual to him. When you felt him pull you closer, you thought that this probably was the case and felt yourself smiling into the kiss. You placed your free hand at the base of his neck and pressed your whole body against his. He didn’t seem to mind but some seconds later you parted, looking at each other

“Perhaps we should not have kissed”

“We should” you corrected and leant up to do it again and he responded immediately. This time, the kiss came to a more abrupt end when suddenly the door opened. You let go of each other and quickly stepped apart. While Spock turned to the visitor, one of the people that had tried out the simulation, you touched your lips which were still tingling from the kiss, making you smile

“I’m sorry, if I interrupted something or came at an inconvenient time I can just go and well… leave. We can discuss it later”

“I will be with you momentarily” Spock said and told him to go to a briefing room. You awkwardly played with the hem of your shirt, not sure what to say.

“Well, I should get working on my faulty animation then”

“It is not faulty, (Y/N)” was there a difference in how he said your name now? You had had a long time until you got him to call you (Y/N) instead of his formal for of addressing you with your surname and he had allowed you to just call him Spock in return.

“Was that just another compliment?”

“If you wish to take it as one” he replied and you gave a nod, wanting to return to your workstation, but he took hold of your wrist

“Huh?” you asked

“I do not know what humans will do after such occurrences but on Vulcan, the logical conclusion is that the two individuals will start a relationship”

“You’re asking me for a relationship?”

“If you approve of it”

“I…” you looked down but then found yourself nodding “Yes. I think so”

“Very well” you didn’t know if there was something like a tiny curl in his lip that may have been a little smile. This made you smile as well “I suppose that the discussion will take up the rest of my time at work. Would you be amendable to accompany me to dinner later?”

#spock #spock x reader #aos spock #spock imagine #spock x you

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starsmuserainbow · 3 years ago

Note

Do you know of any other Starfire RP blogs that are still active? You seem like the only one still active. I hope you aren’t offended by this, I like this blog and will continue to visit, this is a very nice blog

Hmm. Well, I mean, @ofsavior (I hope it's alright to tag you like that for an ask like this!) definitely has Starfire as muse too, so I perhaps can direct you to that blog.

I've seen one Starfire blog in the tags on occasion (and I think I was following them for a while too), but from what I saw of the blog it seemed it's mostly reblogging their promos and like does a starter/inbox/thelikes call or some ooc talk and then vanishes again? So I wouldn't really call that active, thus I'm not linking it here.

I'm pretty sure there was another Starfire around, I remember a sorta bright-ish theme and a lot of reblogged arts and stuff. I remember I found myself blocked (without ever having reached out to them or anything, all I can guess is duplicate anxiety or I did something that I'm not aware of) and I didn't really, like, follow that blog's activity anymore (obviously, bc why would I), nor their URL. I think I've seen them respond to some people's posts here and there, so that might be an active Starfire, but quite honestly I have no idea what the URL is or if there is actual writing-activity, or anything like that. Sorry.

I don't think I'm aware of anyone else right now! If anyone of the people reading this knows of something that slipped my mind here, feel free to add something in the comments, perhaps the anon will see that too!

(That said, though, I'm sorry that you feel the need to look for another Starfire! Is it a conflict you have with something in how I see my muses? Or perhaps you wanted to interact with me and it didn't happen for some reason? Don't worry, you don't actually have to let me know, and I'm certainly not offended; I'm just wondering - I do hope I didn't do anything that came across the wrong way, or something!)

#✫ Tamaran to Earth ✫ | Answered #✫ Out of Clurblopf ✫ | OOC #anon #tbh whenever I get the feeling of being the only starfire around I do feel kinda happy #like I mean like said in the ask there's at the very least one other star around; I know that; but sometimes I still feel like it and I'm #kinda glad about it -- no idea why really; perhaps I just worry about being 'replaceable' or sth idk; perhaps a degree of #possible duplicate anxiety (though I don't think I feel it with the one I know is around and it wouldn't really make sense either bc I have #her siblings as muses not to mention moonshot my crushing-obsessed-idiotgrump so I sometimes really would profit from another star) but #there's definitely sth there making me feel kinda glad to know there's not like a dozen other star's around somehow

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chipper9906 · 4 years ago

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Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 4: Glimpses

<- - - Previous Chapter

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

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 9,907

Overall Word Count: 42,032 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (4/?)

Chapter Preview:

Loki was pretty sure Sylvie was making fun of him. Probably around ninety percent sure, if he had to give a figure. Or… or maybe more seventy-five… sixty-five… fifty-fifty? No, what was he thinking? He was just getting into his head, is all. Of course Sylvie was just joking around with him. Clearly he wasn’t supposed to take what she had said seriously.

…Right?

“Uh… so, just to be clear-,”

“Oh my God…” Sylvie’s drawn-out groan cut him off. “You’re supposed to be a master of lies, both in telling them and detecting them! You’re telling me you can’t pick up on a little sarcasm?”

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Sylvie was glad that Loki didn’t laugh at her comment in the self-deprecating way she had partly been expecting him to. For a few seconds, he didn’t even react at all, taking the time to absorb her answer and realize that she wasn’t lying to him – or trying to make what would have been a cruel joke. He makes no effort to hide the soft smile that hitches at his lips, eyes holding a warmth directed towards her that was almost overwhelming. There were times like these in the small moments of peace they found together where Loki bared himself to her, practically holding out his heart for her to take, and she always felt that bolt of fear that she would break it the moment she reached out for it.

Loki reaches out for her hand, and she lets him take it - lifting under her hand and pulling it up to place a tender kiss on the back of her hand. It was strange, only having used her knuckles to throw punches, and now experiencing the sensation of his lips on an area that was only used to violence.

“Thank you,” Loki said, voice brimming with genuine gratitude. His gaze rested on hers, bearing deep with an intensity that set her already over-heated skin alight.

Sylvie cleared her throat, forcing herself to break away from his gaze and pretend to brush away bits of sand and dirt that weren't actually on her clothes. Loki watched, partly in amusement but also in some confusion as she stood from the wall, only to drop back down on the floor directly in front of him.

“Teaching time,” Sylvie answers his unspoken question, crossing her legs underneath her. “Since you managed to conjure up that shirt, I’m assuming you’re up for it. Or, ‘have enough focus’ for it.”

“I… I think so,” Loki replied, pushing himself up a little straighter. “Although, I have to warn you: I’ve never actually taught anyone magic before. I’ve only ever been the, uh… the student.”

“Then we’ll both teach each other,” Sylvie offered. “I can give you some more tips for enchantment, if you’d like. In return, I want to know more about your powers. It seems our mother had a lot to teach me that I never got to learn.”

“There’s a lot,” Loki warned her.

“Examples?”

“Well, there’s conjuration, for starters,” Loki began, pushing down on his pointer finger with the finger on his other hand, counting to ‘one’. “Conjuration is… tricky. There are two main methods of conjuration I use -- one being more like ‘teleportation’ than conjuration. See, with that method, I’m simply grabbing something from a location where I know it already exists - though there’s nothing simple about it - and manifesting itself where I am. Say, for example, I had a dagger stored on some shack on the other side of this planet. I can use my magic to will the dagger to rearrange its atoms to a new location - such as in my hand.”

“Sounds easy…” Sylvie says, sounding daunted by the idea.

“Takes practice, just like any other magic,” Loki assured her. “There were a few times the item I was summoning arrived… not quite as it should. Other times I’d mess up the location completely. Ended up with the dagger materializing in my hand.”

Sylvie cringed at the image that came to her mind, still able to feel the faint sting across her palm from his dagger metaphor not long ago, knowing that doesn’t compare to the entire blade going through your palm.

“The other form of conjuration is, unfortunately, just as difficult - perhaps even more so,” Loki continues. “I’m afraid we’re rather limited to what we can conjure. Simple object mostly, that are only compromised of a few materials.

“Like clothing, and bandages, and blankets, and daggers…” Sylvie lists the items she’d seen him create from thin air.

Loki hums in confirmation. “Precisely. Bits of cloth, really. Simple weapons, such as my daggers, are possible as they’re not much more than… metal. Start adding too many parts and it gets too complicated, too complex to materialize. If there were no limits, well…” Loki cut himself off with a huff of laughter. “I could have just created a Tem-Pad whenever. Or an infinity stone. Anything.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Probably a good thing there are limits then,” Loki says with a knowing smirk.

“So… is that what you did back on Lamentis?” Sylvie asks, getting a confused frown in response. “Back when we trying to sneak onto that train headed towards the Ark. You changed your clothing to blend in with the guards?”

“Ah,” Loki realized what she was referring to. “No, that wasn’t conjuration. That would be a different power.”

“And you say you’re not a magician…”

“I prefer the term ‘Sorcerer’,” Loki corrects her. “You have the potential of these powers too, you know.”

“We’ll see,” Sylvie said, not sounding all that confident. “Come on, then - what else can you do?”

“Hmm… Well, there’s Astral Projection?”

“And what do you use that for?”

“Deceiving, mostly,” Sylvie nearly jumped out of her skin when his voice came from right beside her. She whipped around to face the direction of the voice, blinking in surprise at… Loki. Another duplicate of Loki, who looked identical to the one still sat against the wall, looking rather proud of himself for his magic.

“Sometimes gets confused with Illusion Casting - which is what I did back on Lamentis to alter the appearance of my clothing,” The other Loki faded away as the real Loki waved down at himself and - with another flash of magic - he was dressed head to toe in the deep blue guard uniform from Lamentis, ridiculous helmet and all. “Which is also what I used to create the fake dagger back on the train. And is… the same power we saw us - old us - use to trick Alioth.”

“Right…” Sylvie murmured quietly. “I’m guessing you’ve never been able to recreate the entirety of our home in an illusion?”

“Not quite,” Loki admitted. “But I can use it to alter my appearance rather convincingly.”

Loki backed up his statement by seemingly shape-shifting into a man she had never seen before, dressed in a uniform of distractedly bright blues, reds, and whites. “This pretty face belongs to one Captain Steve Rodgers - more commonly referred to as ‘Captain America’. He was one of the plucky heroes that managed to bring my army down in New York.”

There was nothing on him that Sylvie could see which would give away the illusion – no haziness to his form or fuzzy edges. There was no other word for it but to call it downright impressive. Although, her answer quickly changed to ‘creepy’ as Loki altered his appearance once more, and she came face to face with… herself. It was unsettling, to say the least, to stare back into her own eyes that technically weren’t her own, getting more and more creeped out by the minor mannerisms in her movements that Loki had managed to learn and use so quickly in his replication of her.

“Nope, too weird,” Sylvie has to look away, made all the more uncomfortable when his laughter at her discomfort comes out in her voice. “Give me back the original you.”

“As you command,” Sylvie’s grateful to hear him speak in his voice again, cautiously peeking at him out of the corner of her eye, relieved to see the face of the Loki she knows.

“Never do that again…” Sylvie asks of him, looking almost queasy at what had just happened. “It’s bad enough I have to look myself in the eyes in reflections; I'd rather not have to stare myself directly in the face, thank you.”

“You know, there was a variant of us that looked almost exactly like me back in The Void,” Loki tells her.

“And… is there any particular reason he wasn’t with the other versions of us you introduced me to?”

“Well, he was…” Loki tried to find the best way to put this. “…Rather an idiot, I suppose.”

“So, when you said exactly like you…?”

“Ouch,” Loki placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “I guess you could say he was me - if I’d never learned my lesson. There were… at least a dozen versions of us all congregated in one place, which went about as well as you could expect. A fight broke out; the alligator version of us bit off the other me’s arm-,”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Never even knew I could scream like that...”

Sylvie’s head reared back in surprise, wondering exactly how much mischief Loki had managed to get into in the short amount of time he was in the Void before she and Mobius had run into him.

“What did you want to start with?” Loki asks her, experimentally stretching out to see how much pain would blossom from his wounds. The pain is still sharp and evident, enough so for him to wince and quickly stop his stretches, but it’s bearable.

“I think it might be worth for the both of us to be able to use conjuration,” Sylvie answers. “Especially if you’re going to be insistent on throwing yourself into danger every chance you get. I’ll probably be materializing bandages in my sleep…”

“With you as my carer, I know I have nothing to worry about,” Loki counters, shooting her a cocky smile as he offers out his hand once more for her to take. She places her hand in his, though raises a brow in questioning.

“Keeping skin-to-skin contact with you helped immensely when we were sharing our powers to enchant Alioth,” Loki answers. “Thought it might help with this, too.”

Sylvie nodded, his answer making sense in her mind - along with that annoying whisper in her mind that told her she didn’t need an excuse from him to hold his hand when she knew full well that she wanted to.

“Close your eyes,” Loki instructs her, and she does so. A sense of calm washes over her the second she does, keeping her grip tight around Loki as she sinks into that still, tranquil river of peace. “You can feel your control over your magic within, can’t you? Feel the opportunities it can provide? Feel the possibilities of the known Universe under your command?”

“Yes,” Sylvie answers automatically, keeping her eyes closed firmly shut.

“Picture the object you wish to manifest. Make it as real in your mind as if it were in front of you,” Loki continues with his teaching, his voice smooth and soothing as it washes over her. “Grab hold of that magic brimming within you. Remember that it is yours to control, to bend it to your will. You need to start encouraging your magic towards that picture in your mind, manipulate it into the object you desire.”

Sylvie’s brow was creased into a deep frown as she dredged up every bit of concentration she had, focusing it all towards the task at hand. The few beads of sweat that ran down her face from her hairline were not entirely from the sweltering heat of the cave, resisting the urge to wipe the drops away.

She heard Loki’s sharp inhale of surprise, but didn’t dare look at what he was seeing just yet. She let the sound of him fade away as background noise, doing all she could to ensure her first attempts at conjuration were at least somewhat successful. Loki’s hand in hers was not of the distraction she thought it’d be, rather acting as an anchor to keep her focused whilst simultaneously providing her with a reassurance; a way of him saying ‘I believe in you’ without him actually saying it.

She didn’t know if it had worked. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to look. She knew that, chances are, her first attempt at conjuration was unlikely to end the way she was hoping to. But that didn’t mean she wanted to see that with her own eyes.

“Sylvie,” Loki’s voice doesn’t give away how he’s feeling, the tight squeeze around her wrist being the only thing that snatched some of her focus away. “Sylvie, open your eyes.”

His words mirror her own from not too long ago, and she knows they hold the same pride she felt towards him on that day, as she got to witness him branching out his magic in a way he hadn’t done before. It’s this that gets her to slowly peel her eyes open, looking down to the small space between them to see if she had managed to manifest what she had envisioned.

