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lov3nerdstuff · 2 years

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Letters of Redamancy {Part 3}

*Loki x reader*

Parts: 3/?

Words: 6k

Summary: "There are six more nights until Christmas. I will write six more letters to you. And you will not tell a single soul about what you have read in any of them. I presume you can live with that." ~ Imagine Loki finding out about your love for handwritten letters and taking a chance. But what if those letters turn out to be more than he had ever bargained for? Dealing with a crowd of holiday spirited Avengers on top of it all certainly doesn't make it easier for either of you to figure out that in some certain cases, what you say doesn't matter nearly as much as why you say it, and to whom.

A/N: This story is set at Christmas time, but honestly you could read it at any time in the year and it would still be making perfect sense. It's more about two idiots trying to understand each other and to be understood in return, while they also figure out that sometimes, in learning to love you can learn who you are.

Read Part 1 here! All parts can be found on my Masterlist!

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You worked late that Monday night, skipping dinner in order to get on with the mission prep – aka all the tedious stuff the mighty heroes currently stuffing their faces with roasted veggies and gravy upstairs didn't feel like doing themselves –, and only resurfaced from your abysmal subzero floor level once everyone else had long gone to bed or relocated to their rooms at least. That perhaps was both the curse and the luxury of having your own entire floor to work on, you thought while heating up some leftovers at 1 am… There was hardly ever anyone but you down there. Then again, it probably wasn't much different on Tony's floor, or Bruce's floor. You all called it your ‘lab’, or ‘room’, or ‘workshop’, but really, they each were entire floors with occasional glass walls and doors splitting off different sections. Perhaps it just now needed a solitary meal at one in the morning for you to see the humour in that.

When you finally dragged your tired self up into the attic floor and further down towards your room, your mood only brightened when you remembered with a start that you still had a letter to read. Some comfort to look forward to. The first sincere smile in hours came onto your lips, the first not bitterly tinted spark of energy, and as you reached your door, you found yourself chuckling even at the sight of the folded pieces of paper being pinned to the wood by the fanciest throwing knife you'd seen around here. Apparently Loki knew that you were still out and about and not in your room, and he also wanted you to know that he knew, or else he would've just pushed the papers through the gap under the door like always. For some reason, the thought made your skin tingle and your heart clench at the same time. Perhaps not everyone stayed deliberately oblivious to your whereabouts and working times.

Taking both the letter and the knife with you, you finally entered your room with a drawn out sigh, then dropped both items on your nightstand for now and went to get ready for bed. Tonight there was no storm, no sound from outside, and even the Christmasy illuminations annoyed you more than they had yesterday, so upon your return from your bathroom you got settled right into bed. The first item you found in your hands was the knife; it was tiny compared to what you'd seen him use before, but certainly more intricately decorated. Beautiful, even. You'd honestly never thought you would one day be able to call a weapon that.

Making a mental note to return the knife to Loki tomorrow without drawing unwanted attention from everyone else, you went on to the letter. This one was shorter again, but you didn't mind. Not at all, actually. You would without a doubt get lost in it no matter how long it was, for somehow Loki's words always opened up a door to a different world of ineffable size where nothing but you two could exist. The weariness of the day long forgotten, you lit your candle so you wouldn't have to squint, and then finally gave in to your curiosity.

Let me start this off by saying that you should not skip dinner, Y/n. You are, in fact, more important than the mission preparations, for without them we would still be able to cope, to ‘wing it’ as Stark says, but without you we would most definitely be lost. Nobody else could keep Stark and the Captain from butting heads, and nobody else would put up with all of us while still trying not to get everyone killed at the same time. I hope you at least had some leftovers before retiring to your room for the night. Next time you don't attend dinner to keep working while everyone else rests, I will come down there and drag you out of your lair myself. That's a promise. Dinner is even more of a tedious affair when you are absent, and I won't have it.

Now, on to tonight's revelation of choice. I believe I might have an answer to one of our mysteries from last night. Why I find myself wanting to tell you about anything that comes to my mind, why I cannot imagine lying to you without feeling sickened by the prospect, and why you are an exception to my every rule at this point. It's all for a surprisingly similar reason, really: Nobody before you has tried this intently to understand me, and nobody has gotten as close to. That much has become apparent to me today, and as a result thereof I spent quite some time thinking about it.

I have hardly ever spoken to you before beginning to write these letters, and yet you have somehow managed to understand me anyway, without the redundancy of words. I have no idea how you do it… I have never been an easy person to predict, nor to understand, and while a prideful part of me wants to argue that there is no way you possibly could be doing so now, I have to concede to the reality I find myself in. And there are plenty of instances to refer to in this case:

When we are returning from a mission, you ask everyone for their status update as soon as we are on safe ground again, openly in the comms for everyone to listen to, and yet you always make sure to ask me on a separate line, without subjecting me to their prying ears or rolling eyes. I can only imagine you do this out of an understanding of my hatred for their nosiness and their general disdain for anything I say. It makes missions with them easier to endure, I hope you know that.

Then there are the many instances where you deliberately take the seat between myself and Stark or the Captain instead of sitting somewhere where you wouldn't be constantly put in harm's way. Your presence has kept me from stabbing them more often than I should admit to, and I believe it has spared me one or the other uncomfortable punch in the face as well.

You never bothered me with questions that were anything short of relevant for one or the other important business, and you never pressed for an answer where I didn't want to give one. You never asked all the things everyone else keeps asking, even though I can tell you've been curious at times. Especially around other people, you have a great sense of what to say to me and what to ask without putting either of us in their focus for the wrong reasons. I can't imagine you wanting them to start snooping into your matters, in the way they do with me, and you have as of yet always found a way to prevent that for both of us.

You let me steal your tea, and don't even try to tell me or yourself that you didn't know it was me who kept taking it. You let me take it on purpose, and you don't make me apologise for it. I never feel the need to defend myself in front of you, because you don't blame me for being difficult, very difficult admittedly, not even in the most inopportune moments.

Then there are all the countless instances where you say exactly what I would have said myself if I hadn't given up on trying to converse with the people here. You obviously choose different words than I would have, but for the majority of it, I find myself agreeing with your thoughts and comments nonetheless. Sometimes the things you suggest seem to be more for my benefit than your own, or so I think, and still you fight Tony over it because I cannot. We both know that if I tried doing so it would only result in instant disagreement and refusal from everyone involved, without any regard for what the actual input is. Saturday night was an anomaly in that regard, when the Captain ignored Stark's immediate dismissal of my idea about your letters. You are welcome, by the way.

Lastly, even though I could most definitely go on, you somehow see all the narrow paths between the many traps that cover the field of conversing with me. You seem to know how to get along with me in general, with or without words, which really cannot be easy with someone like me, and your ability to humour me without playing right into my cards is quite unparalleled. Your replies to my letters aren't making me uncomfortable, rather on the contrary, as I am still tempted to chuckle whenever I look at that postcard from yesterday.

I am of course making assumptions here, mind you, yet I spent quite some time tonight reconsidering our encounters over the months, and this is what I choose to read into them. That might seem prideful of me in some cases, but I did try to stick as closely to what I had evidence for as I could. Anyway, of all of this, the only and inevitable implication is that you understand me to a truly astonishing degree, and that in order to get to that point you must have put in an equal amount of effort. You must have tried to understand me, and wanted to in the first place. I won't thank you for that, seeing as I never asked you to do such an unpromising thing, but you will have understood at this point in my going on and on about it that it means something to me which my eloquent rambling isn't quite capable of grasping in words. And you will understand in return that this is the reason for all the things listed at the very top of this letter.

You try to understand me, yet you likely feel like you still don't know me, so let me assure you right now that there is absolutely nobody who will be able to ever achieve the latter, myself included. ‘Knowing’ me is an impossible feat, and thus a fool's errand. What is by far more important to me is that you are the only one who apparently doesn't give a blind crow's eye about trying to know me in the first place, or about claiming that they already do. You are the only one who aims to understand instead, again and again, and that is what is so astonishing and, I dare say, unique to me now. It is also what scares me the most, if I'm being honest, which perhaps is why I have previously ignored both the notion and its many instances of being proven to be true.

Now however that it has made me want to confide in you every thought and whim I have, against my habit and reason, it seems that said desire is outweighing the discomfort of fear by enough to make me well aware of all this in the first place. As you can see in my choice of words though, I have not quite come to terms with it entirely just yet, and I'm not sure if I ever will. Having lived a life like mine, the desire to share my true thoughts with someone is a scarier notion than you might think, and the fact that I keep telling you things I previously couldn't even tell myself is outright terrifying. But as you see, and as is indeed rather self-evident in this case, I am willing to try. Let's see what that will mean for us tomorrow.

You only realised your lips had parted when you tried to open them at the end of the letter. You only realised the letter was over when your eyes saw the neat cursive inked on the smooth paper in your hands, instead of the memories of all the little moments Loki had drawn your attention to. For a moment, you didn't quite know what to think, or feel. This confession of sorts had overwhelmed you in more ways than you could name, and you certainly had not expected him to be so open with you, ever. Vulnerable, almost, and it made your heart clench to realise how much trust he must be putting in you to tell you something like this. Because no matter if he meant what he said or not, the place it put him into was still the same. A place that, as he put it, was equally scary as it was astonishing and unique. And you believed him, every word he had written. This was a true reflection of what he thought.

The goosebumps on your skin became all the more evident when the chill of the night finally crept into your bones, and you found yourself stuck between shuddering on the outside, and feeling your entire chest radiant with warmth. You remembered all the instances he was mentioning here as proof that you understood him, and truth be told, your intentions as he had interpreted them had been entirely in line with your intentions as you had meant them. He wasn't wrong about a single thing, though you wouldn't go quite as far as to say you didn't also do some of it for selfish reasons, like sitting next to him whenever you could, nor would you really say you'd been certain that he had taken your tea. It had been more of a vague idea, really. But there was no denying, now that he had pointed it out to you, that you were doing quite many things the way you did because of Loki. That you did understand him better than you'd known, and that he appreciated it in return. You found yourself smiling, truly, as you only ever did when thinking about him lately. He was welcome, too.

Of all the things he had written, of all the things he had been right about, the one that meant the most to you however was that he understood in return. He understood what you had meant to do, and why, and not just seen the empty shells of your actions. He understood that your only goal at times was to make life easier for him if you could, because he really had no means to do it himself in the end. He understood that he could be a royal pain in the arse at times, and that you didn't condemn him for it, nor for anything else he did or had done. And he understood that you were honestly and intently trying to understand him in return, that you sincerely wanted to, for no other reason than to… To what?

You frowned to yourself, and looked up from the letter for the first time in what felt like hours. Why did you want so desperately to understand him, and be understood in return? Why did it mean so much to him that you did? He wouldn't have written half a soliloquy about it, and you wouldn't be sitting here in the middle of the night with a thunderous heartbeat if it didn't truly mean something to the both of you. But you couldn't find an answer to that question. At least not just yet.

Contenting yourself with the knowledge that at least you and him were on the same page in this unfolding narrative, you quickly got up to hide your letter with the previous two, then crawled back into the warmth under your covers. It must be terribly late at this point… The stillness, the cold, the burnt down candle, they all were good indicators of that. And you had to be up early yet again to finish up the prep work for Wednesday's mission. Woohoo. The price one pays for being in control over pretty much everything. Sighing, you laid down and tried to close your eyes. Would Loki already be asleep? Did he even sleep, like you ‘puny humans’ had to? His reply yesterday, three Zs, at least indicated that he did, in the most juvenile way possible. You found yourself snorting at the memory, then shaking your head while burying your face deeper into your pillows. The smile just wouldn't leave your face, damnit… How was one supposed to sleep like this?

Sighing to yourself, you opted for a healthy dose of reality to counteract your romanticising of the same. Perhaps that would help you sleep. So you propped yourself up on your elbow, and reached your other hand up far enough to knock on your wall. Long, long, short, long, short. GN, good night… He probably wouldn't indulge you another time, but rather start getting annoyed by your clinginess or the disturbance of his peace. Or so you told the part of your mind that needed a justification for feeling inclined to say good night, that you were only doing it to prove to yourself that he wouldn't react like you thought he would, even though you couldn't quite believe it yourself. Now that he'd pointed out that you had indeed understood him correctly this entire time, you couldn't quite put as little confidence in your assumptions about his reactions as you would've liked in this case. You knew he wouldn't ignore you… And it certainly wouldn't make sleep any easier. But a justification was a justification, and it was easier to blame it on all that complicated nonsense in the middle of the night than to simply admit that you wanted him to wish you a good night again as well.

Three seconds later, the same message came as his reply. Long, long, short, long, short. The fact that your smile only brightened was the only tell it needed to prove that you had never hoped for nor expected anything else in the first place. So he didn't mind wishing you a good night in return… If that was what reality had just proven, you would happily accept it. Grinning to yourself even worse than before, you laid back down and closed your eyes. For that knowledge, you would gladly put up with some sleep deprivation tomorrow.

… … …

You were not gladly putting up with the sleep deprivation; it was kicking your butt. First you almost fell asleep in the shower, then almost fell down the stairs because you'd walked them down with your eyes closed, and finally you arrived in the kitchen in a sour mood and with a fuzzy brain. After wolfing down a quick breakfast, you opted for coffee today, a lot of it, and then made for your lab before anyone else had the chance to become an unfortunate victim of your grumpiness. Only after the third coffee, you were willing to accept the fact that you still wouldn't change a thing about yesterday night even if you could. You'd rather do it all over again, and probably would indeed be doing so tonight. Bless the coffee for that possibility.

Yet, even the coffee couldn't work miracles. After spending most of the day perched behind a screen, then a good part of the afternoon checking in on Tony's overhaul of all the team's tech equipment and having him update you on what you'd be working with, and finally filling out the paperwork for both Shield and the UN for tomorrow, you were as good as dead by early evening. No amount of coffee could counteract that, nor the growing headache that was throbbing through your skull by now. You still had to start running some numbers for tomorrow's risk evaluations… It would be calculating for a while, and you'd have to start soon and leave it running overnight if you still wanted to be able to check on the results early tomorrow morning. But with how things were looking currently, you weren't even sure you could see the numbers on your keyboard through the fog in your mind, leave alone transfer your handwritten scribbles into the system to start the process. Perhaps you should close your eyes for just a minute, until the throbbing behind them would die down. Just for a minute…

When you woke up again, it was two hours later, your headache was gone, but there was someone sitting on the edge of your desk in your direct field of vision. Blearily you blinked up at that someone, your mind puzzling together the silhouette with the way your screens cast light and shadow across their features, but it was the voice that finally had you awake in an instant.

“I told you I would come down here and drag you out of your lair if you failed to show up for dinner again.” There was an ease in Loki's tone that your sleep fogged mind couldn't quite place, but apparently your face had the decency to grow hot anyway. “It's been forty-five minutes, but the others were still mostly busy gossiping over their starters when I left. We should get going though.”

“Loki…” You croaked out, your eloquence certainly taking longer to awaken than the rest of you, but at least you did sit up straight again now and looked up at him directly. He looked comfortable, sitting on the edge of your desk like that, and strangely you didn't feel as disturbed in your space as you'd always thought you would if someone came down here uninvited. Actually, you didn't feel disturbed at all. You felt probably about as comfortable as Loki looked, though a lot more nervous. And speaking of him looking, he apparently was waiting for an answer to whatever question he hadn't asked. “I… I still need to start running some numbers for tomorrow before I can go have dinner… It's important, I have to-...”

“Yes, the risk calculation, I know.” He sighed, then pushed himself off the desk and simply dragged you away from your screens by the back of your office chair. “I finished that before waking you up, so come on now. There's nothing else to be done down here until tomorrow morning, which means that we are going to join our esteemed colleagues in their dinner now.”

“You… Wait, what?” You frowned up at him in confusion, for a moment once he'd turned your chair around to face him, then looked back over your shoulder at the numbers running smoothly down the screen, and again at Loki with a big question mark on your face. He sighed, but you could see the corner of his lips tugging up ever so slightly as well.

“The risk calculation was on your to-do board, the numbers were on the open page in your notebook and I am not as clueless with technology as I like to pretend.” His words were factual, yet his expression was almost utterly amused by now. “It's not rocket science, Y/n. Don't tell anyone I know how to do it and all is well. Come on now, dinner isn't going to wait for us.”

Slightly awestruck you complied, nodding while you got up from your chair, and let Loki lead you towards the elevators in silence. Only on your ride up, you found your words again. “Thank you. For the numbers, and for coming to get me in the first place.”

“As I said, dinner is entirely insufferable for me when you aren't there.” He replied in a sigh, and while the previous amusement had faded, the softness and astonishing ease had not. “And you're welcome.”

A few people actually looked up from the main meal they had apparently just started on when Loki and you walked in together, but that was the only form of acknowledgement you got. Not that you minded, really. Sometimes their disinterest spared you a good bunch of explaining. Needless to say, you sat down in the empty seat next to Steve and let Loki take the one on your other side at the edge of the table. He shot you a quick glance which you pretended to ignore, but your smile probably gave you away nonetheless. Not that you minded this either. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him hiding his own smile as well, poorly, behind a very much feigned frown of disgust directed at the bowl of pickled herring on the table in front of him. Your smile only widened at the sight, but you didn't bother hiding it from him, not even when it lingered throughout the entire dinner spent in comfortable silence.

… … …

This time the letter arrived just after eleven, while you were getting ready for bed. You saw it lying by the door as soon as you came out of the bathroom and instinctively rushed to pick it up already, yet you still felt like you had wasted precious time not knowing its contents any sooner. Somehow these letters, or all of Loki's thoughts and efforts really, had become an addiction to you so very easily; he had become of crucial importance in your life so very soon.

You paused for a moment before plopping down onto your bed, and made the decision that you didn't mind this. Because in the end, it really wasn't just the letters… It was also this shift in your relationship that came along with it, this coming closer at a pace that was at once too fast and yet by far too slow. And that you didn't mind one bit. Thus, as always, you lit a new candle and finally gave in to the craving.

I don't know if you took notice of this all the way down in your lair, but it was snowing again for most of today. I can't say I was too happy about it myself, but everyone else seemed utterly delighted. It's as if they see the world differently, as a whole other place, once it is covered in crisp cold white. I really can't see why. Snow lost its entire appeal to me the moment I first visited Jotunheim. I know you have obviously never been there yourself, but let me assure you that once you have seen what snow and ice are truly capable of, you will no longer be able to find such innocent delight in them. A begrudging respect, perhaps. Did you know that snowflakes release a sort of death cry, before they melt? That's a thing I can appreciate, for one. But there really is nothing about it that would warrant the squealing of delight or the elaborate excitement I had to endure in the kitchen today. Expect me to have my breakfast two hours earlier again tomorrow morning, with you, and without the imbeciles. Today I unfortunately happened to wake up too late for that to be an option.

That's not the point of today's choice of topic though. Despite subjecting me to an ill-placed display of joy, the snow actually reminded me of a story my mother used to tell me, when I was a child. I'm certain she would be delighted if she knew that I intend to share it with you now… I was never good at sharing, and it never ceased to amuse her that I kept asking her not to tell this particular one to Thor. She would surely give me this very specific look of hers right now for even considering sharing the story with someone after all this time of first insisting it was mine alone and then admittedly having forgotten about it for over a millennium; she'd give me a look that I can only describe as the smugness of being right about something the other has yet to figure out.

Now, I shall have to warn you that it's not a particularly happy story, nor an overly elaborate one. Children's stories in my culture of upbringing used to be a bit different than the ones you find here these days, for all I can tell, and I believe this particular one only still means something to me in the first place because of a cruel sense of nostalgia. Because of a woman who died too soon and who you do not even know. So don't be disappointed if this story is not what my preface makes it out to be. You are the only one I can imagine sharing it with though, and I think she would want me to share it, so here we go:

Once there was a tiny flower that started to grow in the depth of winter. The forest it was living in was long covered in thick white snow, as were the grounds and rivers, and it was bitter cold, with nowhere to go. Soon all animals had given up hope that summer would ever return, and the lands that once had been filled with life and joy were now taken ahold of by death and despair. That was when the flower started to grow, through the frozen ground, through the layers of snow. It stood tall and proudly, a beacon for the way on, amidst the landscape of chaos.

A mouse was the first one to come and see, and upon the sight it was convinced: there was no winter that could last an eternity. It told the rabbit of this remarkable site, then the fox, then the ginnung, and soon word had spread everywhere high and wide. Of all those who came to the flower and were given new courage and hope, it was only the raven who stopped, and wondered about the sight. A tiny flower amidst the snow? That couldn't be right.

'Why are you out in this cold?' Said the raven. 'You should return to the warm soil until summer has come.'

'I am here for a purpose,' replied the flower, 'and that purpose is not yet fulfilled.'

Intrigued by the flower's answer, the raven pondered this vice. It had been given new hope, alright, but what did the flower get, but a life of endless snow and ice?

'You only will die out here, you will perish in the snow,' said the raven. 'This desolation is no place for you.'

'I will live,' replied the flower, 'for my purpose here is not yet fulfilled.'

Enamoured by the flower, the raven stayed by its side, but never ceased to wonder about the reason for this selfless delight.

'You are so fragile,' said the raven, 'and yet so courageous to grow. How else may I admire you?'

'I only grow,' replied the flower, 'for my purpose here is not yet fulfilled.'

The days grew colder, no end to this winter in sight, and while all others held onto their hope and courage, the raven was willing to put up a fight.

'Let me take you away from this place,' said the raven. 'Please, let me save you just one single time,'

'I must stay,' replied the flower, 'for my purpose here is not yet fulfilled.'

What was the hope of others was now the raven's despair, and while he could not save the flower, he never left its side until the end of the cold, the end of the season of death, came by. Yet when the snow started melting, when the world started to grow, the flower was wilting, and the raven unwilling to let go.

'But winter is over,' said the raven. 'Life is returning, why still must you go?'

'My love, I was never meant to survive,' replied the flower. 'I live to give hope where all other things die, and my life is fulfilled now that the living return, and winter has passed by.'