And… there it was. It might not have been the exact same size, and maybe the color was slightly off from what she remembers, but… it was her boat; the little model that seemed a lot bigger when she was just a child. She knows that, technically, it’s not her boat - having long been pruned by the TVA along with everything else in her life. Yet… she had made it. She had willed it back into existence.

Loki watched her silently as she gingerly picked the model boat up from the ground, cradling it in her hands as she looked to her creation. She turned the model around to get a good look from every angle, inspecting the boat thoroughly for anything that would give away it being a first-time conjurer's creation.

“Not bad, huh?” Sylvie asks him, voice thick with emotion as she holds the boat out for him to take. Loki takes the boat from her hands with great care, knowing that - whilst it was only a replica - was the only physical thing she really had from her childhood, and from the life that had been taken from her.

“Not bad at all,” Loki agrees with a smile so full of pride that it makes her heart hurt, holding out the boat like he’s inspecting it - except he only has eyes for her.

"Not sure why I chose that," Sylvie says, taking back the boat when Loki carefully offers it back to her. "It just sort of... popped into my head."

She shoots him a sheepish smile, placing the toy boat down on the ground next to her. "Okay, your turn."

"My turn?"

"With learning," Sylvie clarifies. "Anything else you want to know about enchantment? Practice it?"

"Well, yes but..." Loki started, confused. "...But practice on who?"

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at him like the answer was obvious.

"You?" Loki's voice pitched up in disbelief. "You're going to let me enchant you?"

"I'm going to let you try," Sylvie returned with a playful smirk.

Loki glanced down to her extended hand nervously, delicately taking hold of her wrist. Back when they had enchanted Alioth, it had felt more like... like Sylvie was doing most of the work. She was the one to make that bridge between themselves and Alioth, whilst he sort of... did what he could do in the background, extending out his magic towards both her and to Alioth. He hadn't been too sure what it was he was looking for, his magic reaching out and searching through the mess that was Alioth's thoughts and memories.

"It's easier to search by my emotions, rather than just randomly selecting through all my memories," Sylvie tells him. "We attach our emotions to our memories; they stick out like a post-it note atop each one. It's useful when, for example with that hunter from the TVA, where I'm trying to... manipulate their memories. I sifted through the happy memories I could find, then forced myself into her memory, trying to blend in with her life."

"Why happy memories?" Loki asks.

"Keeps them placated," Sylvie answers. "They're more likely to accept changes - such as that hunter believing she knew me back on her normal life on Earth."

"...What would happen if you used bad memories?"

"Well... It'd be like a form of torture, I suppose," Sylvie gives him a somewhat concerned look. "Not many people want to re-live their worst memories."

"Oh, believe me, I know..." Loki says bitterly, shuddering at the memory of his repeated cycling memory with Lady Sif.

“If you’ll let me, I can show you,” Sylvie offers. “Afraid you’ll have to take down the walls in your mind, though. Even I can’t get through your defenses.”

What Loki found odd was that… the idea of Sylvie searching through his head didn’t worry him. He knew he had an extensive record of memories stored up there, and he knew full well that a lot of them featured his not so finest moments. But… it’s Sylvie. If anyone were to understand the things he did and the reasons he did them, it would be her. And besides, she said she would be looking through his good memories, right?

“Go ahead,” Loki gives her permission with a small nod of his head. Sylvie removes her hand from his hand, raising her fingers up to the sides of his temple, like she had tried to do in Lamentis. As her eyes slid shut, so did his, waiting for the moment he would be thrust into his own mind to relive his memories.

He could feel her presence in his mind. She was rummaging around, carefully sorting through memory after memory. It was unsettling that he didn’t know what it was she was… feeling from him? Feeling the emotions attached to his memories? He simply didn’t know where in his life she had jumped to, and to what ‘happy memory’ she would bring to the forefront.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Loki opened his eyes, expecting to see Sylvie sat in front of him, as she was before. Except now, he was standing upright instead of leaning against the cave wall, Sylvie stood next to him. Gone was the stifling heat, the unbearable dry air, and landscapes of nothing but sand. It had been replaced by a gentle and welcoming breeze that whistled through the trees surrounding them, soft dirt under their feet, and a perfectly reasonable temperature around them.

“Come on, Loki!” A young boy with a mop of blonde hair yells as he runs by the two of them, some of his finest clothing having been dirtied up – which would more than likely earn him a scolding once he returned home. He held a wooden sword in his hands - no more than a child’s plaything - but he held it like it was his most trusted weapon. “We need to advance before they retreat any further!”

“Thor…” Loki whispers in disbelief, the memories of this day rushing back as he watched the… well, the memory unfold.

“The cowards!” Another high-pitched, young child’s voice comes from somewhere within the trees. Loki watched as his younger self hurried over to his brother's side, he too holding a child’s weapon in his hand. Although, unlike his brother, his weapon was much smaller, thinner, and easier to conceal.

His love of daggers had started at quite a young age.

A touch against his hand distracts him for a moment, glancing down to see that Sylvie had slipped her hand into his, their fingers sliding together in a perfect fit. She watched the two children play with a warm smile, reminded of the mischief she and her Thor would get up to when not under their parent’s watchful eyes.

“You were a cute kid,” She leans closer to tell him, and before he can say or do anything in response, she looks him up and down with a criticizing eye. “What happened?”

“Oh, very funny,” Loki deadpans with a light-hearted glare. “I grew into my looks, thank you very much -- not out of them.”

“Don’t need to tell me,” Sylvie responds slyly, appreciating the way it made him close his mouth with an audible clack of teeth, looking caught between a feeling of embarrassment at her agreement, and that overly cocky sense of ‘Damn right’.

Whatever fake battle his younger self and younger brother had created in their imagination seemed to have reached its peak, the two boys ferociously swinging their wooden swords through the air and pretending it was slicing through the bodies of countless enemies. A part of Loki yearned to go back to those simpler times when his only worries were of what imaginary monsters needed to be slain, back when he was sure he would grow up defending Asgard until he breathed his last, ready to take arms against the Frost Giants if the need ever arose.

Finding out that he was one really threw a wrench into the plans…

Loki blinks, and all of a sudden he’s back in the cave, like they had never left it. The sudden shift in surroundings was disorienting, and he needed to take a second to come back to himself, and back to reality.

“That was an abrupt ending,” Loki commented, rubbing a hand against his forehead as he felt the lingering traces of Sylvie’s magic slowly dissipate.

“It was supposed to be a happy memory, you know,” Sylvie says, much to his confusion.

“What do you mean? It was a happy memory.”

“You didn’t look it,” Sylvie says, and he finds himself taken aback not only by how much he apparently put his emotions on display, but on how well Sylvie was able to pick up on it. “I don’t know what you were thinking about, but that memory certainly wouldn’t stay happy for long if you kept that train of thought up.”

She was right, and he knew it. Even now, he could already tell that the memory was tainted - no longer the pure and innocent moment captured in time that it had been.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't try to manipulate my memories," Sylvie says, tapping a finger to the side of her head. "We'll just go with simple enchantment for now. Just... do the same as I did for you. Enter my memories, and show them to me. Try and find a good one, if you can."

Loki swallowed nervously, slowly raising his fingers up to her head. He knew it was no small thing that she was so willingly offering her most vulnerable side to him, giving him the opportunity to view any and all memories that she has. And yet, when he placed his fingers on the sides of her head, she did not flinch away in a desperate bid to escape him. They both once again let their eyes fall shut, and like a searching hand did Loki’s magic reach out towards her mind.

He could tell what she meant before with the whole ‘wall’ thing. Hers was just as impenetrable as his, bringing his magic to a standstill as he reaches it. There’s a moment of hesitation - although, really, it feels more like a moment where Sylvie was gathering herself together - before the wall all but crumbles away at his touch, and he delves deeper into her mind-

Too much. It was too much, all at once, surrounding him until it engulfed him. He had no idea how Sylvie was able to pick through all those different emotions when they are all just there, screaming for his attention. Disembodied voices surrounded him, and there was no chance of him making out what voices they were as they all congealed into one unidentifiable mess of noise.

Something good. That’s all he had to find, wasn’t it? Surely he can do that. He makes an effort to filter through everything around him, and the very first thing he comes across that shows even the slightest hint of being somewhat good, he grabs hold of.

And… immediately wishes he hadn’t.

To say he was shocked still was an understatement. Wherever they were was almost too dark to make out, barely able to detect that they were stood in some… shack, maybe? He didn’t know. But what he did recognize were the noises, and as soon as he heard them, he knew exactly why a memory like this would fall somewhere in the ‘good’ category. Loki could feel the intense flush across his face at the needy, breathy moans he could hear from the two bodies writhing together atop what looked like a less than comfortable bed. Then again, it wasn’t like they were using the beds for sleeping...

His mind incessantly reminded him that one of those naked figures moving on the bed was Sylvie, and he was caught off guard by the bolt of lust that shot through him whilst, simultaneously, he had to deal with a whole other mess of emotions: Shame, at witnessing such a private moment; embarrassment, at knowing he had been caught witnessing said moment by the person whose privacy he was betraying, stood by his side with an equal expression of shock. But what caught him most off guard though was the burning, overwhelming feeling of jealously that over-powered all the others, irrationally hating this unknown person. It shouldn’t be them who were allowed to run their hands across her body. It shouldn’t be them who were permitted to see every inch of her skin. It shouldn’t be them who got Sylvie to make those soft sighs of pleasure that made his mouth run dry.

He wasn’t sure if it was him or Sylvie that ripped them away from the memory. It was probably a little of both, the two of them hurriedly shoving each other out of the proverbial memory door, tripping over each other to get out.

Loki sat wide-eyed, staring un-blinkingly at Sylvie. He had ripped his hands away from her as soon as they had come back to themselves, waiting for his racing heart to calm down. They could only gape at each other for a good few seconds, neither one knowing what to say or how to react to what had just happened.

“I--I- I’d like to apologize…” Loki takes the first step, his words coming out in an awkward stumble of speech.

The pure panic on his face would usually be enough to make Sylvie laugh if she wasn’t still working through her own embarrassment. She pointedly refuses to look him in the eye, staring at a particularly interesting piece of wall behind him instead. “Suppose I should have expected that might have been a possibility…”

“I wasn’t searching for, um -- that,” Loki tries to defend himself, but it only makes his face flush brighter. “I didn’t know what memory I had found, only that it seemed to be a good one - which admittedly, it, uh… seems like it was?”

“It was… pleasant…” Sylvie forces out through the shame that wanted to keep her mouth firmly shut. “Um… how much exactly did you see?”

“Not much,” Loki answers, and it was the truth. “It was too dark to see much of anything. I mean, I knew that since it was your memory that it was… you, on that bed. But I didn’t see it was you.”

Sylvie nods, apparently accepting his answer. She clears her throat awkwardly, trying to shake off the last dregs of embarrassment that were intent on lingering. “Good. I’d rather not have that be the first time you see me like that.”

Loki’s wide-eyes stare somehow got wider, not expecting for Sylvie to bounce back from her embarrassment like… well, like that. It wasn’t exactly like he could take what she said and interpret it in any other way than what she was hinting at.

“Okay - let’s try again,” Sylvie said, giving Loki a serious case of conversational whiplash.

“I… what?”

“Enchant me again,” Sylvie clarifies, shuffling closer to him. “Only, this time, if you could spend a little extra time selecting the memory, I’d appreciate it.”

“Are you sure?” Loki asks, voice filled with anxiety as he places his fingers on her head again. “There’s every chance I could mess it up again.”

“I have faith in you,” Sylvie assures him, and it’s all he needs to hear to delve straight back into her mind.

At least he was a little bit more prepared for it this time. It still felt like he was being squeezed in on all sides by every single memory her mind had procured, but now he knew what it was like, he didn’t feel the immediate panic that had him reaching for the first good memory he could sense. Loki forced his way through, letting all the different emotions attached to each individual memory wash over him. It was disheartening to see - or more accurately, feel - just how many of her memories were bad ones. The good ones, if you could even call them that, seemed few and far between, dull in comparison to all the terrible moments she’s had to endure. Still, he trudged forward, extending his magic to its limits.

There it was. Shining bright in the darkness of everything else, tucked snuggly away in a nice, safe spot away from all the bad. He wasn’t sure if she purposefully hid it here to make this more of a challenge for him, or if it was just where it already was. Loki reaches for the memory, and the memory seems to move towards him, eager to accept his touch.

The blackness surrounding him gives way to a flash of white, momentarily blinding him. Loki raises a hand to shield his eyes, rapidly blinking as he waits for his vision to come back into focus. When it does, he can only slowly lower his hand back down, staring out to what was in front of him in disbelief.

He recognized this memory. This bright, shining, happy memory. Because… he was in it. For most looking on the outside, the memory certainly didn’t look happy, what with the giant chunks of planet moments away from smashing into them and obliterating the moon that was under their feet. Yet, there was beauty amongst all this destruction; the purples and pinks of Lamentis’s sky created an almost dream-like atmosphere, the luminous colors reflecting in the still lake they had been sat by.

He could see himself, sat on that rock with Sylvie by his side. This had been what they both thought were going to be their last moments. It had been remarkable really that, in those last moments, Sylvie didn’t hold onto any grudges – him having admittedly been the one to doom them to this fate by accidentally crushing the TemPad.

“Do you think that what makes a Loki a Loki… is the fact that we’re destined to lose?” He hears the words Sylvie had spoken to him, just as beaten-down sounding as he remembered.

“No,” His past self asserts with all the confidence he has. “We may lose. Sometimes painfully. But we don’t die. We survive. I mean, you did. You were just a child when the TVA took you, but you nearly took down the organization that claims to govern the order of time. You did it on your own. You ran rings around them. You’re amazing!”

Loki didn’t realize at first that the wave of emotions that crashed into him weren’t entirely his own. Somehow, he was simultaneously re-experiencing the emotions he himself had felt in that moment, combined with not only the emotions he was feeling in this very moment watching it all unfold, but also getting the full brunt of Sylvie’s emotions, from where he was witnessing all this from inside her head.

The strength of it nearly took him off his feet. The sense of gratitude he could feel from Sylvie, just from him saying what he had said. And there was this… this sheer adoration towards him, his chest tight as it felt like his heart stumbled over a few beats. It might have been him, it might have been Sylvie, or it might have been both of them. Either way, it was… beyond reassuring to know now, that it had been the same for her. This very moment, as he watched her reach out and place a hand on his arm… it had been the moment he began to fall for her.