'That cannot be right!' Said that raven. 'You carried the weight of so many lives, you lived for their fight, and yet your death will only be mourned by one.'

'You must understand me, my love. I would rather die for a purpose,' replied the flower, 'than to stay here and keep living, for none.'

That would be the end of the tale as my mother has told it to me, and I'm afraid she used to do a far better job with the rhymes than I ever could. It's quite a tragic story though, isn't it? I am not entirely sure why I found it so comforting as a child. Perhaps it made the ceaseless talk of purpose and worthiness a little easier to bear, and the prospect of dying for a noble cause a little less nonsensical. I believe you can imagine the overall layout of the stories we were told as children, especially when looking at Thor's occasional moments of noble hybris and pomposity. He loved stories about the nine realms’ worthiest heroes, whereas I rather preferred the ones that had interesting villains or tragic endings. But I bet you saw that coming, didn't you? Perhaps I am not entirely as unpredictable as I like to think. To you I certainly am not, and I still can't seem to mind that at all.

This shall be it for today. You really should get some better rest than with your head on your keyboard, that can't have been comfortable nor anywhere near restful in the first place. The sight of you drooling onto your desk was rather amusing though. Anyway, tomorrow's mission will go perfectly fine, so there is no need to lie awake now and fret over it like a fool. There are better ways to spend the night. Get some sleep, and we will see what tomorrow brings when the time has come.

Tonight it only took you a few minutes of staring at the words before you could finally look up and think straight again without Loki's voice echoing in your head. You did go back to read the story once more though, and by the end of it you couldn't tell whether your heart was aching for the flower, the raven, or the thought that Loki believed his mom would be happy he had shared it with you. Perhaps a combination of it all.

Sighing to yourself for dwelling in this bittersweet feeling now, you got up and hid the letter in your books as always. The desire to just go over there, to barge into Loki's room as you were, in your pajamas, and hug him as tightly as you could, was really rather overwhelming. You didn't quite know whether that would be to his benefit or to your own, but seeing as it was all hypothetical anyway, it didn't matter much in the end. You wouldn't give in to this particular desire, no matter how tempting. So you only sighed again, and gracelessly dropped down onto your bed.

Why on earth did everything about Loki have to be so much more tempting now? The desires weren't new, really. You had always been drawn to his words, his wit, his intelligence… His entire person. But the force with which all these things were pulling at you from every side and angle now was very much new indeed, and you wondered when that had happened. Perhaps it was because he wasn't as unreachable anymore, not quite as much of a distant impossibility. Perhaps because you could actually see a version of this where he was capable of falling for you in return.

You didn't get to dwell on it though, for some very distinct knocks on your wall brought you back to reality. Long, long, short, long, short. You smiled in an instant; this was a habit you could definitely get used to. The fact that he was the first to say goodnight this time only made it all the better, and you replied the very same before lying down under your soft covers in utter contentment. Well, almost content, at least. Because while you slowly drifted off, for once at a reasonable hour, you couldn't help imagining what that hug you had missed out on would have been like.

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lov3nerdstuff · 2 years

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Letters of Redamancy {Part 2}

*Loki x reader*

Parts: 2/?

Words: 5.4k

Read Part 1 here! All parts can be found on my Masterlist!

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Despite sleeping in for far too long after the long night of being unable to get your heartbeat to slow down and your lips to stop curling up in a constant smile, you still ended up reading Loki's letter just another time in the morning to make sure you hadn't just dreamed up the whole thing, and then weren't even the last one to grab breakfast. You were the only one, though. Alone in the kitchen, and seemingly alone in the entire compound as well. No surprise... Half of the team was surely still nursing their handovers while the other half was already halfway through their pre-workout workout.

It was Sunday though, and even if that didn't mean much for you in terms of work usually, you still had the day to yourself in this case. You decided to use it wisely, and after disturbing a very hungover Tony in his on-site apartment to carefully inquire if you could take one of the cars to the city, you were off – in the most hideous yellow vehicle you had ever seen – to do your Christmas shopping before the workload of the next week would keep you glued to the base.

First off you went on the lookout for Wanda's sheets. You didn't feel like succumbing to the general awkwardness you assumed was to be associated with gifting someone an item as mundane as that, so you actually put in an effort just for the sake of it. You knew Wanda loved classic Hollywood-age sitcoms, the old kind that was just corny enough to be hilarious, so you browsed the stores until you came across a set of flannel sheets that had all sorts of old-ish movie and TV posters printed on it, and it didn't even look like it belonged into a child's bedroom! That had to be good enough; if she didn't like them, she'd just have to magic their colour to something else. She was a witch, after all. At least they were ridiculously soft, so that was a plus either way.

With your most pressing purchase out of the way, you went on a hunt for some new candles next, then your favourite kind of tea that you somehow always ran out of way too quickly, and even a new pair of fuzzy socks with little holly leaves and berries on them. Finally, when you couldn't put it off any longer without being unreasonable, you even went to buy a bloody dress for the stupid Christmas Eve soiree Tony had forced upon the team members who didn't have a family to escape to. Which was almost everyone except for Clint and Scott. There would be guests and fancy food and drinks and noise and people and you already were done with the night a week before it would actually take place. And still, you bought a dress.

On your way back towards the side of town where you'd parked the car, at last, you wondered for the millionth time if your decision not to buy Loki a gift had been the right one. You'd pondered it over and over on your way towards the city this morning, and had eventually come to the conclusion that he wouldn't appreciate that any more than you would. Which is to say not much, bordering on not at all. Of course you would still give him a gift, but for some reason – or rather for a certain three-sheets-of-paper that were hidden away in your favourite book on your tallest bookshelf back in your room at the base right now – you couldn't imagine buying something for him. You could have written him a letter, probably, if he hadn't preceded you in that and therefore made any attempt to write to him now seem like a mere pastiche of his efforts. So now you'd have to find something else to give him that was self-made in one way or another. Great… The internet was surely bursting with brilliant suggestions on arts and crafts for your resident God. Truly wonderful. You rolled your eyes to yourself just for good measure.

When you reached your ugly-as-ever yellow sports car, you still weren't sure how to handle the situation. Dumping the bags with your purchases in the boot, you frowned to yourself just as the first lazy snowflakes caught in your lashes, then started lingering on your coat and scarf as well. Loki can't have spent many Christmases on earth yet… He'd been around for just half a year longer than you, which would make for one Christmas with the Avengers, and you weren't entirely sure if on Asgard they had celebrated their Yule in a similar way before that, but you guessed not. So in the most likely case, he'd experienced only one shitty Christmas at the base where he'd been ignored or annoyed the entire time, and he'd probably hated it just out of spite. Pity for him, really, but good for you in this case; it meant the bar was pretty low in terms of things you'd have to live up to. So maybe… He wouldn't be too terribly disappointed if you went for a gesture instead of a gift. Purpose instead of pomposity. Going by what he'd written in his letter to you, he must be familiar with the idea behind that at least.

Without giving your anxiety time to argue yourself out of it again, you grabbed your backpack out of the car, locked the vehicle, and made for the closest grocery shop in the area. It wasn't the kind of high-end one the housekeepers at the base bought your food and supplies in, but you found what you needed quickly enough, and once in line at the cash register, your eyes fell onto one of the most random postcards you had seen in a while; apparently everyone's weird early-2000s Ed Hardy phase hadn't stayed in the early 2000s after all. It lived its renaissance in this postcard for sure; a large red heart stabbed with a pointy dagger and wrapped by a banner that only read ‘fun’ right in the middle. You couldn't help your snort of derision and amusement, and some confused part of your mind had to think back to Loki's comment about not giving anyone the dagger they needed to stab you in the heart with. His words had sincerely meant a lot to you, they did make your heart beat a whole lot faster even in memory of them still, and yet something darkly mischievous within you made you grab one of those postcards along with your other purchases, before you paid for all of it and finally left the shop to head home.

Back at the base – after the two hour long torture of being subjected to the most unbearable Christmas songs on the radio that were now all stuck in your head, of course – you first dropped off your purchases in your room, then grabbed the postcard out of your bag and gave it another thorough look-over. It really wasn't all that bad in itself, a bit corny perhaps but overall kind of hilarious with the banner just saying ‘fun’ in regard to being stabbed through the heart; no, the problem was rather that it was an inevitable reminder of mostly hideos 2000s fashion that most people tried to forget ever having thought of as good looking. But Loki likely wouldn't have that association with it, would he? Unless he'd paid earth a visit at the time, it would just be a funny picture to him. So you gave yourself a mental slap to stop overthinking, grabbed a pen from your nightstand and released a long pensive breath. ‘I am to presume you can live with that’ he had written at the end of his letter… With an amused smirk on your lips, you flipped the postcard over and wrote, as neatly as you could, ‘You better be certain I look forward to it’.

While your smirk turned into more of a stupid grin, you left your room on a clear mission, first sneaking out into the hallway and then the five steps down to Loki's door. You listened. No sounds came from within the room, nor from anywhere else in the compound for that matter. Only the rising noise of the wind outside, whipping snow or rain over the roof above your heads and past the sharp edges of the building’s most outlying corner which you happened to reside in. You shuddered a little despite the heated tiles beneath your feet, then got a grip at last and knelt down in front of the door to push the postcard through the gap underneath, just like he had done with your letter last night.

For a moment you lingered then, wondering if your presence would cause a shadow visible from inside the room that might give you away. You didn't doubt that Loki would be in there at this time; he had no other place to be nor any reason to leave the only place within this base he likely felt somewhat comfortable in. And apparently you either were right and didn't leave a shadow indeed or perhaps he simply didn't care about your lingering, because after another few seconds of silence, you could hear the faintest movement, then the subtle scratching of cardstock on tile, and finally a quiet but deeply warm chuckle that in return sent an ineffable heat right up your veins. The stupid grin returned to your face in an instant, and stayed there even as you got back up onto your feet and tiptoed back to your room. Oh, you already couldn't wait for tonight, when at some point in the safety of the dark, another letter would find its way through the gap under your door.

… … …

This time it had just struck midnight when the noise at the door alerted you to your promised letter’s arrival. You almost hadn't even heard it over the clamour of the wind outside, which had picked up even more ever since dinner earlier… But focusing on little else ever since lying down an hour ago had done the trick, and so you now retrieved the letter with a thundering heartbeat and a row of shivers that could not be blamed on the cold alone. There were more pages this time, almost double as many, and you couldn't keep the electric spark of excitement from stopping your heart for a broken second before bringing it back to life even more furiously than before.

This time you chose to sit down by the floor length window that led out onto your balcony, instead of on the bed, for the sole reason that it would take you ages to fall asleep after having read the letter anyway. Allowing the storm outside to mirror your innermost sentiments so closely was actually rather calming in a way that might help settle the nervous energy before going to sleep. Perhaps, you could leave your heartbeat with the storm to compete.

You didn't even light a candle, the elaborate exterior illuminations Tony had had someone set up all around the base in the beginning of December sufficed to see well enough while sitting so close to the window, and after wrapping a blanket around your shoulders to attempt containing some of the shivers, you dove straight into the second letter.

I do recognise mischief when I see it, Y/n… But I am pleased nonetheless that my words apparently stuck with you while on your outing to the city today. I meant it, try to be more careful with whom you empower to a place where they can hurt you. Not everyone is worth taking that risk for, not everything is worth standing up to or for, but that of course is your decision. I myself stand for nothing I would not risk falling for as well.

Now, let me say that despite what you might expect me to do with that postcard, I did, in fact, pin it to my wall. Thank you for the first piece of decor I now own, and shame on you for choosing that particular motive. Though I do appreciate the irony in it, and the dagger, of course. So perhaps I should say shame on both of us for how fittingly awful it is. Perhaps that is why it graces my wall now. It reminds me that among all the fools in this compound, there is at least one person besides myself who has an actual sense of humour.

But all of that is besides the point of my writing to you tonight. Tonight, I would like to tell you a story. Not the kind of story you would find written down in books or told as tales, obviously, but a memory of mine. The story of my stay on Selentis, which is the ninth moon of Inferis, even though I doubt either place would be familiar to you. It isn't to most people, as far as I am aware. Though you might find delight in the fact that most people do believe Inferis to be orbited by seven moons, while in reality there are nine to be found if you know where to look. That, in addition to its name in your language, makes for a rather amusing analogy to your own world's mythology and legend, don't you think? (I take it you have at least heard of Dante's Divine Comedy. It's a part of your culture only people like Stark would ignore.) In that sense, it amuses and astonishes me to no end that no matter where you are, in this world or in any other, some ideas seem universal. But on to my point.

I came to Selentis in the middle of what you would call a monsoon season. I will spare you the tedious details about the circumstances of my arrival, but let me assure you that I wasn't too pleased to find myself on a moon that consisted of nothing but endless rock and grass with a few leaky huts perched in between. You could try to imagine it like a crude clashing of your Scottish highlands with what you imagine your middle ages to have looked like, only with more of a bluish tint to it and wrapped in a constant layer of semi-opaque fog. And there was the rain, of course, in an endless stream that didn't once stop the entire time I was there. I could never figure out where all the water went, nor where it had come from. But it was everywhere, just the same.

The first few weeks were truly dreadful, even though I was admittedly welcomed very kindly and taken in as if they didn't know or care who I was. Perhaps they really didn't, and that was something that up until that moment had not happened to me. It was both deeply irritating, at the time, and oddly relieving, in hindsight. To sum that up, the people were fine, overall, but the rain was very much not. One couldn't step outside for even a second without getting drenched, and being stuck inside in a crowd of strangers, no matter how kind, just wasn't – and still isn't – for me. So I kept to myself, moved into an abandoned hut to wait until the time arrived where I could leave this place the way I had come, and was left alone for the most part in return. Soon enough being trapped inside was driving me mad without anything sensible to do, and being drowned outside was driving me mad even faster. I was constantly cold, in the way you can feel soaking into your bones and undulating in your soul. Sleep eluded me, I was too tired to eat, and generally speaking, I was quite miserable after a while. I cursed the rain for that, and everyone living on Selentis for seemingly not being bothered by it at all. They loved their rain, the entire bloody season, and couldn't understand why it made me so ill-tempered. I didn't understand them either, I truly didn't. Another thing that had never happened to me up until then.

All of that changed, however, when I finally caved in to the weight of my own dark thoughts and exhaustion and let them drag me to this place they called ‘circle of souls’ (or that at least is the closest translation I can fathom); you can imagine it like a longhouse of sorts, perched on top of a hill, but with the same aesthetic appeal (or lack thereof) as was seemingly inherent to everything on Selentis. Logically it had taken me months to agree to join them in their walk there, though I have seen most of them come and go on a daily basis. I will admit now to having been inside that house once before already, during one of my first days on Selentis, out of sheer curiosity. It truly was nothing special, a little less leaky and a little more spacious than the other huts I'd seen. Of course I didn't understand what the whole fuss was about, and never felt inclined to return there afterwards. At least not until I joined the other residents that one night, and even I am not prideful enough to refuse to admit now how wrong I had been.

In a way that is rather difficult to explain, this place was entirely transformed and yet still the very same in its essence. Not that it looked any different, but it certainly felt very different. For one, there was a large fire right in the middle of the place, and I doubt I have ever been as enthralled by a flame nor felt as grateful and astonished by its warmth. You must know, I had tried to light fires of all kinds down in my hut before, with magic and without, but it had always died within the minute. It seemed that no matter what I did, all embers were doomed to die on Selentis. And yet, here this one was, right in the circle of souls, bright and blazing and delightfully alive.

Of course I asked what kind of sorcery they had summoned to their disposal for this impossibility, but I never received an answer that made sense to me. They simply lit a fire like this every night, and every night it would burn until the last person in need of its comfort would be ready to leave. I believed them in this, because the first time I saw the fire, I stayed right next to it for almost three days in a row. It kept burning the entire time, though I did nothing to replenish it. Nobody bothered asking me to leave, rather on the contrary, they all seemed to have a peculiar sense of understanding for why I was staying even though at first I didn't know that much for myself. But eventually – and do believe me when I say I know this sounds mad indeed – I did feel ready to leave, and I left. Until evening, when everyone returned to the fire to light it anew and reap all that it was offering to them.

Now, having written all of this down I do feel slightly ridiculous in retelling these events, seeing as most of it sounds almost like it had come out of one of Thor's drunken delusions. But it happened like this, or at least I remember it like this, and that perhaps is the only point of relevance. To counteract the tinge of whimsicality embedded in it though, let me give a little more context on what these nights by the fire looked like. Surprisingly, they should be as much relatable to your cultural history as to the one of my upbringing.

There always, and I do mean always, was a song on someone's lips. I didn't catch all of the words unfortunately, despite the gift of allspeak, but from what I could tell most of them were legends about the hunt, the hardship of living, or sex. Hardly much different from the content of drinking songs in any other culture, though I must admit I did enjoy most of the melodies. They had a way of telling far better stories than the lyrics did, and since I hardly understood the latter anyway, most of the Selentian music appealed to me.

Another pleasant surprise was the wine, since we are on the topic of drinking already. I honestly can't tell you what kind of fruit grows on Selentis in between the monsoon seasons, but the wine made from them was a delight the wine in the Asgardian palace could never live up to, leave alone anything found on Midgard. I have no clue how they did it. It was the most rudimentary drink, sometimes still with bits and pieces of fruit in it, but it was hot and smooth and tasted like the sweetest honey dripping off your lover's lips. It would never suffice to leave me even slightly tipsy, but that wasn't the point of it in the first place. It was a comfort, as was the song, as was the fire.

When I left Selentis exactly a year after I had arrived, I didn't feel cold nor lonely at all, and I certainly didn't curse the rain anymore either. I didn't think the people living there were delusional for loving their monsoon season, because at some point I cannot quite recall, I had become one of them. Though I have never admitted it to them, nor to anyone else. Experiencing this kind of thing isn't what you tell people about if you want them to still take you seriously after that.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure why I am telling you this now or what you should make of it, but I was having a cup of your tea today – I do apologise for taking from your stash, repeatedly and without asking, but it shouldn't come as a surprise to you that I would never promise not to do it again – and this story came to my mind, this entirely irrelevant memory, followed by the inexplicable yet inevitable urge to share it with you. Which, in itself, might not sound particularly astounding to you, yet it very much was to me. I am certainly not the type to dwell on or even to share my memories, neither the fond nor the unpleasant ones, and I have yet to understand why I'm breaking this habit of silent continuity now, for you. Why it feels not wrong this time but right in ways I cannot find the fitting words for, and have never had to before now. Neither do I have an answer to the question why the thought of you brought up this memory in the first place. You and I will have to live with that mystery until I find an acceptable explanation. I take it you enjoy a good mystery as much as I do, so again, I am to presume you can live with that. And I do hope you are as curious as I am what my writing to you will reveal to us tomorrow.

You looked up from the last of the pages, blinking at your room as if surprised that this was still where you were at. Your mind was still caught up somewhere on Selentis, with Loki and the rain and the fire. One by one your sense of self, your feeling for your own body returned to you though, and with it came the awareness of the noise right outside your window. The storm had picked up even more while you'd been reading, turning from a blizzard into more of a thunderstorm, and you inevitably jumped when a sharp lightning pierced both the darkness and your field of vision. At least the thunder that followed was truly mirroring your heartbeat now, even if you were rather certain that it had been this entire time already.

When another startling sound that most certainly was not thunder this time almost made you jump again, your eyes flew from the window to the wall across from you. The one right behind your headboard, the one adjoining to Loki's room. You had very seldomly heard a sound from over there, and usually it had been so quiet that you never could be sure if it even had come from that direction in the first place. But now there was no denying, something in his room had crashed rather harshly either into a wall or the floor, and your brows furrowed in immediate concern. Was Loki okay? Sure, he could take care of himself better than you usually could for yourself, with your constant walking into the corners of furniture or one or the other doorframe, but still… You worried about your favourite resident God. There was little you could do to check on him though, wasn't there? He'd probably kill you if you knocked on his door right now, having written the most astonishing letters to you or not, an intrusion to his space was still an intrusion. From you or from anyone else.

Folding the pages in your hand over like they'd arrived under your door, you got onto your feet, hid the letter with the first one and then finally made for your bed. But even nestled into your sheets, and without any other sound from the room next door, your worry just wouldn't cease. Perhaps that was inevitable, with how much more intimately you were getting to know him now. At least the content of these letters sure felt more intimate to you than what he let anyone else in the compound, and probably on the planet, see. Screw it, you'd find out if he was alright your own way… They hadn't made you mission control for nothing after all.

With newfound determination you sat up on your knees, still in the safety of your bed, and turned to the wall behind your headboard. Slowly lifting your hand, you gave yourself a mental push – the postcard had worked after all – and rapped your knuckles against the wall. Short, short, long. Pause. Long, long, long, long, short, long, short, short, long, long, short, short. Then you waited. Honestly, you weren't even sure if Loki knew Morse code, but considering how he knew pretty much everything, all of the time, you would just have to make an assumption here. And unriddling your ‘u ok?’ certainly wouldn't be the most difficult task for him either way, you figured.

A couple seconds later, you received your answer from the other side of the wall. Long, long, short, short, long, long, short, short, long, long, short, short. You frowned to yourself, yet unable to keep the smile off your face. He'd seriously replied ‘zzz’... Before you could begin to fathom a reply or even tone down your grin, he added: long, short, long, short, long, short, long, short, long, long, short, long. Your lips parted, and you stared at the wall incredulously, yet with more amusement than you'd felt in ages. He had literally coded a winking smiley. A winking smiley! The giggles that bubbled up in your chest couldn't be suppressed any longer, and you found yourself biting your lip to at least keep somewhat quiet in your laughter. Well, apparently, he was just fine. That meant you could go to sleep now, which was long overdue anyway; you'd have to be up early for mission prep and overseeing a small group on recon after that.

With a soft sigh, once the laughter had subsided, and an exquisite warmth spreading in your chest, you went to knock on your wall another time. Long, long, short, long, short. Then you waited. A few seconds later, the same message came as his reply. Long, long, short, long, short. You smiled yet again, but only once you’d properly laid down at last, it was your last thought before drifting off that this must have been the very first time Loki had wished you a good night.