Funny that it took reliving a memory for him to be slapped with the realization that right here, and right now, he had fallen completely and utterly in love with her. Deep down, he probably already knew that. In fact, it was probably obvious to many, let alone himself.

He wondered if, by some miracle, that she felt the same in that moment. Truth be told, he doesn’t know how she feels for him now. He’s not completely blind; he knows there’s some semblance of feelings there. Question was… how far did those feelings run? Were they as deep as his? Would she ever tell him?

Would he ever find the courage to tell her?

“Our Nexus Event…” Sylvie said quietly from next to him, eyes still transfixed on the memory of the two of them

It wouldn’t be too long before the ‘happy’ part of the memory was interrupted by the entrance of the TVA, their workers storming in to take them prisoner once again. Loki wasn’t too sure whether it was Sylvie’s influence on her own memory, but it seemed… slower, like she was savoring every second of it she could. He could almost feel the warmth of her memory self’s hand on his arm - the first genuine touch of kindness from her - the moment forever etched into his skin.

The end of this world, and the near end of their lives, was almost…. almost beautiful to behold. Especially now, with everything slowed down: the shards of broken-up planet hurtling towards them so slow you nearly couldn’t tell they were moving, the picture-perfect lake in front of them as still and calm as can be - quite the difference to the chaos and destruction just above their heads, waiting to rain down upon them.

“You know, I spent many nights wondering what my end would be,” Sylvie tells him. “Different scenarios that could occur. Most of them were preparation, I suppose. Trying to make escape plans for every possible thing that could go wrong. I thought that, if the day came that something did wrong, and I couldn’t find a way out of it? I tried to imagine how much of a mess my mind would be. What would I think about, as my death approached? That I failed my mission? That my life had been for nothing? Would I spend those last moments thinking of my family - or at least, what of them I can remember?”

Loki watched Sylvie as she spoke, who had yet to look away from the memory versions of themselves. Although she wasn’t looking at him, she seemed to sense he was looking at her, for she gestured with a flick of her chin for him to pay attention. Loki followed her line of sight just as she blindly reached out for him, wrapping a hand around his forearm, just below the elbow. At that same moment, the memory version of himself had slipped his arm down until his hand met Sylvie’s, the two of them latching onto one another tightly as the deadly chunk of planet that had been looming ahead crashed into the surface of Lamentis, sending a blast of heat and debris towards them.

It was then, with Sylvie’s hand still wrapped around his arm, that he heard her voice in his head. Not of her current thoughts, no, but of the thought she had in those last seconds - moments before she was certain would be the last seconds of life. What caught her off guard though, as much as it had Loki, was that she too heard his thoughts. Their last thought - or so they had thought - rang out within the memory as clearly as if they had said it out loud. And the craziest part?

It had been the same single thought.

‘Finally…I’m not alone.’

Their combined voices echoed in Loki’s head as the memory faded away, and he found himself opening his eyes back in reality. His fingers were still held against the side of her head, and he found he couldn’t take them away as Sylvie opened her eyes, immediately focusing in on him. There was such warmth to her gaze, and it took him a moment to remember how to breathe. There were times, such as the moment they had just visited, or when they shared a blanket in the void, where she had given him glimpses of that warmth. He had seen it, hiding behind a layer of wariness in her eyes, valiantly trying to fight to the surface. It seems that, in this moment of raw truth, that it had won its fight.

Gods, he never wanted her to stop looking at him like that. If he wasn’t careful, she would become an addiction - one he knows full well he won’t be able to kick.

Oh, who’s he kidding. He became hooked on every essence of her long ago.

And he didn’t mind one bit.

Loki let one of his hands drop away as the other softly grazed down the side of her face, coming to a stop at the bottom of her chin. It was a bit of an awkward angle from where they were sitting - even if Sylvie had gravitated towards him throughout their little enchantment training session - and the bending of his body as he leaned towards him had most definitely sent a twinge of pain shooting through his side. He was pretty sure that the movement had torn the wounds open again, but as he tilted her face up and their lips finally met, he decided that this was worth bleeding for.

Their kiss broke for the briefest of moments as Sylvie pushed herself up onto her knees, her hands resting on his shoulders as she swooped back down to reclaim his lips with her own. The pressure of her hands on him pushed him back into the wall, the rough and cold surface of it against his back a stark contrast to the gentleness and warmth of her lips. Loki had found a way to bring out a soft side of her that she didn’t know existed, one she thought was buried down and would cause great embarrassment if she ever let herself be seen as so weak. But with Loki, it all just… came easy. She knew that he wouldn’t see her as weak - and she was completely right. From Loki’s perspective, the fact that she was able to display such a side of herself when she’s relied on nothing but toughness and cruelness to survive filled him with a sense of pride and admiration that he hoped he was able to express with every lingering tender gaze and press of lips.

Kisses had never been much of an expression of emotion for Sylvie. They had just been part of the process – a sensation that leads to more, something to distract her. Most of the time, they were rough and hard: clashes of teeth, red and puffy lips as they make haste to get on with it before the end of the world, the taste of iron in her mouth from a bite of the lip that had been a little too hard.

It was nice, to have this with Loki. No rushing, no ‘We’re here to do a thing, so let’s get it over with’. She could just… take her time. Appreciate the way it feels to have someone touch her in a way that didn’t send her into fight or flight, savor the way he held her – not like she was fragile, but something precious. She doesn’t have to kiss him like the world's about to end. She gets to kiss him simply because she can, because it’s what she wants, because he’s what she wants, because she lo--

Whoa. That thought had almost come too easily, ready to slip into her mind like it was something of common knowledge. It’s enough of a shock that she pulls away from Loki – but then again, the burning in her lungs and the way they were both panting as they break away from one another likely meant that there would have been a pause soon anyway. Loki’s pupils were blown almost all the way out, the blue-gray of his irises nothing more than a thin ring eclipsing the black holes trapped within his eyes. Sylvie wondered if her eyes looked about the same right now – at least, if the heat searing through her veins was of any indication.

Loki’s tongue darted out across his lips, swiping away the taste of her that lingered there. His lips had turned cherry bright and glossy, which was almost tempting enough for her to dive right back in, only for her racing thoughts to be brought to a calm as Loki spoke.

“I know that you’ve spent nearly your entire life alone,” Loki began. “But… it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. I can promise you: I’ll make sure you never have to feel alone again.”

Sylvie could feel her face soften at his nervous offer. “You can’t promise that. And that’s not me saying that you might one day decide you’ve had enough of me - which is something I could see happening.”

Loki opened his mouth to strongly argue against her statement, but Sylvie continued before he could get a word out beyond the deep frown etched onto his face. “I’m saying it because… there’s a chance you might leave me, not of your own volition. The life I’ve dragged you into - especially now with so many new threats out there that we don’t even know about… someone could take you from me. In a blink, you could be gone, and… and I’d be alone again.”

“There’s always that risk,” Loki pointed out. “I mean, it’s us. You didn’t drag me into this life. I dragged myself into it when I picked up the Tesseract that landed by my feet. And If I hadn’t done that? Then my life would have ended at the hands of Thanos anyway. If I had to choose between that, and spending the rest of my life with you? Well, let’s just say it’d be the easiest decision of my life. Hel, you could give me the choice of living a life of luxury on the throne of Asgard, or slumming it with you in Apocalypse after Apocalypse, and I’d still choose this path. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter what path is laid before me. I’ll only choose the one where you walk down it beside me.”

Sylvie’s jaw clenched hard as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. She was almost certain that Loki was the reasoning behind around seventy percent of the number of times she’s cried in her entire life. When you’ve lived a life running from an all-powerful organization that’s chasing you for not belonging in their carefully crafted universe, it’s not all too surprising that actually feeling wanted by someone was enough to open the floodgates.

“You’re an idiot,” She croaks out in an attempt at a joke. Although, she supposed it wasn’t much of a joke. Choosing her over a life of comfort seemed like a pretty stupid decision….

“That’s likely true,” Loki agreed with a wonky smile. “But if you’ll have me, then I’ll be your idiot.”

“Hmm… Such a tempting offer…” Sylvie says, smiling through the tears that still sat in her eyes. “I’ve only gone and spent over a thousand years of my life living completely alone, doing what I can to survive. And now, here’s someone sat in front of me who’s fought by my side, helped me outsmart the TVA to achieve the one goal I had set out to accomplish, had my best interests in mind even when I couldn’t see it myself, has thrown themselves into danger numerous times to protect me, and is now the one asking if I’ll have him?”

Loki stared blankly back at Sylvie. “…Yes?”

Sylvie’s lips flattened into a straight line, unsure whether to laugh or sigh at his uncertainty. It had at least helped to lessen the burning in her eyes. “Hmm… Nah. I think I’ll keep going on my own, thanks.”

…Right?

“Uh… so, just to be clear-,”

Loki’s lips pursed into an honest to God pout, crossing his arms across his chest with an in-dignified huff. He had already known, from Mobius’s little interrogation technique, that the skill-set he possesses in making him the Trickster he’s known as is often thrown completely out the window whenever Sylvie becomes involved.

Sylvie took pity on the sulking demigod, reaching down to place a hand on his knee. Loki’s eyes darted down to her hand, then back up to her, his frown softening by just the slightest. “Listen, Loki… What I was trying to say is that...”

Sylvie stopped with a heavy sigh, shuffling around until she was side to side with him once more. She leans back against the wall as he was, letting her head fall back until it softly collided with the wall as she closed her eyes. She figured it would probably be easier to say what’s on her mind when she can’t see the way his eyes were trying to burn into her soul.

“After everything that happened… I truly didn’t know how you’d react to seeing me. You know how I said I liked to think over different scenarios in my head? Try and prepare myself for every outcome?”

Loki nodded his head, and although she couldn’t see it, she took his silence as her cue to continue. “In nearly every scenario I envisioned… it never goes as I want. Maybe the Time Door wouldn’t take me to the same TVA I placed you in. Maybe I’d be arrested or pruned before I could find you. Maybe… maybe they had already killed you,” A lump formed in her throat at that thought. “Maybe, if I did find you, you’d refuse to go through that Time Door. Maybe, once you saw me, you’d run away. Or maybe you’d run towards me, and thrust your dagger through my chest.”

“I’d never-,” Loki tries to exclaim, but Sylvie raises a hand to stop him. Obediently, he falls quiet, though his mouth was still twisted into quite the grimace.

“I ran through the argument we’d have so many times in my head,” Sylvie continues. “A lot of shouting… a lot of tears… some of them would end in another clash of swords, others… you leave. And I find myself alone again. So when…” Sylvie forces her eyes open, glancing at Loki from her side vision. “When you ran to me, I was waiting to see which of those scenarios would unfold. But you did none of them. You wrapped your arms around me, and you were… you were happy to see me. Even with what I did to you, you were just…”

“Glad to see you were okay,” Loki finished for her.

“And I still don’t know what I did to deserve that,” Sylvie confesses, the two of them turning their heads towards one another. “I hadn’t been expecting it, and… I thought that, if I somehow managed to find you and you didn’t want nothing to do with me, then… then I thought that I’d be the one that was asking you if you’d have me – not the other way around.”

Loki exhaled softly from his nose, averting his gaze down with the beginnings of a smile. “Communication doesn’t seem to be our strong point…”

“Really not a fan of… feelings,” Sylvie spat out the word like it burned her. “They’re rather messy, aren’t they?”

“Hmm. And confusing.”

“Way too confusing. I mean, really, they seem to be more trouble than they’re worth.”

“No doubt about it,” Loki agrees wholeheartedly. “They get in the way half the time. How am I supposed to make clear-headed decisions when they’re always there?”

“So we’re in agreement?” Sylvie asks. “Feelings are stupid?”

“Oh, definitely,” Loki answers with a sly grin that forces a near-identical one from Sylvie, the two of them smiling at each other in the steadily darkening cave as this planet’s day came to an end. Loki’s grin slowly softens into a gentle smile, matching the tenderness in his eyes as he looked to her. “Glad I have them, though.”

“Me too,” Sylvie utters gently, unable to look away from his eyes on hers, admiring the way they almost seemed to change color as the cave’s lighting had gradually changed with the passing of time.

“Guess that makes us both idiots.”

Sylvie snorts at that, giving his shoulder a flimsy shove, making sure not to touch anywhere near his wound. Although his eyes don’t once stop expressing that never-ending kindness he always seemed to direct towards her, even Sylvie could see the bone-deep exhaustion that had begun to dull them. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had slept properly herself, outside of the brief nap she had sneaked in on the train to the Ark on Lamentis. Loki probably hadn’t slept in… well, she didn’t know - and after days, weeks, perhaps even months of running both with and against the TVA, jumping in and out of apocalypses, facing the ruler of the sacred timeline, and now getting himself hurt fighting actual space lizards… It was downright shocking he wasn’t conked out right this second.

Even demigods had their limits, after all.

“You should get some rest,” Sylvie expresses her worry both verbally and with her expressions, her brow creasing in a frown that only a mother-hen would sport - which she certainly was not. “I’ll take first shift; keep an eye out for any more man-eating reptiles.”

“You sure that’s safe?” Loki asks. “We still don’t know whether this is an Apocalypse.”

“That’s why I’m keeping watch,” Sylvie counters. “First sign of trouble, I’ll… Well, I’ll hope that this thing still works, first of all,” She gestures to the TemPad on her hand. “Besides, there hasn’t been any evidence that this is an Apocalypse.”

“Other than the TVA not showing up,” Loki points out. “Thought they only did that when we existed within Apocalypses?”

“We still don’t know how this whole ‘multi-verse' thing works. I don’t even know what kind of universe we’re in. What if this one doesn’t even have a TVA?”

“You don’t think the other TVA’s would work out a way to jump between universes?” Loki asks. “I’m sure some of them are already getting to work on pruning all those ‘unruly timelines’…”

“Oh, just lay down and get some sleep, would you?” Sylvie all but orders him.

“Yes, ma'am…” Loki mumbled, barely avoiding another annoyed shove.

Loki shuffled down the wall until he was flat on his back, staring up at the rocky ceiling that loomed above their heads. Now, with the once glaring sun that had been peeking through the cracks long gone - and the beginnings of the night sky now having replaced it -the temperature had slowly taken a nosedive. The hard ground under his back made it especially difficult to drift off, despite his body's desperate pleas for rest.

Then, even from beyond his closed eyelids, Loki could sense a bright burst of light appearing above him. Naturally, it startles him, eyes popping open in preparation for potential danger. Instead, he feels the comforting weight of a soft, warm blanket being draped over his body. His eyes dart over to Sylvie still by his side, seeing her watching him with a knowing smile as she twirls her fingers, conjuring the blanket out of thin air that was now laid comfortably over him. Loki pinches the corner of the blanket between his thumb and fingers, inspecting the new creation. The blanket was of a similar dark green to the one he had made, but the material had a heavier weight to it, along with being made of more of a wool type of material than the silk of his own.

“You looked cold,” Sylvie jokes. “Thought I’d return the favor from last time.”

“Made a few changes, I see,” Loki notes, running a hand across the blanket. “Seems we both enjoy the same type of color scheme, though.”

“Nothing wrong with the color of yours,” Sylvie said. “But c’mon - even you have to admit that it wasn’t the snuggliest of blankets.”

“And is that what you had in mind when designing this one?” Loki’s teasing grin as he looked up to her came through in his voice. “Ideal for snuggling?”

Sylvie’s glare came out weaker than she intended, trying - and failing - to ignore the heat that had rushed to her face. “Last time I do something nice for you…”

Loki’s responding laughter at least wasn’t a mocking one, the very definition of ‘I’m laughing with you, not at you’. For what felt like the umpteenth time since she’s met him, Sylvie looked away from him with a roll of her eyes, staring out into the dense darkness of the cave.

The moonlight seeping in above could only do so much to illuminate their surrounding, and her eyes could only provide her with so much information about what they could see before it became ‘nothingness’; the shadows and outlines of the cave blending together into one deep, dark, stretch of murky black. She could almost convince herself her eyes were closed if it weren’t for what felt like little weights attached to her eyelids that were trying to force them down. Sylvie hid a yawn behind her hand, as if fighting off those yawns would convince her that she wasn’t really tired.

For once in her life, the feeling of a hand wrapping around her arm didn’t have her reaching for her sword. She glanced down to the hand, then followed the arm attached to its owner, raising an eyebrow at Loki as he peered up at her. Loki answered her questioning look by gently tugging on her arm, which… didn’t entirely answer those questions if she’s being honest.

“What… are you doing?” She asks him, glancing between his hand and his face.

“What does it look like?”

“Kind of like you’re trying to pull off my arm?”

“What? No, I’m-,” Loki cut himself with a sigh, eyes narrowing as he looked to her, weighing out his decisions. Or, more accurately, the consequences of said decisions.

He seemed to make up his mind remarkably quickly, for the next second, the tug on her arm had become much stronger. Stronger enough that, with just one pull, she found herself being pulled down, all but falling into his side. She placed a hand on his chest, ready to push herself back up and ask him what the Hel he thought he was doing, when she froze at the feel of his blanket-clad arm sliding across her back to wrap around her, pulling her close to him and wrapping them both up in the blanket she had conjured.

“You were right,” Loki’s voice rumbles in his chest under her ear. “This blanket is snugglier.”

“A little bit more warning would be appreciated,” Sylvie tries to pretend she’s annoyed by his antics, whilst at the same time tucking herself closer to his side, resting the arm that had been trapped between them on top of his chest. “I’m supposed to be keeping watch, you know.”

“And you’re more than welcome to do that,” Loki mumbled sleepily, eyes closed and sounding like he was a few seconds away from dropping off. “Just make sure you wake me up in a few hours for my shift,”

“You don’t have to-,”

“Yes, I do,” Loki asserted strongly. “You need some sleep just as much as I do. And I know you don’t like letting your guard down, but… I promise I can keep you safe.”

Not long ago, Sylvie would have scoffed at anyone that said that to her. But Loki had said he could keep her safe like he truly believed it - enough so that she believed it, too. The battle wounds he’s currently sporting from their earlier skirmish were proof of that.

Loki’s heartbeat was calm and steady under her ear, its rhythmic thumps combined with the alluring warmth of his body heat making it particularly hard to fight off the drowsiness fogging her mind. It was with great amusement that she realized that, whenever she lightly brushed her fingers against his chest, she could both feel and hear his pulse picking up, pounding just a little harder below her head before settling back down to its usual rhythm.

“It’ll be your fault if I fall asleep on watch, and we’re murdered by scavengers that sneak into the cave,” Sylvie says after a few minutes, able to tell that Loki was still awake by the way his breathing had yet to slow.

“I’ll be sure to apologize profusely in the after-life,” Loki said, his large hand covering her smaller one atop his chest. “And I’m supposed to be sleeping, you know. That’s quite difficult to do when you’re quite literally playing games with my heart.”

Sylvie chuckled gently, the weight of Loki’s hand on top of hers stopping her from continuing her little amusing experiment. “Apologies, your majesty.”

“Just you want until it’s your turn to sleep,” Loki grumbled. “We’ll see how grumpy you get when I keep interrupting your nap-time.”

“Unless you want me to spring awake with a knife to your throat, I wouldn’t advise messing with me in my sleep,” Sylvie advised him.

“Duly noted,” Loki said with a long sigh, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “I had planned on waking you up with a morning kiss - you know, like a good prince should - but if you say not to…”

Despite his tiredness making it difficult for him to do much else than lay with his eyes closed, Loki had to suppress his laughter at the long stretch of silence from Sylvie as she absorbed what he had just offered.

“...I suppose it’d be good to try and break me out of that habit..”

Loki did laugh that time, the deep rumbling of his laughter vibrating throughout his chest.

“Well, if all I have to risk is a knife to my throat to steal another kiss from you? Then that’s a risk I’m more than willing to take. I’ve done it before, after all.”

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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alirhi · 4 years ago

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chapter 7 (the end? I'm not sure yet)

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 7/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

WARNINGS: m/m, reference to rape Notes: since I don't read comic books and am a huge Loki (mythology) nerd, I'm pulling on some actual Norse mythology in this one. I've referenced Loki's shapeshifting/gender-bending abilities before, but here I go into something a bit more specific, and take a teensy bit of creative license in the process. so if you're reading and are like "wtf that didn't happen in the movies/comics!" that's because that's not the source material I was using.

The Bifrost was his last resort. The Destroyer had failed to even keep Thor in line or take out the bumbling idiots who didn't even know they were harboring HYDRA within their ranks. Loki had some power, but no allies, and it would take too long for him to ferret out every HYDRA operative hiding on Midgard, but if he could simply wipe SHIELD off the map, that seemed like a good start. But first he needed to know just how destructive the Bifrost really was. Could it be used for a surgical strike? Could he take out one building at a time, or would it truly destroy an entire planet?

Bucky would never forgive him if he destroyed his entire home world just to ensure that his captors were dead.

The obvious solution was, of course, a practice run. It was a good thing he had the perfect target in mind. He would destroy Jotunheim entirely, ensure there was no one left to avenge Laufey, and see how long it took to erase the planet from the cosmos. If the destruction took a while, if he could center it on one thing and have the damage radiate out from there, then after his cursed birthplace was eradicated, he could turn the Bifrost on SHIELD's headquarters. Then, all that remained was to go down, grab Bucky, and then come back and destroy the bunker in Siberia. There would be no more torture, no more Winter Soldiers. No more trauma for the man he loved.

Oh, who let bloody Thor out of his desert cell? The meathead always had to complicate everything. Loki lacked the time, and frankly the patience, to deal with his self-righteous adoptive brother's newfound life purpose, which seemed to be 'annoy Loki by any means necessary.' Not so new, then, he supposed. Simply a new method.

I don't have time for this, you oaf! "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to destroy Jotunheim!"

For all that it lacked delicacy, he really felt this plan was a perfect win-win. His father would wake to find his oldest enemies eradicated, his heir apparent revealed as the reckless idiot Loki had always known him to be, and a new heir standing proud and ready to take his place. Bucky would be safe and sound, and since all of his friends and family were likely dead by now, there would be nothing to tie him to Midgard any longer. Perhaps he could be convinced, finally, to come home with him to Asgard and rule by his side. With Loki's shapeshifting power, they could even have a family. Hopefully Odin would stop keeping Loki's children as pets. Truth be told, he was still a little bitter about Sleipnir; unintentional though his conception had been, he was still Loki's son.

Even if Odin didn't see reason when it came to Thor, now that the idiot had fallen in love with a human of his own – after a weekend – that could at least pave the way for Loki to come forward about his own star-crossed love, and maybe be accepted at last. At the end of the day, he had no real interest in ruling Asgard, only stepping out of his brother's shadow and not facing ridicule for who his heart chose. He didn't even know anymore what he was more afraid of; Odin finding out he'd fallen for another man, or Odin finding out he'd fallen for a human.

"Loki, you can't kill an entire race!"

"Why not?" He laughed, though he was more confused than anything else. Since when did Thor care? "Oh, what is this newfound love for the Frost Giants? You could have killed them all with your bare hands!"

"I've changed."

In three days? He doubted it, but he supposed stranger things had happened. It didn't really matter; all he wanted in that moment was to prove to Thor, and to himself, that all his years of practice had meant something; that he was truly every bit the warrior his brother was. Mostly, though, he wanted to kill time and keep Thor from breaking through the ice barrier to stop the Bifrost. It was taking its sweet time tearing Jotunheim apart; that was frustrating with Thor there waiting to muck things up, but encouraging for his true purpose.

"Loki, this is madness!"

"Is it madness? Is it?!" You have no idea! "Come on, what happened on Earth that's turned you so soft?! Don't tell me it was that woman!" I've spent years mourning a love I built and cherished and could tell no one about, and you get to parade around proud as a peacock after spending three days with her?! That is madness!

The look on Thor's face told him everything he needed to know, and he almost vomited. It wasn't just the ridiculously brief time he'd spent with her; Thor could do no wrong in their father's eyes. Even if he marched right up to Odin and announced that he intended to marry this woman and make her his Queen, he would suffer no consequences. No one would dare to speak against the heir apparent; the witless wonder could have anything and everything he wanted! Meanwhile Loki was raped in the service of one of Odin's pettier schemes, and he was ridiculed as weak and a pitiful clown, the son he bore taken from him to be ridden into battle like he was little more than another expendable tool for Odin to use and discard.

The more he thought about how differently their father treated them, the more embarrassed he felt for having been surprised to learn he was adopted. Stolen, really; like everything else Odin thought might one day prove useful. And still, Loki loved him. Still, he looked up to Odin as a father and wanted his love and acceptance. Odin had tormented and humiliated him for most of his life, and Loki still wanted to make him proud. How pathetic.

He was too distracted; too lost in his own spiraling thoughts. Thor kept getting the upper hand, and it was only thanks to Loki's talent for illusion and duplicate-casting that he hadn't outright lost yet. At least he did have those things going for him.

"Enough!"

Damn. Too stunned by how hard he'd landed to move, he could only watch helplessly as his adoptive brother approached, certain Thor would kill him. Instead, he sat Mjolnir on Loki's chest. The blasted thing weighed a ton! He could feel it crushing his chest, preventing him from moving and making it harder and harder to breathe. The painful weight of it was too much to bear, but he refused to suffer in silence.

"Look at you," he taunted with what little breath he could muster. "The mighty Thor! With all your strength... And what good does it do you now, huh?!" He could swear the stupid hammer was getting heavier by the second. He could feel the weight of it cracking his ribs, and he winced, gasping for air.

"Do you hear me, brother? There's nothing you can do!"

And suddenly it was gone, and the bridge was shaking. Stunned, he lifted his head to look, and saw Mjolnir back in Thor's hand. "What are you doing?" No, no, NO! He sat up, horrified as he watched his brother smash his hammer down over and over again. "If you destroy the bridge, you'll never see her again!" I'll never see him again!

No, he couldn't let this happen! Never mind all his desperate half-thought-out plans to save Bucky and destroy HYDRA... He couldn't bear the thought of losing him forever! It'd been hard enough to go on living when he'd thought his beloved was dead; knowing he lived but was a helpless slave, alone with no one to protect him, to rescue him? Loki would rather die.

It hurt to move, but he had to get up. He had to stop Thor! If he destroyed the Bifrost, Bucky would be left alone in the clutches of his enemies forever!

The world was a blur for a moment. He was running at his brother, the bridge was shuddering beneath their feet, there was a blinding flash, and then suddenly Loki was dangling over an empty void, his only tether to solid ground his grip on the end of Odin's staff. Thor held the other end for dear life, though he, too, dangled precariously over open air. How had they not both fallen yet?

Odin. Odin was holding onto Thor to keep both of his sons from flying off into oblivion. Did he know what Loki had done? What he'd tried to do? Was he finally proud?

"I could have done it, Father! I could've done it! For you!" For Bucky... "For all of us!"

"No, Loki."

He didn't care. No matter what he did, Loki would never be good enough; would never be Thor's equal in their father's eyes. And worse, now his only link to Midgard and to the man he loved was gone. Now Loki didn't care. To Hell with them all.

A strange sense of peace, of surrender, came over him and, without a single thought nor care for what might happen, he let go. The sensation of falling with nowhere to land was strangely comforting. Perhaps the next life would be kinder to him than this one had been.

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

#fanfiction #loki #bucky barnes #mcu #avengers #thor #captain america #winter soldier #m/m #loki/bucky #what do you think?#end it here or continue?#sebastian stan #tom hiddleston #winter's frost

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weavingthetapestry · 5 years ago

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Plague Projects, 1568: George Bannatyne and His Books

“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley” seems like a phrase which really sums up this past month, and also says something about my altered plans for this blog this year. After all, with the 700th anniversary of the Declaration of Arbroath coming up, I had hoped that the next time I’d be posting, it would be about nation-defining fourteenth century documents, not sixteenth century cultural treasures. Indeed, I should probably apologise to those of you particularly interested in earlier periods for publishing what I believe is my fourth or fifth lengthy sixteenth century post in a row- and it IS horrendously lengthy. But as many of us will be keeping to our homes for the foreseeable future, it seemed apt instead to consider taking a leaf out of George Bannatyne’s book.

In autumn and winter 1568, plague once again raged in Edinburgh. Confined to the family home “in tyme of pest, / Quhen we fra labor was compeld to rest”, 22-year old George Bannatyne whiled away the hours compiling a massive collection of Old Scots poetry. His book, containing works from such famous names as Chaucer, Dunbar, Henryson, Lindsay and others, is now known as the Bannatyne MS (or, to give it its less snappy title, Adv. MS. 1.1.6). It is widely acknowledged as one of the most significant books in the history of Old Scots literature, preserving some of the very best works of the age for later generations. So, since I have the time and the ink (metaphorically at least), I thought it might be a good opportunity to explore the history of this vital manuscript, the life of its author, and the circumstances in which it was created.