… … …

You were just about to finish your breakfast, sitting at the kitchen island in the only seat that wasn't currently halfway covered by greenery or buried beneath someone's stuff as a cheap way of securing their spot, when Loki walked in. Neither of you was particularly surprised to see the other this early in the morning, it was almost a long established routine by now. Almost nobody else came here at this time, all early risers usually went to get started on their workout first, while the rest of the team slept until who knows when.

But seeing as the only available seat was taken up by you currently, Loki merely nodded at you once in silent acknowledgement, then turned to leave again. But you were faster, this time.

“Wait! Here, take my seat.” The words were out of your mouth before you'd properly thought them through, or rather thought about the fact that until recently you wouldn't have dared to talk to him like that, if at all. But things had started to change, it felt appropriate now, and thus you jumped off the barstool anyway and took your empty bowl to the sink and your mug to the counter while Loki – to your silent surprise – accepted the offering of your space.

While you started another kettle to make yourself some more tea to take down to your control room, you subtly observed Loki from the corner of your eye as he sat down in your previously inhabited spot on the other side of the large counter now and summoned a dagger out of thin air, then grabbed a few different fruits from the side of the counter.

“Would you mind handing me a bowl from the shelf behind you?” The quiet sound of his voice surprised you, still sounding almost too loud in the silent kitchen when it was just the two of you. His voice had a way of overwhelming you whenever he spoke to you directly, and today that manifested in a delicate tingling at the base of your spine. An utterly pleasant feeling. But his request kept you grounded in reality for now, and you silently grabbed a bowl before handing it to him across the counter. He thanked you equally, with a flicker of a smile, but in silence no less.

For a moment longer you observed how he cut his fruit into the bowl one by one at such a rapid speed that you worried for his fingers, but when your kettle alerted you that your water was ready, you tore your gaze away and focused on the cupboard with your tea instead. Looking at the large tin that was now filled to the brim again since last night, then to your assortment of mugs next to it, you couldn't help thinking back to Loki's letter with a smile. You didn't mind that he stole from your stash of tea. He was probably the only one you'd even welcome to. Perhaps you should tell him that now, mischief style. So you grabbed a second one of your mugs along with the tin, preparing both the way you liked it simply because you had no way of knowing how he usually took his tea, and finally cleaned up after yourself while letting the dry leaves seep.

On your way to the door then, at last rounding the counter to Loki's side now, you placed the second mug next to his bowl of fruit, met his astonished gaze with a warm and genuine smile for a moment, then went on to leave the kitchen and finally get started with your work. Still, all the way down to your lab slash control room slash hiding place, the smile just wouldn't leave your lips… You'd given him your mug with the little painted droplets on it, and the quote about learning to dance in the rain.

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lov3nerdstuff · 2 years

Text

Letters of Redamancy {Part 1}

*Loki x reader*

Parts: 1/?

Words: 8k

All parts can be found on my Masterlist!

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“So, who's gonna start?” Tony's voice echoed around the living room like a beacon of your doom and everybody else's delight. Or actually, almost everyone else's. Loki, who was sitting in the most shadowy corner beneath the floor length window, hadn't even looked up from the book he was reading, and if your eyes didn't betray you in the meek light of the lit up fireplace and the sparkly lights on the huge tree Tony had paid someone to decorate, you could even see him rolling his eyes. But Tony ignored both the raven God's disdain and your expression of discomfort as he continued on. “C’mon guys, the annual Christmas wish list won't write itself. And we wouldn't want a repeat of last year's fiasco, would we now?”

A small commotion started in an instant, an exchanging of arguments over whose fault the mentioned instance in the prior year had been, and you frowned to yourself even more deeply. You hadn't been here for whatever it was that had happened last Christmas… You'd only joined the team in February, after one colossal failure of a mission that had nearly cost them more than they had gained. Upon that, they had deemed it a good idea to bring in an outsider to pose as a strategic analyst, and foremost as someone to keep an eye on everyone and everything during the missions, safely and from afar behind your screens and consoles. In a way, that worked out well enough: during the missions, you had the uppermost command and authority, and even Tony and Steve – with their hot heads and strong opinions – bowed to your rule during those times, because even they'd had to realise the advantages of having someone who could see the whole picture and who had done all the prep work to give the orders ultimately. They still made suggestions and comments, plenty of them, but in the end they trusted you to coordinate the grand scheme of the mission and command all twenty-something members the Avengers had by now. If someone ran into an issue, they reported back to you and you came up with a solution on the spot. If someone needed backup, you would know where everyone else was located and what they were doing and thus could quickly send over the most suitable help. If they encountered a foreign culture or species, you could have FRIDAY translate what was being said right into their comms and supply them with info on customs and appropriate behaviour beyond that. The list of your duties went on and on.

On the other end though, outside of missions, you were a literal nobody. You lived with everyone else in the compound, sure, but they paid about as much attention to you as they were also willing to give Loki, the only other person who was ‘tolerated-but-not-appreciated’ around here. He lived in the room next to yours, all the way up in the attic, if one could even call the story that much. There were a few storage units, a guest room, a barely used infirmary for long-term issues, but other than that, only Loki and you. Not that you minded, rather on the contrary. He was the perfect flatmate, quiet and respectful in all the ways the others were not. He never walked the hallways piss-drunk and made a commotion like Tony or Thor, he never got up at ungodly hours in the morning to head to the gym like Steve or Bucky, and he certainly never knocked on your door to ask if you could help out with one thing or another like Bruce or Natasha did. He didn't rage or rave without regard for anyone overhearing like Wanda, and he didn't float through walls with too much interest in what everyone else was doing like Vision. He didn't annoy you with terrible jokes or feigned concern like Scott or Sam. Didn't feign respect for you like all of them did. No, Loki really was perfectly invisible most of the time. Which, really, was everything but perfect to you. Not when it was Loki you were talking about.

You liked the cunning God, with his eloquence and intelligence and ever-cutting remarks placed at just the right moment in conversation to allow you a respite from feeling out of place and insignificant in the crowd of resident heroes. Because in the end, he was just as far down the chain of importance and value as you were, and more often than not you found yourself admiring his easy way of dealing with it. While everyone seemed to think him beneath them, he had never lost his air of being far superior nonetheless. Of being entirely out of their reach, where no rudeness or disregard or acts of exclusion could harm him. Logically, you found yourself seeking him out whenever you could, observing him from afar, staying at just enough of a distance to give him no reason to kill you for getting too close while yet staying close enough to feel the comfort of knowing him around. Just like you were doing now.

Sitting in the compound's living room after dinner, summoned here by Tony for this inane discussion, Loki once again was your only ally and comfort, even if only so in your mind. He for his part had probably never wasted a thought on you, barely deeming you tolerable enough to be civil when you had to interact and staying as far away as possible beyond that, while yours seemed to be centred more and more around the mischievous God in return. At least by now you had come to accept the fact that he had infiltrated every corner of your mind over the past few months, had wormed his way into the way you held yourself, the very way you thought. Perhaps that was why you took such unreasonable pride in the fact that you were the only person he didn't constantly mock and spit venom at… Because it gave you the illusion of being special to him. And perhaps you were special, the evidence spoke for itself in that regard after all… Only that ‘special’ didn't have to be a positive thing. For all you knew, he might as well deem you the only one too insignificant to annoy. In that case, he at least would be the only one not making a secret of that judgement. So team Loki it was for you, no matter what he truly thought in the end.

“Another truck load of Poptarts?!” Tony's incredulous voice brought you back to the here and now, and you realised with perhaps too little surprise that you had completely missed the end of the Avengers’ discussion and the beginning of… whatever it was that was going on now.

“I love them, what can I say?” Thor argued back with his hands held up in defeat. “And they're tiny, like most of the things on this planet. So I want more.”

“Fine.” Tony sighed in much the same tone he used when surrendering to Pepper's will – which happened more often than he would likely want to admit. “I'll write down Poptarts for you. Who wants to take on Thor's wish?”

Bucky immediately raised his hand, without comment, and Tony nodded while writing down the soldier's name on the tablet in his hand, right behind Thor's Poptarts. You, on the other hand, merely frowned. What an odd thing to do, to openly assign Christmas gifts… But you kept your opinion to yourself. As always.

“Next is… Nat, what do you want this year? A new gun, perhaps?”

“Actually I was thinking more along the lines of some new combat wear. Something that isn't a catsuit.” Natasha replied pointedly, while giving Tony a look. “So anyone other than Stark fulfilling that wish should do.”

“I'll be taking on this one, if that's alright for everyone.” Bruce was the first to volunteer, and was met with common approval and the succinct tapping of Tony's fingers on the tablet as he noted down Natasha's wish and Bruce's name.

“So, who's next?”

You hiccuped. Loudly, right at that very moment, while everyone else was quiet. Why, oh why on earth did your body have to betray you like that?! You'd planned on staying invisible until they forgot they hadn't involved you in their festive scheming.

“Y/n? What about your wish?” Steve of course jumped at the opportunity to do ‘The Right Thing’ and include you, now that the rest of the team seemed to realise as well that you were still sitting on the floor by the window. Just across the room from Loki, but it wasn't like they would ever pay any attention to that. Loki was even more invisible to them if he didn't speak up to annoy them than you were.

“Uh…” Your words were stuck in your throat, and the most eloquent reply you could fathom was, “You mean… You want to assign me to someone so that they will have to give me something I want? Because they have to, not because they want to?”

For a moment, there was silence but for the low crackling of the fire. Curious, really, that in a place as rigorously modern as this there still was a place for domesticated chaos but not for Loki and you. Yes, okay, you were being bitter about this. Unreasonably so? Hardly. Should you still give them the benefit of the doubt and provide an opportunity for them to prove that they did, in fact, care about you? Probably. They weren't unkind to you, after all. They always made sure you were aware of how important you were for the missions, of how proud some of them were of you for doing such good work. Perhaps allowing someone to give you a gift would chip away some of the bitterness you felt towards them nonetheless.

“Look, kid, we're all a little over the whole 'surprising each other' thing... Sometimes the best gift you can give someone is predictability and practicality wrapped up in a neat bow of actual usefulness." Sam explained as if talking to a small child who refused to understand his meaning. It didn't surprise you in the least that he was the one to pick up on your irritation about the whole gift-assigning thing though… He had an eerie affinity to pick up on people's discomfort, even though he hardly bothered to use this talent on you. Now seemed to be a special occasion, because he even went on to elaborate for you. "There's not much a billionaire, or an assassin, or a couple of hundred-year-old soldiers would actually need, so it's best to ask them to make a wish straight up. The only one who still gets a gift the normal way is Peter, and only because he's too young to be thrown into that adult rationale. We do this because we care."

"Well, in that case... I'd like a letter." You replied without wasting more time reasoning with them. If they believed gift-giving to be about what is given, not the act of giving itself, then you might as well ask for the only thing that might be able to prove to you that they really did care indeed. You couldn't give someone a letter without investing time and effort in it, instead of money. Perhaps this was cheating their system, but knowing that someone around here actually cared about you was the only thing of value to you that you could think of right now. A possibility to have them prove you wrong in your bitterness. “Nothing else, just one letter.”