George Bannatyne was neither the son of a great noble nor some powerful churchman, but he did come from a reasonably well-off family with an important network of acquaintances. Thanks to the survival of a ‘Memoriall Buik’ which he began compiling around 1582, we are able to trace some of his background with more ease than might otherwise be the case. In it, we find that George was the son of James Bannatyne of the Kirktoun of Newtyle (born 1512) and Katherine Taillefeir (or Telfer or any number of variant spellings; she seems to have been born c.1523). James Bannatyne belonged to the legal profession and played a not insignificant role in public life, acting as a Writer to the Signet and Deputy Justice Clerk among other things. He also had mercantile interests and, despite originally hailing from Angus (a region he would maintain links with for the rest of his life), he was admitted as a burgess and guild brother of Edinburgh in 1538. It may have been around the same time that he married Katherine, who appears to have hailed from a prominent Edinburgh merchant family herself, and their first child, Laurence, was born in September 1539. The couple would go onto have twenty-three children between 1539 and 1565, of whom eleven were still alive at the time of their mother’s death in 1570, and eight were still living in their father’s house, “unput to proffeit”.

George was the seventh child, born on 22nd December 1545, and his memorial book notes that his uncles, George Taillefeir and William Fisher* acted as his godfathers, and Mavis Fisher as his godmother. Not much is known about his early life, but he does appear to have attended the University of St Andrews for a time, being incorporated at St Mary’s College in 1558 (aged about twelve) and listed as ‘baccalaurei’ in 1561. Unlike some of his brothers, however, there isn’t much evidence that he followed his father into the legal profession and we can ascertain little about his early career (beyond the basic details) before the age of forty.

(Bannatyne house near Newtyle, Angus. This property was purchased by George’s father James Bannatyne and the house built by Thomas Bannatyne in the late sixteenth century. Despite their Angus roots however, the family’s main business was in Edinburgh. Not my picture.)

The year 1568, when he was 22 years of age, would later serve as a major landmark in the young George Bannatyne’s life. Indeed, it was to be an eventful year for the kingdom of Scotland as a whole. In May, the deposed queen Mary I had escaped from captivity in the Kinross-shire castle of Lochleven, and soon raised an army to challenge the men who governed Scotland in the name of her infant son James VI. Defeated by the forces of her half-brother, the Earl of Moray, at the Battle of Langside, she then fled across the border to England, seeking the help of their cousin Elizabeth I. With the plight of the ex-Queen of Scots now an international incident, the affair would rumble on throughout the autumn and winter of 1568 and the publication of the notorious Casket Letters did nothing to diminish the scandal. Back in Scotland, meanwhile, the events of 1568 precipitated a major civil war between the supporters of the exiled Mary and the ‘King’s Men’ who fought in the name of her son. Even in August, Edinburgh had a scare when it was rumoured that the lords of ”the south and north and west countries” might attack before the next parliament, and as a result the burgh’s defences were reinforced.

And then, just to make things worse, that same autumn a vicious bout of plague broke out in the merry town. The Diurnal of Occurrents claims that ‘the pest’ was initially brought to Edinburgh by a merchant named James Dalgleish on 8th September 1568. Whether or not this very precise account can be taken at face value, by the end of the month the situation was so concerning that, on 26th September, the Regent Moray wrote to the burgh council from Tantallon, requesting that the election of new magistrates be delayed. This was due to concern for “the publict ordour to be observit anent the plaige”, and in case the new officials, “throw laik of experience may omyt the maist necessar thingis that in sa strait ane tyme ar requisit to be done”. On 13th October the burgh council made further proclamations that nobody was to pass to the Burgh Muir (where the sick were quarantined in huts) without an official escort, and, a couple of days later, officers were appointed to clean the victims’ houses and take charge of burying the dead. Meanwhile it was ordained:

“that how sone any maner of persoun fallis seik within this burgh, in quhatsumeuir kynde of seiknes that ever it be, the awneris of the hous inclose thame selffis and cum nocht furth of thair houssis, nowther suffer ony to resort to thame unto the tyme thai aduertice the baillie of the quarter and ordour be taiken be him, under the pane of deid.”

[“that as soon as any manner of person falls sick within this burgh, whatever kind of sickness it may be, the owners of the house should enclose themselves and not come forth of their houses, nor suffer anyone to resort to them, until such time as they inform the baillie of the quarter and order is taken by him, under pain of death.”]

Plague was hardly unknown in the capital and a particularly serious outbreak had ravaged much of Britain, including Edinburgh, as recently as 1563. The burgh was therefore used to the strict measures which had to be taken (even though this didn’t stop the unfortunate William Smith and his wife Black Meg from breaking the rules, an offence for which they paid dearly). Nevertheless the periodic recurrence of the the disease struck terror into the hearts of the people, and with good reason, since the 1568 outbreak alone is estimated to have decimated a fifth of Edinburgh’s population. There were major economic consequences too, not least because of the stoppage of trade, and the Diurnal of Occurrents claims that, due to the outbreak in the burghs of Edinburgh, Leith, and Canongate, there were severe shortages in the country over the course of the following year. Little wonder then that the earliest known medical treatise to be printed in Scotland- “Ane Breve Descriptioun of the Pest” by the Aberdonian physician Gilbert Skene- rolled off the press in this year.

[read more under cut]

(Edinburgh in the late 16th and early 17th century, according to the ‘Civitates Orbis Terrarum’. Not my picture.)

This was the wider context in which George Bannatyne compiled his famous manuscript, in the last three months of the year (according to his own explicit). But the entire MS runs to almost 800 pages and shows signs of careful organisation and so some modern commentators have naturally raised doubts about the claim that such a large project was completed in only three months, no matter how much Bannatyne may have been climbing the walls during a time of isolation. We also have to account for the 54 pages which make up the so-called Draft or Duplicate MS- draft pages which do not form part of the main Bannatyne MS but have been tacked onto the front of the surviving copy. This draft MS, currently made up of at least two gatherings, may have been larger at some point, as leaves which seem to have been part of the Draft are to be found slotted in at various points of the Bannatyne MS proper (the two MS use different styles of page number, and it may be possible to identify some of the Draft MS leaves from their Roman foliation).

Meanwhile it was observed by J.T.T. Brown back in 1903 that one of the dates written into the manuscript as ‘1568′, on folio 290v., had originally been 1565, the last number having been altered at a later stage. Subsequently it was noticed that the year written as ‘1568′ on folio 298r. had initially been 1566, and it has been argued that the altered dates, as well as the obvious effort involved in organising and transcribing such a tome, suggest that the Bannatyne MS was the result of a much longer period of compilation than its author claimed. Not every commentator has been convinced by this- William, A. Ringler, for one, argued in 1980 that it was not impossible for George Bannatyne to have completed the work in three months, pointing out that he would only have had to spend about three hours a day on his project, and characterising the altered dates as mere slips of the pen. However most of the recent writers I’ve consulted seem to acknowledge that the MS was probably compiled in several stage, with the book only taking its final form in December 1568 after some months- possibly years- of intermittent work. The exact process of compilation is a matter of great interest to those attempting to establish a political and social context for the work. For example, Alastair A. MacDonald, asking the pertinent question of why Bannatyne might have wished to conceal an earlier start date (and assuming that the 1565 date was not a mistake), has argued that the Bannatyne MS could be seen as a Marian anthology. He has characterised it as a book which grew out of a collection of love poems associated with the poets of Mary I’s court (especially Alexander Scott), the nature of which had to be discreetly altered when the political winds changed. Whatever the case, the precise dating of the Bannatyne MS. and the manner in which it was compiled raises some fascinating possibilities and will probably continue to stimulate debate in the future.**

(A reproduction of a page from George Bannatyne’s ‘Memoriall Buik’. Not my picture, digitisation by internet archive)

The Bannatyne manuscript itself is an impressive piece of work and Evelyn S. Newlyn is certainly justified in describing its author as, “neither a mere collector nor a passive scribe”. On top of copying out around 400 poems and other literary works (some of them quite lengthy), it is clear that George Bannatyne put thought into the organisation of the MS and its overarching purpose and literary nature. The results of his endeavours hugely impressed some later readers, not least Sir Walter Scott, but modern scholars have rightly cautioned against viewing the MS as the product solely of one young man’s ‘genius’. Bannatyne’s broad social and family networks were likely crucial to the success of his project. Several other members of his immediate family had literary and scholarly interests- his father James and possibly also his brother Thomas owned (and in the latter case compiled) notable legal collections, while a copy of the “Regiam Majestatam” owned by George’s grandfather John Bannatyne has poems copied into its pages. George’s father James was probably also the figure of that name who was referred to in Robert Sempill’s “Defence of Crissel Sandelandis” in the line, “Auld James Bannatyne wes anis a man of skill”, and another lawyer Bannatyne, Patrick, appears elsewhere in the poem. On his mother’s side, George seems to have been related to Laurence Taillefeir, treasurer of Dunkeld, and proud owner of printed copies of Pleny and Seneca, who was also godfather to George’s eldest brother Laurence Bannatyne in 1539. Serving as the other godfather on that occasion was Henry Balnaves of Halhill, then a senator of the College of Justice, and perhaps already holding the strong Protestant views which would shape much of his career; he may be the ‘Balnevis’ listed as the author of a poem in the Bannatyne MS (“O Gallandis all, I cry and call”).

These details regarding the godparents of the numerous Bannatyne siblings may be found in George’s “Memoriall Buik” and among the other family acquaintances listed there we also find John Bellenden of Auchnoule and his father Master Thomas Bellenden. Bellenden of Auchnoule was justice clerk (and James Bannatyne served under him for a time as deputy) but even more interest are their connections as nephew and brother respectively to John Bellenden, archdeacon of Moray. That John Bellenden was a poet at the court of James V and translator of the prose Scots version of Hector Boece’s ‘Historia Gentis Scotorum’, and the close social (and perhaps family) relationship between the Bellendens and Bannatynes may explain the prominent position given to his work in the Bannatyne MS. Meanwhile, if Balnaves of Halhill and others provided the Bannatynes with Protestant connections, there were also members of the Catholic clergy to match them, such as George Clapperton, provost of Trinity Collegiate Church, and a member of the Chapel Royal at the same time as the poet Alexander Scott (who features prominently among the love poets featured in the MS). The court connections of the above men may have proved a major asset to George Bannatyne during the compilation of his MS, although it may be going too far to describe the book, as some writers have, as a direct record of Stewart court culture. The Bannatynes also had connections to Henry Foulis of Colinton and his father James, the notable neo-Latin poet, as well as to the poet William Stewart through the Foulis family (it is also worth noting that George Bannatyne’s daughter would later marry Henry Foulis’ grandson).

From documentary sources other than the memorial book, scholars have further traced the Bannatynes’ links to notable figures in Edinburgh’s printing trade, including King’s printer Thomas Davidson (who undertook work for the government in James Bannatyne’s company), and one of the city’s first printers Walter Chepman (both Walter and James were public notaries who witnessed some of the same transactions, and it might have been Chepman’s widow who stood godmother to George’s brother Thomas). The Bannatyne family’s connections to these notable individuals- and indeed many others whose histories we unfortunately don’t have space to trace- formed a hugely important social network of prominent lawyers, clergy, lairds, merchants, and courtiers, which must have proved immensely useful to George Bannatyne when he was gathering pieces for his MS.

(The arms of the Bannatynes of Corehouse in the Bannatyne MS, set beneath part of the story of Cokelbie’s Sow. Not my picture, property of N.L.S.)

The manuscript itself reflects this background and, although Bannatyne complained that he had to draw on sources preserved in “copeis awld, mankit, and mutillait”, he also seems to have used printed sources. Equally the high number of poems that Bannatyne was able to pull together does seem to indicate that the situation wasn’t always so dire and, as Sebestian Verweij points out:

“Bannatyne’s access to enormous numbers of manuscript and print exemplars is the best available testament to the extremely rich literary and scribal cultures in the Scottish capital.”

The list of authors whose works appear in the MS is a long one, but the most important should be singled out, if only to further demonstrate the scale of the work. The works of some of Scotland’s greatest writers before Burns are included, including pieces by William Dunbar (including the “The Thistle and Rose”, “The Golden Targe”, “The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy, “The Lament for the Makars”, and many more); Robert Henryson (especially worth noting are his “Morall Fabillis” and the apposite “Ane Prayer for the Pest”); Gavin Douglas (including several prologues from his “Eneados”), and Sir David Lindsay (of particular interest is an abbreviated early copy of his play “Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis”). As already mentioned the works of John Bellenden, Alexander Scott and William Stewart are well represented, while other authors include Richard Holland, John Rowll, Robert Sempill, and Richard Maitland of Lethington (who also compiled major literary collections contemporary to the Bannatyne MS). “The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour”, is also named ias the author of eight poems in the MS, though seven of these are inaccurately attributed (the other is the ‘Song of Troilus’ from “Troilus and Criseyde”). George Bannatyne seems to have included several poems of his own composition in his MS, although Theo van Heijnsbergen has suggested that two of the poems attributed to a Bannatyne which appear “more competent” than the others, might have been written by one of George’s family members instead. Numerous anonymous poems feature in the MS (and some have been given authors in annotations made by later hands), including some well-known titles such as “The Friars of Berwick, “Christ’s Kirk on the Green”, “Kynd Kittock”, and “Cokelbie’s Sow”. Bannatyne’s collection thus opens a window onto an impressive body of late mediaeval and sixteenth century Scots literature- and his achievement is all the more impressive in that around half of the 400 poems included in the MS are not known from any other source and would otherwise have been lost to us.