"Wait, what?" Bruce was the first to speak up, with a frown on good face that mirrored everyone else's.

"My wish... I would like to receive a letter." You repeated in absolute certainty. Yes, this was the only right thing to do, if they liked it or not.

"A letter... Like the big glowing ones we used to have outside of Avengers tower?" Tony asked in a careful yet incredulous tone, perhaps to test the waters or perhaps properly misunderstanding you after all.

"As in, actual handwritten words on a piece of paper. You know, that old-fashioned form of communication people took to before computers and telephones?" You couldn't help the sharpness of your tone, nor the eyebrow raised at him in mild condescension. Perhaps you had picked up too many of Loki's mannerisms after all.

"What on earth would you want a letter for? A letter about what?" Bucky was the next to inquire, as the incredulity seemed to spread among the group like a disease that turned them all into morons.

"Well, coming up with what to write is part of the gift, isn't it?" You sighed almost softly, already well aware that this was likely going nowhere. But you couldn't make yourself back down and ask for anything else. Not when all you wanted was what that one letter could stand for. "It can be anything... Anything you would like to tell me and let me know about, or... anything you would like to just have someone listen to. Anyone."

"So, uh... Anyone wanting to take over Y/n's wish?" Tony inquired at last, long after your words had faded.

Silence.

"Nat, what about you?" He tried a direct approach next, and you guessed that he was doing this as a delayed payback for her complaint about the catsuit. Charming.

"You know, I'm actually terrible at the whole writing thing... I... I don't know, I'm really... not comfortable screwing the whole thing up on Christmas and all. Why don't you take it, Thor? I'm sure you had plenty of written letters in Asgard?" The redhead redirected the question with an innocent expression, avoiding your gaze quite like everyone else did to focus on the thunderer instead.

"I'm afraid the tales of my glorious battles really lose their punch when written down. And my handwriting is completely illegible, isn't it, Loki?"

The raven God made a non-committal noise without looking up from his book, and you knew right away that he hadn't paid any more attention than you would have done if the situation wasn't about you. If your eyes had stayed on him only for a second longer though, you might have noticed him muttering to himself how he'd be surprised if Thor even remembered how to write at all, in anything other than basic runes at least.

"Well, someone will have to take her wish." Tony snapped with a face painted in annoyance and a hint of dread he tried to hide behind a shallow veil of forced concern. "The whole thing doesn't work out if we skip a wish but make her fulfill someone else's."

Silence.

"C'mon guys, it's a letter, not a spaceship she's asking for." Steve tried one last time, but even he looked done and over the whole issue at this point. Still, he let his eyes travel over the crowd until someone faltered under his reproachful stare.

That someone was Bruce, in obvious defense of everyone else, seeing as he had already been assigned a wish to fulfill. "It's just... That's kind of an odd wish, you know? I don't know if anyone's really comfortable with this kind of thing. Perhaps it would be easier if Y/n made a different wish?”

“Right! It would hardly be fair… to Y/n... if one person was burde-... was tasked with this and then ended up not knowing what to write. This isn't what we normally do, so she might be... disappointed in what that person comes up with, and we wouldn't want that, right?" Tony started nodding even while he spoke, innocence painted on his face like an ill-fitted prop, as he picked up on Bruce's attempted recovery of the situation while everyone else started nodding along as well. But it didn't do them much good either way.

"If all of you are so very concerned about Y/n possibly not liking what one of you manages to write, why not make all of you write a letter to her for Christmas, then?" Loki suggested as offhandedly as if he had been involved in the conversation from the start, in a mostly annoyed boredom, and your eyes snapped to him in surprise in an instant. He hardly ever got involved in conversations if it could be helped, and you were certain he was only still here because Tony had forced him to, even though he apparently had no intention to get involved in the gift trade himself. So this now… was unexpected. "I'm sure if each of you writes down a few lines, Y/n might be able to nitpick something together that actually resembles a letter by the end of it."

"Shut it, Reindeer Games."

"Actually, Tony…” Steve interrupted in a blink, “That might not be the worst idea."

"What?" The billionaire snapped with a put-out expression, glaring at Steve from across the room in a way that made your skin crawl uncomfortably even just seeing it in profile. "You want everyone to write?! One letter each?!"

"Well, seeing as nobody wants to... be the only one to do so, perhaps it would be best if we all gave it a shot. Who knows, perhaps one of us gets struck by inspiration before Christmas morning. I'm sure Y/n wouldn't mind a couple more pages to read. And we don't know how many of us will manage to finish their letter on time, so this way she will at least get something on Christmas morning."

A flurry of murmurs went through the gathered heroes, and you honestly regretted ever voicing a wish in the first place. Especially that wish. It was obvious that nobody wanted to write you a bloody letter, and it was even more obvious that nobody cared enough about you to try either way. In a way, you couldn't even blame them... This really was a far stretch from the Poptarts and combat gear that had been asked for prior to your turn. And apparently, none of them understood why you had asked for such a seemingly inane thing in the first place; a thing that to them held no more value than the paper it was written on. To you however, it meant a great deal. Or it had, until it had just become an obligation for them to get done in order to avoid Steve's side-eye of righteousness. Now it didn't mean more than a duty fulfilled to avoid a guilt-trip. Though perhaps somewhere deep down you could appreciate Steve's moral code forbidding him to deny your wish while everyone else's was granted. And of course there also was the fact that Loki had gotten himself involved for no other reason than to see to it that your wish was actually fulfilled and not replaced by something you hadn't asked for. Well, perhaps he'd also done it to snap at them with a not overly subtle insult. But that was only fair.

“Right…” Tony sighed at last, then forced on a slightly too positive smile while focusing back on the tablet in his hands. “I'll write down ‘letter’ for Y/n… And ‘everyone’ as the assignee.”

The distribution of gift assignments went on far more easily after that, and your mind went back to everywhere but the here and now. Mainly to Loki, then on a minor rampage about why you should not be reading too much into his actions, then back to Loki yet again. Your eyes followed suit on the latter occasion, studying him sitting there in the other corner of the window, with his outstretched legs crossed elegantly at the ankles… The dark grey of his divinely expensive tweed slacks posed such a sharp contrast to his pale skin and yet such a complementary visual to the soft Christmas lights reflecting in the polished black marble tiles beneath him. The way his hair covered his face like a silky curtain on the side that was facing the Avengers, but was tucked behind his ear on the side facing the window. Your brows furrowed slightly in concentration as you let your eyes trail over his reflection in the glass wall separating the living room from the deep night outside… In a way you couldn't put your finger on just yet, his reflection looked different than the version of him you saw across from you. Truer, even if only by a hunch. The thought seemed simultaneously proven right and rendered even more confusing when his eyes in the reflection met yours for a startling five seconds, before you realised that the version of him really in the room with you was still looking down at his book. A jolt shot up your spine, releasing a ravine of goosebumps in its wake, and when Loki's reflection raised an eyebrow up at you, you understood with just as much of a start that you had been caught shamelessly staring at him. Before the heat had a chance to become visible on your face, you turned back towards the group of heroes on the sofas in the middle of the room. Just in time for Wanda to provide the second disturbance in the force, so to speak.

“I don't want anything. Seriously.” She sounded about as exasperated as she looked, obviously having voiced the same thing before without success. “I'm still getting Clint his arrows, of course, I just don't want anything given to me in return. I don't need anything.”

“This isn't about needing, it's about wanting.” Tony gave her a look, then raised his arms in a gesture of exaggerated defeat. “None of us actually need this stuff, but it's Christmas and that means indulgence and being completely over-the-top.”

“Not everyone can afford to indulge, Tony.” Natasha argued in defense of her friend. “And not everyone wants to either. Some of us haven't been spoiled rotten all our lives.”

“Well, but we can still get her used to it now. You're never too old to get spoiled rotten.” Tony smirked, only half joking for all you could tell, then turned back to Wanda. “How about this: I'm getting you a puppy!”

“Stop being ridiculous.” Wanda hissed, then rolled her eyes. “If I have to make a wish, someone can get me a new set of sheets. Those at least are actually going to be useful.”

“Now you are being ridicu-...”

“I'll take on that wish.” The words left your lips before this inane discussion could continue any further. You hadn't yet taken on a wish to fulfill, but you knew you had to eventually, so getting Wanda new sheets was probably going to be the easiest for you to accomplish. Since Loki wasn't partaking, you didn't particularly care for whom you were getting a gift anyway. And Wanda could be surprisingly nice when she wasn't swarmed by the rest of the team. “If that's alright for you.”

“Sure, why not. At least I know Y/n won't get me a puppy instead.” Wanda glared at Tony, then offered you a small nod and a smile in thanks. So that was settled, and you could go back to your own mind while the discussion around you continued on for a while longer, blending into a pleasant fog of white noise that mingled with the sound of the fire.

… … …

It was Thor's bark of laughter then that made you jump a good while later, that made your eyes fly open to the suddenly far too bright sparkle of the Christmas lights, and that brought your mind to function with the odd sensation of half of your body freezing from leaning against the window and half of it scorching from sitting too closely to the fireplace without moving. You hadn't realised you'd fallen asleep, in the middle of the bloody living room at that! Fuck… You groaned under your breath as your joints cracked, and your neck twinged uncomfortably upon moving for the first time in who knows how long. A subsequent look around told you that it must have been a while, because more than half of the group was gone by now and there were only a couple of the more socially inclined guys left on one of the sofas. Most of them had mugs in their hands that most likely contained something alcoholic, and going by the volume of Thor's laughter, they weren't on their first round of whatever they were having either.

Stretching out as subtly as you could, your eyes once more sought out Loki in his corner. He was still here, much to your surprise, and still reading just like he had been doing before you'd drifted off. Normally he left these gatherings as soon as he was free to go, as did you, but apparently he had chosen to stay behind for once just now. You let out an involuntary breath of relief; knowing that he'd been sitting there the entire time posed more of a comfort to you than you'd like to admit. Mostly because it made your (sleep-induced) lingering far less suspicious, but also because it meant that nobody had played a prank on you while you'd been off to dream-land. As contradictory as it seemed at first glance, having Loki close by actually spared you from the worst of what the others might come up with, simply because the rest of the team strangely didn't dare to play pranks in the presence of the God of mischief. Whether they were trying not to give him any ideas or simply feared he would try to turn the whole thing against them somehow, you didn't know. But while Loki was around, nobody had as of yet dared to prank you. And he himself, as previously pondered over already, didn't concern himself much with you either. Which, to your luck, included being generally spared from his elaborate and sometimes vicious pranks.

As if knowing that you were thinking about him (or that you were staring at him yet again), Loki finally lifted his eyes from his book and looked back at you with an unreadable expression, and this time at least his reflection and the real him moved in accordance. Good… Perhaps you'd just been more tired than you'd realised before, and your eyes had played a trick on you. But who could ever be sure about anything involving Loki, huh? There was no use in trying to figure this one out, nor any point to it.