Bannatyne also put a good deal of thought into the construction of the MS, beyond simply copying out as many poems as he could find. The main part of the book is divided into five parts: firstly, poems about “Godis gloir and ouir saluation” and other Christian religious subjects; secondly, poems with serious moral or philosophical content; thirdly, ‘mirry’ and comic works (some verging on bawdy), including political and social satire; fourth supposedly poems about love, but also including works criticising love and poems against the evils of both men and women (but mostly women); and lastly tales that have some kind of allegorical significance, from Robert Henryson’s animal fables to dream allegories like “The Golden Targe”. This level of editorial awareness has been said to demonstrate Bannatyne’s care and attention in compiling the MS. But some of his editing choices have been less popular with modern scholars, not least his discreet censorship of some the more obviously Catholic aspects of the pre-Reformation poetry, to suit contemporary political circumstances. His decision to include a hefty number of overtly misogynistic poems at a late stage in the compilation of the MS has also been seen as indicative of both the wider political context and also his own personal views. Most interesting though is the evidence that Bannatyne modernised- or perhaps a more exact term would be ‘anglicised- much of the spelling in the poems he transcribed, giving them a more ‘neutral’ language that might have been meant to render the work more accessible to readers of his own day in both Scotland and England. Despite these (sometimes quite major) alterations to the texts of some of the most famous works of Old Scots literature, Bannatyne’s versions of the poems of Dunbar, Henryson, and others have often been used as the basis of modern scholarly editions even sometimes when better alternatives might have been available. Regardless of accuracy, a lot of energy was clearly spent on the organisation and editing of the MS, and many authors have argued that Bannatyne intended that the book should be printed and published. As Alastair A. MacDonald wrote:

“It nonetheless remains that the only credible explanation for the care lavished on the MS and in particular for the concern with the formal appearance of the collection, is that Bannatyne had indeed entertained the hope of seeing the volume in print. It was doubtless with this purpose in mind that he made all the subtle accommodations to Protestant feelings which have been detected in manuscript.”

There is some debate over this however and others have suggested that the work could instead have been intended for circulation in manuscript form among Bannatyne’s social network. Whatever the case the result of George Bannatyne’s labours is a very impressive collection of great significance for the history of Scottish literature- and certainly worth the three months or more he is supposed to have spent working on it.

On 22nd December 1568- George Bannatyne’s 23rd birthday- the burgh council of Edinburgh noted with some relief that it finally seemed as if “God of his mercye and gudnes hes metigait the raige of the pest within this toun”. So the officers who had been appointed to keep the regulations enacted during the time of the plaque were discharged. Unfortunately, their relief was somewhat premature: the disease would return by late spring 1569 and continued to menace the city for much of the year. We have little further indication of how the Bannatyne family coped during this difficult time, but we do know that our protagonist survived and would live to a good age. Strangely though, other than his memorial book (which he began compiling around 1582), we have no evidence of any further literary activity on George Bannatyne’s part. Instead we must follow the rest of his career in his role as a prominent merchant active in family life.

(The grave of George Foulis of Ravelston and Janet Bannatyne in Greyfriars Kirkyard. Picture from wikimedia commons.)

Until the death of James Bannatyne in 1583, aged 71, George was closely associated with his father’s activities. He was granted his first piece of property- a tenement in Leith- in 1572, and acquired others over the years. He also developed his career as a merchant (though we do not know what he dealt in) and was admitted to the merchants guild of Edinburgh in 1587, being described as a “merchand burgess of Edinburgh” the following year. Some time before this he had married Isobel Mawchan, the widow of an Edinburgh baillie, and the couple would go on to have three children- Janet, who was born on 3rd May 1587 (sharing her birthday with her late grandfather James), James who died aged eight in 1597, and a stillborn daughter. George was also stepfather to two children from his wife’s first marriage, Edward (b.1571) and Isobel Nisbet. George’s only surviving child Janet Bannatyne later married George Foulis, laird of Ravelston near Colinton (both now suburbs of Edinburgh) and later Master of the King’s Mint in Scotland- their gravestone can still be seen in Greyfriars kirkyard. Isobel Mawchan died in 1603, and her husband wrote of her that she “levit ane godly, honorable, and vertewis lyf all hir dayis. Scho wes ane wyis, honest, and trew matrone.” In his twilight years, George Bannatyne appears to have spent some time residing with his daughter and son-in-law at Dreghorn. We do not know the exact date of his death, although it has been determined that he must have died before December 1608. The last entry in his memorial book is for 24th August 1606, when he recorded another visitation of the plague:

“George Foulis, Jonet Bannatyne, his spous, my dochter, and I, George Bannatyne, thair fader, being dwelland in Dreghorne, besyde Colingtoun, the nureise infectit in the pest, being upoun ane Sounday and the secound day of the change of the mone, and Sanct Bartilmo his day; and scho deceissit upoun the Tysday nixt thaireftir, the 26 day of the same moneth. And efter ane clenging na forder truble come to our houshold, blissit be the Almichty God, off his Majesteis miracouluse and mercifull deliuerance.”

[“George Fowlis, Janet Bannatyne, his spouse [and] my daughter, and I, George Bannatyne, their father, being then resident in Dreghorn, beside Colinton, the nurse [was] infected of the plague, being upon a Sunday and the second day of the change of the moon, and St Bartholomew’s Day; and she died upon the Tuesday next thereafter, the 26th day of the same month. And after one cleansing no further trouble came to our household, blessed be the Almighty God, of his Majesty’s miraculous and merciful deliverance.”]

George Bannatyne’s two books survived their author, and both passed into the hands of his Foulis descendants. The Bannatyne MS remained in the hands of that family until 1712 (and several members of the family signed their names on the spare leaves of the book) and was donated to the Advocates Library in 1772. Over the centuries several notable figures have come into contact with the MS, not least Thomas Percy, Bishop of Dromore (author of ‘Reliques of Ancient English Poetry’) and Allan Ramsay (who used some of the contents in his ‘Evergreen’ anthology of 1724). Both men (Ramsay certainly) appear to have left their own marks on the MS, as have several anonymous hands, some of them adding extra poems on spare leaves. By the early nineteenth century, the fame of George Bannatyne’s compilation had secured for its author an eminent place in the eyes of Scotland’s literati, and the Bannatyne Club, which was founded in 1823 by Walter Scott and others to print works of Scottish historical and literary interest, was named for George. Strangely, though, at the time of the Club’s foundation, not much was known about George Bannatyne himself. It wasn’t until a few years later, when his “Memoriall Buik” was rediscovered among the papers of his descendant Sir James Foulis of Woodhall and published under the auspices of the Bannatyne Club in 1829, that historians were able to trace the story of Bannatyne and his manuscripts in any depth. The first printing of the Bannatyne MS in its entirety came quite late, with the Hunterian Club’s edition of 1896, but there have been other printings since, and the MS has lost none of its fascination for historians and literary scholars. For all its idiosyncrasies, the Bannatyne MS remains, along with the contemporary Maitland MSS, one of the most valuable literary compilations in Scotland’s history. Without the efforts of George Bannatyne and his circle of friends and family during those uncertain plague-ridden months in 1568, our knowledge of the state of literature in Britain during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries would be much darker.

“Heir endis this buik, writtin in tyme of pest,

Quhen we fra labor was compeld to rest

Into the thre last monethis of the year,

Frome oure Redimaris birth, to knaw it heir,

Ane thowsand is, fyve hundreth, threscoir awcht;

Off this purpoiss namair it neiddis be tawcht,

Swa till conclude, God grant ws all gude end,

And eftir deth eternall lyfe ws send.”

National Library of Scotland Digitisation

Hunterian Club Edition (x) (x) (x) (x)

Scottish Texts Society Edition

‘Memorials of George Bannatyne’ (includes extracts from the Memorial Book)

Notes and References:

* The actual word used for William Fisher is ‘eme’, in contrast to the word ‘uncle’ which is used for George Taillefeir. I may have to do some more digging to establish the exact relationship, but as ‘eme’ usually (though not always) meant uncle I had to go with that for now.

** Without wanting to bore the reader TOO much (and I am aware of how long the above post is) I also wanted to raise a question of my own about where the MS. might have been written in the hopes that someone might be able to help. This question may be the result of a gap in my reading but try as I might I can find no textual reference to the MS. having been compiled in a ‘country retreat’, as the N.L.S., Evelyn S. Newlyn, and others state. All I can find is William Tod Ritchie’s comment that a ‘local tradition’ in Angus claims that the book was written in the north-eastern turret of Bannatyne House, Newtyle. This property was obtained by George’s father James in 1562, but it’s not clear that the tower in question was actually in existence in 1568. Otherwise I’ve not been able to find a source for the statement that Bannatyne left Edinburgh for the country during the plague of 1568, though certainly this was something which those inhabitants of medieval and early modern towns who had the means did do (as in Boccacio’s ‘Decameron’). This did occur in Edinburgh in 1568/9 as well, as evidenced by a letter which the Bishop of Orkney sent to his brother-in-law Sir Archibald Napier of Merchiston (father of the famous mathematician John Napier) in the same year. In it he recommends that due to Merchiston’s proximity to the Burgh Muir where plague victims were then quarantined, Napier should send his children north or west of the city into the southern Highlands:

“for, be the nummer of seik folk that gais out of the toun, the muir is abill to be ouirspred, and it can not be bot throw the nearness of your place, and the indigence of thame that ar put out, thai sall continewallie repair aboutte your roume, and throu thair conversatioun, infect sum of your servandis, quhairby thai sall precipitat yourself and your children in maist extreme danger; and as I se ye hef foirsene the same for the young folk, quhais bluid is in maist perrell to be infectit first, and therefoir purpois to send thame away to Menteith quhair I wald wiss at God that ye war yourself, without offence of authoritie, or of your band, sua that your housss gat na skaith. Bot yit, Schir, thair is ane midway quhilk ye suld not omit, quhilk is to withdraw you fra that syid of the toun to sum houss upon the north syid of the samin, quairof ye may hef in borrowing quhen ye sall hef to do, to wit, the Gray-cruik, Innerlethis self, Weirdle, or sic uther placis as ye culd chose within ane myle; quhairinto I wald suppois ye wald be in les danger than in Merchanstoun; and close up your houssis, your grangeis, your barnis and all, and suffer na man cum therin, quhll it plesit God to put ane stay to this grete plage, and in the mean tyme, maid you to live upoun your penny, or on sic thing as comis to you out of the Lennos or Menteith; quhilk, gif ye do not, I se ye will ruine yourself”

In the absence of any evidence of the Bannatynes taking such measures, I would argue that it might still be possible that the MS was written in Edinburgh (in which case one has to wonder if Bannatyne ever witnessed a tenement’s inhabitants singing that popular hit ‘Ane Ballat Maid off the Tyme the Chefe put the Sunne schyne on Leith”). In any case, whether it was written in Angus or Edinburgh or somewhere else entirely, Bannatyne himself testifies that they were unable to go about their business as usual and so he may have found himself stuck in the house with parents, servants, and at least seven siblings- it is unclear whether this was conducive to his work on the manuscript!

Selected References:

- Obviously I consulted all three versions of the MS linked to above, as well as “Memorials of George Bannatyne”, printed by the Bannatyne Club (for the Memorial Book) and also linked above.

- “Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, 1528-1557″, edited by J.D. Marwick

- “Memoirs of John Napier of Merchistoun”, by Mark Napier

- “An Urban History of the Plague: Socio-Economic, Political and Medical Impacts in a Scottish Community, 1500-1650″, by Karen Jillings

- “The Bannatyne Manuscript: A Sixteenth Century Poetical Miscellany”, J.T.T. Brown, in the Scottish Historical Review (link)

- “The Bannatyne Manuscript: A Marian Anthology”, A.A. MacDonald in the Innes Review

- “The Literary Culture of Early Modern Scotland”, Sebastian Verweij

- “The Interaction Between Literature and History in Queen Mary’s Edinburgh: The Bannatyne Manuscript and its Prosopographical Context”, by Theo van Heijnsbergen in “The Renaissance in Scotland: Studies in Literature, Religion, History, and Culture Offered to John Durkan”, edited by A.A. MacDonald, Michael Lynch, and Ian B. Cowan.

“The Wryttar to the Reidaris: Editing Practices and Politics in the Bannatyne Manuscript”, by Evelyn S. Newlyn

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cindylouwho-2 · 4 years ago

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Etsy’s New Message Response Time Calculations Are Inaccurate, And That Is Hurting Some Sellers

Etsy has recently made changes to the notices it displays under the "Message [Shop Owner]" button on listings - they are now showing more specific response times to some visitors ("within 2 hours"), and even the words "Speedy responder!" for some shops. [UPDATE: as of the evening of January 28th, the shorter time frames & “speedy responder!” seem to have disappeared, but the other inaccuracies remain.]

Problem is, the displayed response time is completely wrong for some sellers. I have talked to a few shops that are experiencing this, and I am also one of them. My jewellery shop has displayed "within a few hours" (see screenshot above) since they introduced this notice a few years back, but within the past two weeks that version has vanished entirely, and when you click to message me, you see the notice that I usually reply "within a few days".

That is completely incorrect; I respond rapidly throughout the day, and never take more than 12 hours overnight. Hilariously, my second shop shows that I respond with in 2 hours or a few hours, which is more accurate - but I never respond in that shop until after I finish with the jewellery messages. So, a shop with a slightly slower response time can show a much faster response time. It makes no sense.

I've complained to Etsy about how this is wildly inaccurate, and they basically said they aren't going to fix it before the next set of updates..

So for the moment, Etsy makes some shop owners look like they are lazy and slow to respond to customer questions and problems, and that is no doubt affecting shop sales.

How It Is Supposed To Work

Etsy Support assured me this notice:

counts how quickly a seller replies to the first message sent in a thread; you don’t have to keep replying quickly after the first message

doesn’t count messages marked spam

doesn’t count messages that do not need a reply

Now, if that were true, my notice should obviously say I respond within 12 hours at the very worst, so it is clear that what they told me isn’t what is actually happening to me and to other sellers. So what gives?

It’s likely that it is counting times when a buyer sends duplicate messages (I’ve had 3 or 4 at a time), duplicate requests to cancel a sale, or sends multiple short messages as separate threads. Logically those should fall under “messages that do not need a reply” but Etsy seems to have a different definition of that than the rest of us do. I remember a few times in the past two months when I have received duplicate requests to cancel an order, likely sent by a panicked buyer who thought the first request didn’t go through, or perhaps caused by an Etsy glitch. Most experienced sellers also noticed an increased rate of duplicate messages and short messages in separate threads when Etsy introduced the new message function in 2019. So, poor Etsy UX is likely part of the reason that some of us have inaccurate response times posted in our shops. Unless Etsy gives us more info, though, we can’t be certain.

Why Should I Care?

It’s perfectly fine to not be worried about this for your own shop, but be aware that Etsy’s own stats show that when sellers respond quickly, they are more likely to close the sale.

On January 26th, a banner appeared on my Messages page; it states:

"You could get more sales if you respond within 24 hours*

When it comes to providing great customer service, quick response time is key! *Based on data from Jan–Dec 2020, messages sellers responded to within 24 hours led to more sales than messages with a longer response time."

Obviously we can question that, especially since the evidence is that they are not counting the first response times correctly! But it does make sense. The longer a potential customer has to wait, the more likely it is that they will change their mind or find another place to buy.

Also, if a shopper is in a hurry, they are unlikely to send a message at all when they see that a shop (supposedly) usually does not reply for over 48 hours. This is especially true for Etsy’s core buyers who shop the site many times a year. They will get used to seeing quick response times posted on shops and will wonder why some are slow, and wonder if that is a reflection of all of the seller’s customer service skills.

By placing this notice on shops, Etsy is definitely driving traffic away from shops with slower response times.

But there is an even bigger concern for some shops: Etsy uses message response time as a customer service metric.

“As a seller on Etsy, you’re expected to:

Prepare and ship orders within your chosen processing times and “ship by” dates

Set realistic expectations with accurate listing descriptions and images

Respond to shoppers’ Messages promptly with resolution-focused customer service

Treat shoppers and fellow sellers with respect and courtesy“ [emphasis added]

Etsy looks at these factors when reviewing a shop for closure. So if a shop has a string of bad luck with cases opened or bad feedback, Etsy will also look at their message response time as one of the factors - and that message response time could be wrong, since Etsy is somehow calculating it incorrectly. Shops could potentially be closed because Etsy thinks they don't reply to messages promptly, when they in fact reply pretty quickly.

Note that Etsy also uses their customer service expectations in the Seller Protection Policy. That’s right, a seller could be ineligible for seller protection if they aren’t meeting Etsy’s preferred message response times. (Note they don’t define “promptly”, so I have no clue whether 24 hours or 48 hours is too long for seller protection.)

There’s also the flip side to be worried about: what happens if your displayed response time is much faster than your real response time? Surprisingly, I am hearing from sellers who tell me that Etsy says their usual response time is just 1 hour, which they say is completely inaccurate, and they worry this will set unrealistic buyer expectations.

Lastly, even when accurate, this notice disadvantages sellers who work fulltime jobs where they cannot spend time on Etsy, as well as sellers who live in time zones where they will be asleep when the vast majority of Etsy buyers - Americans - are sending them messages. Shop owners without employees who spend long hours actually making their items are also at a disadvantage; replying to messages immediately throughout the day is a lot less efficient than handling them twice a day all at once. On a site with so many sole proprietors, and where you can’t have an employee handle shop messages without giving them access to all of your banking and credit card data, does it make sense to be pushing response times so hard? This is not what many would call “keeping commerce human.”

Needless to say, Etsy needs to fix the errors immediately. The potential harm to affected shops is serious.

What Can We Do About This?

Unless we know why these response times are sometimes wrong, we can’t guarantee we won’t have a slow response time displayed. Etsy refuses to tell me which messages it took me “a few days” to reply to, so we’re wandering in the dark here. There is no one approach that is guaranteed to work.

One seller on Reddit suggested using the auto-reply feature all of the time, so buyers always get a response immediately. Bizarrely, this seems like a good suggestion. The notice displayed on your shop does not change when you set the auto-reply, so the buyer has no warning they might not get a real response quickly, and you can compose the auto-reply to say anything you want. However, I suspect that Etsy would frown upon this solution, so it would likely hurt you if your shop goes under review for any other reason. Also, they may have some way of monitoring shops that always have auto-reply on, which could eventually garner your shop a warning. Then there is the fact that the auto-reply can only be set for 5 days maximum, so anyone trying this needs to make sure they reset it each time it runs out.

Another seller in my Reddit thread said they may start marking every message that doesn’t need a reply as spam. That’s obviously going to annoy Etsy, and could potentially hurt a buyer if they get their messages muted from too many spam reports. We also can’t be sure the spam filter does remove all messages from this notice process, even though Etsy said it does, because we know there is an error somewhere. Definitely always mark actual spam as spam, though; there is no downside to that.

If you have an incorrect response time displayed, you must contact Etsy to complain. Use this link to contact them, and ask why they are showing this when it is not true. Ask if they are counting duplicate messages from the same person as separate threads needing replies. Ask why they won’t turn this off until it works correctly. Don’t give up.

It’s also necessary to get the word out on this one. Etsy falsely claiming a seller has slow customer service - something that is guaranteed to drive away some buyers - is coming darn close to outright defamation.

If your response time notice is inaccurate, please contact me here or on my website; we need to strategize how we are going to force Etsy to fix this inaccuracy.

This post will be updated as required.

Last updated: January 28th at 4:40 pm MT.

#etsysellernews #etsyseller #microbusinesses #ecommerce news

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marjorieee125 · 5 years ago

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trophyeve · 6 years ago

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A General Rundown of Permissions for the ‘Eve of the Sakamaki Household’ Verse

Can we ship with Yui? Yes, but she’s singleship per verse for now unless myself and the people shipping with me decide otherwise.

Can we send shippy memes / etc.? Sure, we can still explore what-ifs, drabbles and oneshot threads, but the main focus will be on the storyline here!

Can we know Yui has Cordelia’s heart, is possibly turning into a vampire, is surrounded by vampires, etc.? On a case-by-case basis. It should be discovered organically if it’s not something your character would be able to know already. There’s plenty of situations where this would make sense.

Can we have characters comment on the events of the timeline? Yes, if they “catch sight of”, “overhear a rumor”, “a familiar saw X”, or any other sensible reason, then characters can be aware of and comment on events. I wholly encourage characters participate in Yui’s life!

Can we rescue Yui Komori from the Sakamaki household? Unlikely. At best, if you succeed in the first place, it’s entirely likely that they will find you, they will take Yui back, and they will kill one or both of you for this. Or the Mukamis might take advantage of the situation! Yui is playing a dangerous game as it is even entertaining ways of potentially escaping, but she’s desperate to feel like she’s doing something to survive outside of relying on the Sakamaki’s goodwill.

Can another Yui come and interact with this Yui? What about characters that aren’t on the ‘dedicated castmates’ list? Yes - another Yui will be treated as though they’d somehow wandered into one’s world or the other via some enchanted, strange object or doorway in the Sakamaki household. This allows them to interact, but prevents either Yui from being able to 'escape’ their situation. The same excuse can be used as appropriate if other duplicate muses desire to participate and engage, but none will ever be regarded as a 'fake’. They are genuine characters, parallel universes of their own right. Exceptions can be made if discussed. This likely will never even be addressed, and Yui will respond appropriately to any Ayato, etc.

Biography Differences

Any notable differences from the default bio will be pointed here as appropriate.

Additional Verse Information

Tag: #v // eve of the sakamaki household

Any extra bonus info links will go here as needed.

Background

Assumes a version of the events of Diabolik Lovers - Haunted Dark Bridal & Diabolik Lovers - More Blood took place. Some information may be plucked from other source materials as appropriate/necessary, but the focus is on HDB first, MB second.

Summaries: Haunted Dark Bridal | More Blood (Coming Soon)

Dedicated Castmates

Anyone who interacts frequently and wants to be considered a regular piece of the timeline can be added here, within reason!

Sakamaki Household

Mukami Household

Ruki | Kou | Yuma | Azusa

Additional Friends, Enemies, Etc.

OCs, crossovers, etc. that become important and of note.

Dez (@lachrymosestorm) - “I don’t know her very well, but she’s been helping make the forgeries of Ayato’s signature! She doesn’t know why I want it, but she’s been really helpful and willing to keep it quiet. A nice girl.”

Basil (@monstrisanguine at first, then moved to <placeholder, searching>) - “He transferred in recently! He wants to call me his friend already, which makes me happy. I’d love to be his friend. He has a very mature air about him…I wonder if I’ll be able to learn more about him soon?”

Yui Komori (@immolatusagnus) - “She’s me. Another version of me that’s just as real as I am. I don’t really understand it, but at least we can help each other out sometimes.”

'Til Now / Story So Far...

Yui Komori knows her father and his group won’t accept her back. She knows Cordelia’s heart is the one that beats within her chest and that, somehow, Ayato, Laito and Kanato 'took care of her’ once upon a time. She lived with the six brothers in a questionable peace while trying to survive. She was relatively successful despite the challenges of frequent anemia, the occasional mind games, torment and torture, and forced nocturnal lifestyle. To some extent, she’s even learned to appreciate the Sakamakis. She almost forgot that she wanted to escape in the first place.

Unfortunately, during this complacency, the Mukamis showed up. Making their intentions to obtain “Eve” clear, the Sakamakis determine that Yui sticks to one or more of them at all times to ensure the sacrificial bride is not stolen away. Yui has, so far, successfully avoided becoming any particular person’s “sacrificial bride” or “Eve”. So far.

Still, staying with the Sakamakis is changing her. Afraid of many of these changes and sometimes distressed by her situation all over again, like waking from a trance, Yui has begun hoarding ideas to escape the Sakamaki household. She herself isn’t even sure if she just wants the option to learn if she’d really do it, if she wants someone to stop her, just needs the fantasy of an escape, or if she’d really risk her life and the Sakamaki’s ire in leaving.

She’s obtained a copy of Ayato’s signature and so far, working with a classmate in printing additional forgeries has proven successful. She has to be slow and quiet about it, but she’s making a small amount of money to hoard and hide. She just needs to make sure she isn’t caught. Checking to make sure that Shuu wouldn’t be willing to sign a permanent permission slip to leave didn’t meet with any success - not that she expected any. Checking with Subaru to find out if anyone would listen to him has proven unsuccessful so far as well.

To Be Continued…

#v // eve of the sakamaki household #long post #sorry making verse page organization stuff #if you suddenly get @ed it's probably because I fixed a name goof or two on here apologies I HOPE IT DOESN"T ALERT YOUR ACTIVITY ON EDIT

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doshmanziari · 6 years ago

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2019 Mega Drive Explorations [4]

A continuation of parts 1, 2, and 3. Click the link below to read the full post.

The NewZealand Story (1990)

This almost instantly became one of my favorite games for the Mega Drive. It was first an arcade release (1988), and got a ton of ports with, I assume, differences between each; Wikipedia notes that the version I played “had its levels based on the prototype version of the arcade game.” What that means, qualitatively, I’m not yet sure. This is some of the weirdest level design I’ve encountered in a platformer that’s not, like, a reactionary deconstructive work (in the way that the Japanese version of Super Mario Bros. 2 is). The only other somewhat contemporary title I can compare it to is Milon’s Secret Castle (1986). Each of The NewZealand Story’s stages is a sort of maze that’s completed when you reach a fellow kiwi and release them from a cage. What really lets the layouts grow as they do is that, once you get to the second zone (of four), you need to start making use of the various flotation devices which preexist here and there or are left behind by enemies you defeat. So the level design gets to, in a kind of freeform way, flip between “normally” accessible paths and platforms, and toothy stretches demanding aerial navigation. The flotation devices are distinct from one another, too, from how you adhere to it to the speed. What was especially fun about this to me is how, following a clear-out of enemies, you might have a selection of these devices to choose from, and there aren’t really comparative downsides between them (the closest you get to that are these things that look like, uh, torpedoes, which are slow, but they’re also the one device that can’t be popped by shooting at it or touching spikes).

Even if The NewZealand Story isn’t genre-/series-deconstructive, that doesn’t mean it can’t have whimsical moments. A standout for me is illustrated in the third screenshot, where a “room” you have to get to is surrounded by a barrier, and seemingly inaccessible, until you remember that if you are standing below platforms and walkways of a certain thinness and appearance you can jump through them. The solution is to get yourself up against that vertical band and jump through the bit where it briefly horizontally redirects. Cool!! The other thing I like a lot about the level design is that it’s not strictly economical, that some of the structural arrangements seem to exist to form visual patterns more than to control your route. So you have minor casual options for where and how to move through a space. Mercifully, amazingly, bosses are few -- only three -- and they have brevity: you can get rid of the final boss (see the screenshot above) within seconds by popping his balloon. I like looking at this game, too. A couple of stages reminded me of Falcom’s Xanadu and Faxanadu in their cute, flattish, compact representation of architecture or architectural elements within a screen’s worth of space and fortressed tiling. Once you’re past the first zone, loosely themed as a zoo, it’s impossible to tell if the zones’ apertures and voids admit further views or are all mosaics and/or props. It was an unexpected and engaging ambiguity: either interpretation has strange implications. Besides a couple of jumps over and under spikes which demand an inapt exactitude, this is pretty much a perfect game for me, and I wish it had gotten a handheld rerelease on the Nintendo GBA or DS.

Arcus Odyssey (1991)

As a Wolf Team-developed game, Arcus Odyssey sits snugly beside Earnest Evans and El Viento as a whirlwind of inexplicable plot points (rendered more inexplicable, and amusing, by an amateurish localization), lopsided pacing, and just a ton of baffling game design that doesn’t really care about you. Everything is exploding and the gravitas has no narrative grounding. It is at its best hilariously joyful and at its worst insensitively prohibitive. Environments, from a network of walkways suspended thousands of feet above the earth, to a colonnaded stepped complex that recalls John Martin’s infernal painting, Pandemonium, are set at an oblique angle and are swimming with sorcerers, skeletons, cockroaches, and other creatures who unendingly come at you from out of nowhere and half of the time spit projectiles. The palettes and narrow, minuscule tilesets give everything the veneer of a PC-98 title. Regardless of the character you choose (for me, it was the pink-haired Erin who wields a whip), the best strategy is to never stop mashing the attack button. This got iffy in one stage where a numerous type of flying creature left behind a crawling string of flames on the ground upon death. The best strategy for bosses? Use an invincibility-granting item you’ve hopefully snagged from a treasure chest, stand right next to the boss, and... yeah, mash that attack button. Which is fine! This is not a game where the mechanics could’ve yielded bosses who were interesting for reasons other than their appearance.

Arcus Odyssey has two serious, debilitating issues, though. The first is that you only have room in an inventory menu for six items (five, really; one of these items is permanent), and yet I have quite literally never seen another videogame with so many treasure chests relative to its stages’ sizes. You’ll mostly be passing stuff up then because you’re at capacity. Sure, you can consume the things you have to make room, but there are at least three items which have contextually valuable uses: the potion of invincibility, the lifebar-refilling lamp of life, and the resurrecting doll of life. Stocking up on one kind to the exclusion of everything else isn’t a sustainable plan. So the “economy,” as it were, is kinda fucked. The second debilitating, perhaps eventually paralyzing, issue is that Arcus Odyssey has the design of an early Japanese PC action-RPG like Ys or Rune Worth, where you are constantly harangued by waves of enemies who non-specifically occupy the level designs and bosses who may instantly unload multiple projectile-based attacks. That sort of design, somewhat haphazard as it was, could function (with degrees of success) in the context of the RPG part of the “action-RPG” equation, since you could reliably and incrementally level up (and save!). Arcus Odyssey doles out a few upgrades here and there, but it plays out like an action game that doesn’t understand the forms it’s borrowing. As such, it’s easy -- and become easier, the further along you are -- to get yourself into situations whose demands for superhuman, verging on omniscient, performance make no sense. Real shame.