Thus you merely held his gaze in more certainty now than the time before, the one that had maybe happened, and finally offered him a soft smile. You couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at you long enough for you to do that. A moment passed, as did something between you, unspoken, in a language without words you couldn't unriddle. Then he looked back down to his book and you rose to your feet to finally get out of here. There was no doubt Loki would be leaving sooner rather than later as well, now that the level of intoxication among the horde of heroes had started to be mirrored in their level of noise. You didn't want to be the one left alone with drunk Tony, Thor and company… Where they'd simply ignore Loki if he was the last to leave, they surely wouldn't spare you their unrestrained commentary. But apparently, they were too far gone to realise that you weren't, in fact, the last one still here.

“Y/nnnnn!!!!” Thor grinned from ear to ear, and leaned over the backrest of the couch to stop you on your way to the door by wrapping his arms around your middle, looking at you upside down. Geez, that man's arms were like tree trunks… And you were positively stuck. You wouldn't mind a friendly gesture like that, if it ever happened outside of him being drunk and loopy. But now, like this, it just made all available muscles in your body tense up in alarm. If Thor wasn't careful, he could snap your spine like a twig.

“Hey Thor.” You spoke in a hopefully calm tone, looking down at him tiredly either way. Perhaps it was best to use easy words for now. “I would like to go to bed, would you mind letting me go so I can do that?”

“Only if you answer us a question first. Then I'll grant you safe passage to bed.”

“What, like the sphinx? Are you gonna eat me alive if I give the wrong answer?” You couldn't help snorting, and were met with multiple confused looks at once. Right… Apparently they'd either never heard of the story of Oedipus and the sphinx before, or they were too wasted to see the parallel to Thor's turn of phrase just now. You sighed. “Yeah, fine, I'll answer your question if it means I'll get to go to bed.”

“Sooo…” Thor's face twisted into that loopy grin again. “Why do you want a letter for Christmas? The guys and I just haven't been able to figure it out.”

Of course… That's what this was all about. Sighing, you decided that you might as well just give them a truthful answer. If their night continued as it was, they likely wouldn't remember ever asking you that question in the first place by tomorrow morning. Leave alone remember your answer to it.

“Fine… I'll explain it to you.” You started, and shifted in Thor's death grip until you were facing the entire group. This was uncomfortable, both physically and socially… But you'd been through worse. “Actually, the reason I asked for a letter is not about the letter at all.”

“What?! That doesn't make any more sense than the wish in the first place!”

“Zip it and listen to the sober person.” You immediately snapped back at Tony for the rude interruption, then went on as calmly as you could, with your heart beating too fast and in the sole comfort of the knowledge that they wouldn't remember by the time the clock strikes midnight. “Asking for a letter isn't only about the object, even though there is a certain delight in the physicality of someone's handwriting that is as unique as their voice conserved on a piece of paper… But it's also about what it represents. A letter’s value doesn't solely lie in what the letter says, but in knowing that the person who wrote it to you cares enough to take the time and put in the effort to do something that would make you happy, even if it's not easy for them. Especially if it's not easy for them. Writing a letter is an act of caring, and therefore it gains its entire meaning as much in the words it contains as in the effort made to write them.”

Silence.

Then, a snort, a giggle, all no longer to be contained.

“Could you… Could you maybe say that again, in words thy devout peasants are able to understand?” Tony got out between broken laughter and indignant snorts, moving to wipe away a few tears of unadulterated amusement from the corners of his eyes. “Please, Y/n, you… You're Shakespeare in letters! Give us some more!”

More laughter followed, from multiple people, and you sighed with a soft smile. In a way, it was reassuring to discover that your bitterness was justified after all.

“Yeah, say it again!” Thor bellowed out a second later, in a fit of laughter, while squeezing your middle so tightly that you let out a pained squeak and tears sprung to your eyes instantly.

“She will do no such thing.” Loki’s appearance behind you was startling, but not unexpected. The threatening undertone to his voice however very much was, and your back once more turned into a plain of goosebumps, especially at his unusually close proximity. “And if my dear brother doesn't let go of her now, I'm afraid your night will come to an unpleasant ending sooner than any of you would like.”

“Lokiiiii!” Thor sang in the same delighted tone he'd used to address you before, but finally released you from his grip to reach for his brother instead, who for his part had been wise enough to stay at enough of a distance. “Join us, brother! This fruit-based mead Stark has bought is fantastic!”

“I politely but unabashedly decline.” Loki replied flatly, then placed a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder and started steering you towards the door. “We're going to bed.”

“Eeeyyyyeee, Loki's finally taking Y/n to bed!” Thor shouted in delight, and you inevitability flinched under the raven God's touch while continuing on towards the door nonetheless. Both of you ignored the uproar of laughter coming from the group of men, the fits of giggles, which only seemed to increase in volume once the glass door had fallen shut behind you.

“I'm sorry about… that.” You finally spoke up, after struggling to regain some composure during your journey through two hallways and half a staircase. “And thank you for bailing me out.”

Loki merely hummed quietly in return, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his book clasped tightly in his long digits by his side. But he kept walking next to you towards your shared floor, even though he certainly could have passed by you easily and rushed ahead without an effort. So you kept quiet for now, and merely appreciated the fact that he was effectively walking you home.

… … …

You couldn't sleep. Every time you tried to close your eyes, your mind would start spinning with a plentitude of impossibilities, with actions and reactions in a web of relation and creation and by the end of it, you still were left none the wiser about the events of tonight. There were so many things to unpack… So many strings of thought and loose ends of events which you desperately tried to weave into a pattern that resembled something sensical. It was a lost cause; you couldn't figure Loki out. Honestly, you'd be surprised if the guy could figure himself out to begin with. Not only had he quite literally saved your arse from an uncomfortable situation, but he had a) snarked everyone into writing you a letter for Christmas, b) kept an eye on you while you'd taken a nap in the middle of the goddamn living room, and c), actually physically touched you, even though he didn't exactly have to. You could still feel the echo of his touch on your shoulder, his fingers curling around your collar bone so delicately that you were surprised you could still feel it in the first place. But the question that ghosted around your mind remained to be just WHY he had done all of that, all of a sudden.

Fine, if you were allowing yourself to be delusional here for a moment already, then this hadn't exactly been the first time he'd done something like that… There also was that one time when he'd turned your bowl of Halloween candy into a heap of vermin just as Tony was about to steal some from you, only to turn it back as soon as you returned to your seat. Or the time he'd frozen the last glass of iced tea when Bucky had tried to take it, and it had taken so long to thaw that by the time it had, everyone but you had been gone for a mission. Or even those couple of times when nobody had remembered to call you for dinner when you were working late, and you'd still received a notification from FRIDAY down in your lab, only to have everyone surprised when you showed up for the meal a couple minutes later. Well, you weren't exactly sure if that last one had been Loki, but it was very much possible in hindsight. Then there was the thing with the pranks that had never targeted you even once. And the sincere civility Loki met nobody but you with, as well as being somewhat honest to you for all you could tell. Or any of the gazillion times where he'd drawn everyone's attention to himself with a rude comment or a condescending remark directed at one or the other Avenger, just when you were being picked on or otherwise made uncomfortable by someone on the team. Perhaps, in the end, this instance today really had just been the most obvious of them all. The one that finally made you wonder if you were even being delusional in the first place, were even interpreting too much into too little, were even just an overthinking nerd with a crush on your colleague. Perhaps, it was more than that after all.

Your little soliloquy of reason was interrupted by the faintest noise to your right, the barely even audible friction of something being slid through the gap under your door. Now that was new as well. Interesting.

In an instant you sat up in bed, still wide awake but at least for a good reason now, and swung your naked legs over the edge to get up as quietly as you could. You weren't an assassin like Natasha by a far stretch, but you could be quiet as a mouse when needed – slinking into the kitchen and out again completely unseen in the middle of the night was good practice in that regard. Now however the reason for your quietness eluded you for the most part, as your eyes fell onto a few sheets of neatly folded paper lying on your floor, looking as inconspicuously promising as only folded paper could. Hesitating for a mere second, you picked it up and returned to your bed with both a frown and a smile on your face. If this was supposed to be your first Christmas letter, its author must be quite eager to get it over with. But that wasn't the only thing making you frown, nor smile for that matter.

Well, for one thing, it wasn't Christmas yet. That was still a week in the future, and as far as you'd gotten Tony's meaning in that regard, early gifts weren't an option. Then, there was the fact that these sheets were not placed in an envelope, and that they were of a nice type of paper. Really nice, in fact, and you couldn't imagine who might own a stack of these, leave alone who'd be willing to waste them on you. Lastly, it was bloody three o'clock in the morning; who on earth would stay awake until now to write you a letter? Well… You'd know the answers to all three matters as soon as you started reading. But you weren't impatient, and in fact, you even quite liked the mystery. So you took your time to light a candle on your nightstand first – despite Tony telling you a million times that they were old-fashioned and impractical junk and that you should rather be using the perfectly functional (and perfectly boring) bedside lamp the room was equipped with – and even threw on a wool jumper before getting comfortable under your covers once more, letter in hand. If this would turn out to be nothing more than someone's rushed attempt to fulfill their Steve-enforced duty as soon as possible, you would at least have this moment still, the feeling that preceded all knowledge. A moment where in your hands could rest the world and the void at once.

You scoffed in amusement when your mind wanted to give it the title ‘Schrödinger’s letter’, then finally shook your head with a smile on your lips, and started to read.

It was an act of sheer idiocy to ask for a letter as your Christmas gift.

You frowned, the sentence keeping your eyes drawn to its words for a moment longer. That was the first line, one you had certainly not expected. And yet, you had to smile even wider as you went to read on.

Making a wish like that means to reveal a truthful desire, to open up a door to your mind that will inevitably lead everyone who enters onto a laid out path too close to your heart. It invites them in to ravage what they can and leave the place in ashes without turning back. Trusting them not to would be just as foolish as hoping they come to understand why they shouldn't through the act of entering alone. They don't know what they are doing; they live their lives on the barren plains of ignorance. Your folly is to think that watering what is already dead would lead to any more than heartbreak and wasted time. Don't be disappointed when they fail to fulfill your wish, because they will, and there will be little consolation in the knowledge that they still remain unaware of their doings’ consequence. Its implications that you feel and they cannot even see. Don't hand them the blade with which to stab you, Y/n. Your pain would mean nothing to them, and there is hardly a glory in suffering for suffering’s sake.

And yet, if I said I didn't understand your folly better than I'd like to and more closely than I should, I would be lying to you. For a reason that is yet beyond me, lying to you is actually the very last thing I want, and have wanted for a while now. You will have to take a chance and believe me on that. And you will have to believe me when I say that if there was a way to trick people into caring for you, I would have done so months ago. Let the ill success of my many years of trying be a warning sign to you. Don't waste your time, Y/n. Been there, done that, and it's a place I don't want to see you in. That's why I deem your actions an emblem of idiocy, even though your reasons do make perfect sense to me. In that sense, one might call it a shame that the same cannot be said about anyone else who was fortunate enough to become a victim of your scheme tonight. It was amusing to observe, I must admit that. Only too subtle to be crowned by success, and too vain to be worth upkeeping.