Marvel Land (1991)

Like The NewZealand Story, Marvel Land is a Mega Drive port of an arcade game released a couple of years earlier. Also like the former, it quickly became a personal console-favorite. A few prickles keep me from fully loving it -- namely, the bizarre precision you need to have when jumping on enemies to not get hit yourself (and a hit here, as per usual with arcade games before the 90s, equals death), a few too many leaps of faith, and optional doorways which can send you back to previous levels, as far as the very first -- but the diversity of creatures, stages’ arrangements and themes, power-ups, and unconventional bosses have an individual and cumulative appeal that outweighs those problematics. I think I’m obligated here to say that I will almost automatically like any videogame that has a candy-themed environment, and Marvel Land has one of those, complete with waddling ice cream cones, gingerbread houses, and a maze built of cracker-cookies. The two main and most interesting power-ups are wings which temporarily give you a much higher jump and the ability to fly, and a string of self-duplicates which can be whipped around to hit enemies, collect items for score, and latch onto targets to swing from them. A later level surprised me when it both expected me to use the wings to progress and to be mindful about the height of my jumps so as to not skewer myself on spikes., denying the expectation that such a liberty would dissolve hard designs.

Bosses deserve a special mention because, god, by now I just hate bosses, they ruin so many of these games, and Marvel Land’s are designed as “minigames” -- a game of rock-paper-scissors, selecting an illustration in a grid that matches an example below, or Whac-a-mole (against a mole). It’s decent, clever, and properly playful. Despite this, the game is still compelled to have a “real” boss fight at the very end (were the developers anxious?), and I could’ve done without that; but, it was straightforward enough. The aforementioned bestiary, if you want to call it that, is wonderful and funny and can hold its own against any of the Kirby games’ rosters. You can see, for example, in the last screenshot that a feisty mallard duck who beckons at you with an index feather-finger is named COMEON. Other members include HEAVY, a chubby pink snake, and GIANTBURGER, a sentient burger. As a closing comment, I’ll say that it’s striking and odd how many videogames, from Japan, no less, were about restoring the rule of a Eurocentric fairytale monarchy. Hell, that’s what two of Nintendo’s most popular extant series are about (Super Mario Bros. and The Legend of Zelda). Why is this an international go-to for a premise? And how could anyone care about it? In some cases I think it’s fair to guess that the creator(s) did not care and simply went with a cultural trope that was within grabbing range; but the question remains of why those tropes are within grabbing range. We already know why these narratives are also fiercely heteronormative (even The NewZealand Story has to make the last kiwi you rescue be a girl -- wow, thank god!), but this prevalent medievalism that has an uncritical nostalgia for monarchy kinda mystifies me.

#sega genesis #mega drive #new zealand story #arcus odyssey #marvel land

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imjustthemechanic · 6 years ago

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Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion Part 13/? - Apocalypse Bunker Part 14/? - Terrible Truths Part 15/? - Library Crystals

Peggy’s first reaction was to roll her eyes – of course Howard assumed a ‘civilian contractor’ was himself. He did have a point, though. Stark Industries was the company the SSR went to, again and again, because Howard built things nobody else could… and because Peggy trusted him. The odds, on reflection, were pretty good.

“HYDRA obviously got most of the crystals back,” she observed, “because there were boxes and boxes of them in that bunker.” Not to mention the ones the supposed electricians had been using in London. “I suppose we didn’t let you keep all of them. Look up library crystals.”

Howard did, and came up with more corrupted documents. Somebody had wanted to remove every trace of the machine and its workings, and had very nearly succeeded. They had to hope Howard’s hunch was correct, because it was all they currently had.

They headed back to the hotel, since Toulouse would have to return there to pick up her luggage, but rather than waiting out front they sat down on a bench near the back hallway, where the entrance to the bunker was. Toulouse would hopefully look for them there. While they waited, Howard put some more thought into possibly locations for the library crystals.

“To extract the information from them I would have needed my own matter duplicator, or some other device,” he said. “If I didn’t want anybody finding that, I would have destroyed it, but if the crystals themselves still belonged to the SSR I would have hung on to them. You guys might have wanted them back someday.”

“Very wise,” said Peggy. “Where would you have put them?”

“It would have depended on where I was living at the time,” Howard said. “If I were still in Malibu, I bought some land on the point that I was thinking of building a house on, but the engineers told me there were caves in the rock and it wasn’t stable. I could have hidden something there. Or if I were in New York, I’d probably put it in the Mansion vault.”

“Because we both know that’s impregnable,” Peggy remarked.

“I’ve been fortifying it,” Howard informed her.

Well over three hours passed between them parting ways with Toulouse and someone coming to find them again, and when someone did, it was Kevin. “Sorry we took so long,” he said, “we tried to text you, but then we remembered you lost your phones. We figured you’d be in the hotel somewhere but we didn’t want to draw attention to you while Cass was still here, and Toulouse doesn’t want to come back in anyway.”

“That’s quite all right,” said Peggy. “How did it go?” She hoped the meal hadn’t ended in disaster.

Kevin grimaced and held up a hand, tilting it back and forth. Peggy had not seen the gesture before but it suggested a foundering ship – which already told her what the answer might be.

“Oh, dear,” she said.

They followed Kevin back out to the front of the hotel, where they found Toulouse sitting in the front seat of a car, in tears. Kevin got in the driver’s seat and Peggy and Howard climbed in the back, and then an awkward few moments went by in which the only sounds were the air conditioning and Toulouse’s sniffles.

“So what happened?” asked Peggy. How had the situation just gotten worse?

“Nothing,” whimpered Toulouse.

“It actually wasn’t that bad,” said Kevin. “Mostly I just talked about my work until Cass nearly fell asleep. He’s probably gone to tell his father Toulouse is marrying the most boring pond scum scientist in the world.”

“Then why…” Peggy began.

“I’m stressed!” Toulouse wailed. “The whole time I didn’t know whether Cass knows about the bunker and the stuff that’s in it, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it! Does he know it’s there? Did he put it there? He likes Klimt for some reason and he’s got like four Klimts down there so maybe he did! But I had to keep smiling and pretending I was interested in what Kevin was saying… you’re not boring,” she added, to Kevin, wiping her nose. “I was distracted.”

“It’s okay,” Kevin sighed. “Pond scum is an acquired taste.”

“So now it’s all done I’m just venting,” Toulouse added, and hiccupped. “You can only bottle things up for so long, you know? Then they have to come out, and this is how mine come out. Oh, god, I need a shower and I need to fix my makeup, but where are we gonna stay? I can’t go back in there! I just can’t!”

Kevin shrugged. “Last time I was in California I was giving a SETI Talks lecture on extremophiles,” he said. “They put me up at a Super 8 in Menlo Park.”

They ended up finding a Holiday Inn in a questionable-looking neighbourhood further inland. Toulouse once again expressed a hope that nobody would recognize her, and it seemed that nobody did. Her smeared makeup probably helped. Once they had a room, Toulouse took a very long shower and Kevin sat down with his computer to answer some email.

“People are gonna be wondering where I am,” he said.

“What are you telling them?” Peggy was curious. How would anyone explain this mess?

“Well, I’m definitely not going to say I’m hanging out with time traveling clones looking for a Nazi superweapon,” Kevin said. “I think I’ll say I’m dealing with a family crisis. That’s technically true, it’s just not my family.”

A few minutes later, the shower finally shut off. Another quarter of an hour passed, and Toulouse emerged, wearing a robe and with a towel wound around her hair, and flopped face-first on the bed. She looked utterly miserable.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled by the comforter.

“It’s all right,” Peggy assured her. “Everybody has to break down sometimes.” Even Peggy herself, although she preferred not to let anyone see.

“It’s not that,” said Toulouse. She turned her head so she could speak more clearly. “When I went with him, I thought I was going to subtly interrogate him, like people do in movies, or like you hear about Black Widow. I would bring up the apocalypse bunker by telling him the maid asked me…” Tears spilled over in her eyes again, and she pulled the towel off her hair to bury her face in it instead. “And I thought he would tell me because he doesn’t know I’m with you guys, or at least he’d let something slip, you know? But I couldn’t do it. I was too scared. I Just let Kevin do all the talking.”

“To be fair,” Kevin said, “get me started about my work and I talk a lot.”

“So now I went through all that and I didn’t learn anything,” Toulouse sniffled. “I wanted to help but I just couldn’t.”

Peggy patted her on the back. “Honestly, I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “It might have been very dangerous to let him suspect how much you know. But Toulouse, we need other kinds of help now.” She was starting to hate using this young woman for her money, but it wasn’t as if they had a lot of choice.

Toulouse looked up again. “What kind?” she asked.

“Well, while you were at lunch Howard and I did some digging of our own,” Peggy said. She explained that they’d gone back to the Best Buy, and what they’d learned from their searches there. As Toulouse listened, her eyes dried and she sat up and began drying her hair. Peggy half expected to see rainbows appearing on the white towel, but evidently Toulouse’s hair was colourfast.

“Good for you,” Toulouse said, managing a tear-streaked smile. “You’re getting the hang of the twenty-first century already. I’m proud.”

“We’re quick learners,” Howard assured her.

“So the missing library crystals may be in Malibu or in New York,” said Peggy. “We need to check both places. This time I think we’ll start with the closer one.” If they’d done that in the Sandhill Playa Del Rey, it would have saved them a lot of trouble.

“Oh, you don’t need to go to Malibu,” said Toulouse. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe.

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed. “Malibu’s out. Your son built a house there, and a terrorist knocked it down.”

“What?” Howard’s eyes widened. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“Long story. Christmas 2013,” said Kevin. “But if you hid anything there, I’m sure he would have found it.”

“Definitely,” Toulouse agreed. She got up and went to the desk, where Kevin was sitting with his computer. “What’s the address of this mansion in New York?” she asked, reaching over his shoulder to access Google maps.

“1E 70th Street, Manhattan,” said Howard and Peggy in unison.

“That sounds familiar,” said Kevin with a frown. He typed it in, and a result came up.

“Oh!” Toulouse exclaimed. “I’ve been there! That’s the Stark Gallery – it’s an art museum!”

“It is?” asked Howard, surprised all over again.

“Absolutely,” Toulouse nodded.

Kevin selected a link. “Yeah, says it was opened sometime in the nineties, in memory of Howard and Maria Stark.”

That didn’t sound like good news to Peggy. “Then it can’t be there, either,” Peggy said. Surely somebody would have found a thing hidden in a museum.

“It still might,” Howard told her. “One of the things I did when I repaired the vault was make sure it was better hidden. I made it smaller, and I had plans to conceal the entrance. If I managed to finish that, they might not have found it, even if they renovated the entire interior.”

“They’ve got a lot of rooms that still have the original furnishings,” Toulouse said. “They might not even have done that.”

“You see?” Howard asked. “They’ve got to be there!”

“It’ll be worth checking,” Peggy decided. “Toulouse, you don’t have to keep helping us…”

“Yes, I do!” Toulouse had already moved Kevin’s chair aside, and was looking up plane tickets.

“If your family really is involved in this, then it could be particularly dangerous for you,” said Peggy. It was clear that Toulouse had already had a narrow escape during lunch with her brother, and by now HYDRA would certainly have noticed that she kept turning up where Howard and Peggy were.

“If my family is involved in this, then it’s my responsibility to do something about it,” Toulouse insisted. “Whatever they’re up to, I need to know about it! I should have known about it already!”

“They deliberately hid it from you,” Peggy reminded her. “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I’ve been ignoring them because they ignore me,” said Toulouse. “Maybe if I hadn’t been out shopping and getting degrees and stuff, I would have noticed something was up earlier!”

Peggy really didn’t know what to say to that. Such things were always obvious in retrospect – she sometimes still lay awake at night wondering how she’d ever trusted Dr. Ivchenko. “I understand you feeling that way,” she said cautiously, “and we do appreciate your help. But Toulouse, remember what I told you. If we say something is too dangerous for you, there can’t be any argument. You need to sit it out. Promise me that.”

Toulouse bit her lip, hesitating.

“Toulouse,” said Peggy firmly. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” said Toulouse, but this time Peggy wasn’t sure she could believe her.

“How about you, Doc?” Howard asked Kevin.

“I work in Yellowstone,” said Kevin. “If there are people who are planning to blow it up underneath me, then I shouldn’t stay there. I’d rather be with the people who are trying to do something about the people trying to blow up Yellowstone. I know the geology of the region, too,” he added. “So I might even be useful.”

“Looks like we’ve got help whether we like it or not,” said Howard with a smile.

In the morning they went looking for another thrift shop, because Peggy and Howard really needed more than two outfits each. Peggy found herself a blue floral blouse with elbow-length sleeves and a high enough collar not to show any cleavage, which was a relief – full-length sleeves were very uncomfortable in the California heat. Howard, meanwhile, came out in a black shirt with a pattern of pink flamingos on it.

“If we were going back, I’d tell you to wear that just to see what Mr. Jarvis thinks,” Peggy told him.

“He’d probably throw something at me,” said Howard cheerfully.

Despite this banter, Howard was quiet on the drive to the airport, and Peggy was too. She was sure she knew what he was thinking – her joke had reminded him, as it had her, that they were unlikely to ever see Edwin Jarvis again. If he hadn’t died years ago, he would be very old now, and perhaps have lost his memory the way Peggy herself had. So would Anna, and Angie, and Jason, and Daniel, and everybody else they’d ever met. Even if they did see any of these people again, what could they possibly say to each other? It wasn’t even as if anyone had thought Peggy and Howard were dead and would be overjoyed to find they were wrong. In the minds of their friends, they’d been there all along, and now these imposters arrived out of nowhere.

“Peg?” Howard asked softly.

“Yes?”

“I don’t mean to sound like a schmuck,” he said. “But… I’m glad you stepped onto that platform with me.”

There were several things Peggy could have said in response to that. She could have told him he’d better be, because if she hadn’t he would almost certainly have been shot. She could have remarked that she wished he hadn’t felt a need to play with the bloody thing. She could have commented on his use of the word schmuck, which was not something he would normally have said unless he were rolling drunk.

But instead she just squeezed his hand. “It’s nice to be appreciated,” she said.

#fanfic #agent carter #peggy carter #howard stark

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