Now, before you let the paper in your hands fool you any longer, let me assure you that I consider myself to be anything BUT a victim of tonight's events. I do not feel obligated in any way to write to you and quite frankly, I couldn't care any less about this Christmas trade-off. If I have established some sense of myself in you at all at this point, you should be well aware that I would never let a wayward soldier or a tin of a fool bully me into doing as they please. Nor, however, am I selfless enough to write to you for the sake of consolation over everybody else's ignorance. What this letter is, both the words and the effort in them, is me taking what you have started by making your wish and using it to my end and benefit. You will see what I mean, eventually.

There are six more nights until Christmas. I will write six more letters to you. And you will not tell a single soul about what you have read in any of them. I am to presume you can live with that.

You sat on your bed, frozen, staring at the flowing cursive that had so abruptly stopped with that sentence and was making way now for nothing but half an inch of white space before the page ended. No signature, no customary words of shallow politeness. Yet, there wasn't a speck of doubt in your mind that this letter had been penned by no other than Loki. The wording, the thoughts, the intent in it gave away what he likely hadn't intended to be a secret in the first place. But he had been right to forego any sign, you knew it was his doing anyway. In a way, it was written all over the pages in a wordless language between each of the lines.

You couldn't stop your heart from skipping a beat, your lips from curling upward, your spine from tingling all the way up into your skull. Of course a big part of that was due to your sheer inability to refrain from acting like a fool in love, whose subject of affection had just graced them with a speck of attention and – in Loki's terms – affection… But it was also more than just that.

Your bitterness about everyone else's ignorance had just become sharply contrasted by the revelation that exactly that bitterness was the ultimate manifestation of your own care for them, and that stopping to care in return would not make you a bad person, but rather a sane one. In a way, the permission to mirror what you were met with held a comfort you hadn't known you needed, at least not until it was just now presented to you in black on white. You didn't have to care about them… That revelation, comforting as it was, also had something weirdly empowering to it. If you chose to care about them, occasionally and in international doses, it meant that you were a stronger person than they took you for and a better teammate than they likely deserved. If that wasn't empowering, you didn't know what else could be. Perhaps that is not what Loki had meant to do, but it undoubtedly was what his doing had caused for you; a revelation, and a deep comfort.

You didn't have to be upset that they didn't care in return… You didn't have to try brightening the place of disregard they kept putting you in. Which is why Loki wasn't trying to give you a light to fend off the darkness… He was dousing the torches of delusion that had blinded you to seeing the benefit of embracing the night. You would have appreciated that coming from anyone, and coming from Loki, it rather stoked a different kind of flame you had tried not to get blinded by until now. Not to be burned in. But as it was, you surrendered to the wildfire with an almost amused sigh and without getting burned, and leaned back against your headboard.

Did he know of all the right ways in which he had given you hope and comfort by eradicating the very same in all the wrong places? He must be aware of that… He must see that you couldn't take the letter for the kind of selfishness he tried to make it seem to be. But who could ever really know, with Loki… He might just as well be playing at a different game than you believed you were joining him in.

Six more letters. Six more chances for you to figure out what this was all about. You didn't doubt he was following his own kind of agenda by an intricate plan, but somehow you did believe him when he said he wouldn't be lying to you. He never had. He'd ignored you entirely for the first two and a half months of your stay with the Avengers, sure, but he hadn't betrayed you. Perhaps, now, you would get a step closer to finding out the reason for that.

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lov3nerdstuff · 2 years

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Hey there guys 💚✨

Today I'm coming to you with a bit of a different kind of content for once! As some of you might know, I'm a researcher in graduate school and that means I get to choose what I want to look into. So obviously, and how could it be any different, I'm conducting a study on fictional villainy and fandom culture! I chose to focus on Loki for this part of the study, and I want to examine what fans like about his character and how they perceive and partake in the fandom!

Therefore I came up with a quick survey that I need as many fans as possible to partake in so that I can collect the data I need for my project. The survey is complete anonymous, there are no ads or trap doors and it's solely made with Google tools. Nobody but me and my research partner have access to the collected data and we will only be using it for academic purposes. (Aka in the hopes to make some more people in the field aware of how diverse and valuable both fandom cultures and ambiguous characters such as Loki are!) Phrased differently, the predominant goal of this survey is to shed light onto the heavily stigmatised subject of fandom culture and provide data to aid in reevaluating fandoms as both valuable subcultures and relevant fields of study. In filling out this survey, you help us to investigate why (and how) so many people can connect over their shared fondness for Marvel's God of Mischief.

TLDR: I'm studying Loki for a research project and therefore I need as many fans as possible to partake in the survey that is linked at the top of this post so that we can prove that fandoms and ambiguous or villainous characters are diverse and valuable parts of culture and have an impact on many people's lives.

To be able to hear as many voices as possible, and thus for this project to succeed, to hopefully make an impact and raise awareness, I'm tagging some people who might be able to help signal boost the whole thing to their communities and followers, but EVERYONE is very very welcome to share this post with as many people as you can 💚 You're also very welcome to copy the link and share it with people outside of Tumblr! Every reblog is appreciated, and every voice heard is a valuable contribution to the project. Again, it's completely anonymous and we're not collecting any data that you yourself don't actively give us by answering these 10 quick questions!

Thank you so very much in advance already 💚✨

Love, Kay ( @lov3nerdstuff )

@sserpente @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles @obsessedwithloki @dailyloki @imagine-loki @ladybugsfanfics @lokihiddleston

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lov3nerdstuff · 2 years

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Hi! I wanted to ask if I could be added to your general tags list please😊😊

Of course, love! 😊💕✨ I have added you! So glad that you're interested in my work 💚 have a lovely day!

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lov3nerdstuff · 2 years

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.37}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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'That look on your face is not about the dunderhead gang, is it?' He asked, straight to the point, which Robin was grateful for.

'No. We need to talk. With words. Now.' Her reply was a mere staccato, phrased like that in order for her request to even come out clear over the mess her thoughts had become once more. Going by the look on his face, he had understood her nonetheless.

'Astronomy tower. In five minutes.'

'What about Morgan?'

'He is taken care of for now. I will explain later, for now you should excuse yourself from your friends.'

With a sigh, Robin felt his presence leaving her mind, a moment before she watched how he got up from his seat, nodding towards his colleagues before making an exit himself. Robin sighed again, then turned to her friends once more to excuse herself as suggested. It was Sunday still, which usually would've meant tutoring for the majority of them, but since Cas had Quidditch practice after breakfast and Jorien wanted to go back to Hogsmeade with the boys for some browsing in the bookshop there (which Cas still refused to set foot in), Robin was only too glad to be off the hook in that regard. So all she did was to wish her friends a good time, before at last she got up and made an effort not to haste too much on her way out of the great hall.

In the hallways however, once the grand door had closed behind her, she couldn't keep herself from hurrying all the way to the astronomy tower, jogging up the stairs only to arrive on the opening at the top with a heaving chest and rasping breaths. Snape, having left earlier than her, was already standing in the opening that overlooked the landscape, but his gaze was rather fixed on Robin than on the vast nature. He looked concerned, but Robin honestly couldn't blame him for that, after she had basically summoned him to talk to her immediately, in grave insistence.

"Are you alright?" Was the first thing he asked, even before Robin came to stand next to him. "You seemed to be enjoying breakfast, and then… something shifted."

"I'm fine, don't worry." She half sighed, half coughed, for the air up here that now flooded her lungs was surprisingly cold, with a crispness that had an equal edge to it. Then again, it was only March still… Perhaps that wasn't all too surprising. "But I thought of something that couldn't wait until you're done with detention later."

"And what would that be?"

"It can wait until you've told me why Morgan isn't an issue and taken care of currently." She quirked an eyebrow up at him, upon which he rolled his eyes in that exaggeratedly exasperated manner that never failed to make her smile. And her smile, in return, never failed to bring forth one of his own. Even if both lasted for only a brief moment of sweet relief now, before they were back to facing the sheer endless mountain of problems at hand.

"I had a… conversation with Minerva during breakfast." He started then, and Robin's brows furrowed in an instant, but she didn't dare interrupt him. "She inquired if I knew what happened to Damion yesterday, and I chose to tell her the truth instead of ignoring her as usual. Part of the truth, at least."

"And just why did you do that?" Robin couldn't help asking, curiously, but without any hint of accusation. "I thought you weren't overly fond of her."

"I remembered what you said yesterday evening. She would make a good ally if it wasn't for the headmaster's involvement, and since we have figured that she is already going against his wishes by helping you, I believed that she might be of further assistance as well if only she knew the extent and urgency of the current ongoings."

"So you told her… what exactly?"

"The only matter of relevance she didn't already know in the first place. That you are in immediate danger, should you at any point in time find yourself alone with Morgan."

"I see… Having her know this might actually turn out beneficial for us, you're right about that. And what did she say?"

"She offered to keep him busy for all of today, or at least until dinnertime when I am back with you again, so that you are at no risk of running into him throughout the day without any of the other professors present. It is only a short term solution, admittedly, but it is the best we can currently hope for."

Robin nodded, then sighed, and finally let out a huff in bitter amusement. "So it's either him or I who has to have a babysitter at all times now, huh? But I guess it really is the only way to deal with this until we've found a way to end it once and for all." Another sigh. "It was nice of McGonagall to offer to do that for me. Or for us, rather. Remind me to thank her at some point."

"I believe she would do the same for every student at this school. She simply is that meddlesome, and the motherly caring type.” A pause. “Then again, Minerva has been quite fond of you in particular for a while now, come to think of it. But I believe she still doesn't like me much even after all these years."

"Oh, I think she does like you." Robin gave him an amused half smile. "Why else would she still be talking to you during every meal, even if you usually pretend to ignore her? I doubt she'd put up with your scowls if she truly didn't care."

"Be that as it may, we didn't come up here to discuss Minerva's sentiments. Would you at last be so kind as to enlighten me about your urgent idea, while we still have the time?" He replied smoothly, which however only served to further Robin's amusement. They both had never been particularly good at acknowledging when other people didn't, in fact, despise them… but they were always rather quick to point it out for each other in return. But Snape was right, they hadn't come up here to talk about their lack of confidence in their own likeability, but about Robin's revelation. So that's where to begin.

"As we have previously unveiled, Dumbledore had a reason to tolerate the ties between you and me. It is quite apparent now that he has detailed knowledge about this entire prophecy and its consequences, seeing as he was the one to give Morgan the portrait and the box of parchments in the first place. And as you have rightly so pointed out before, Dumbledore could long have put an end to it all, had he wanted to." Robin started, and while she knew that they had already discussed this bit, it was the only logical point for her to start her elaborations now, both in order to explain and to sort through her own thoughts.

Snape nodded once in return, a frown creasing his brows while he crossed his arms over his chest, but his entire attention as well as his gaze was focused on Robin. "Yes. We already knew that much."

"Indeed. We know that he tolerates you and me as an item because of the prophecy. But we thought that it was to strengthen my end. Our end."

"Yes, we did, but what is your point? If this is how my students feel in my classes when I refuse to actually answer a question, I cannot say I am enjoying it all that much from their perspective."

The amusement was back in Robin's voice, the small smirk on her lips, all in but a second. "You mean you don’t enjoy feeling thoroughly confused and somewhat scared?"

"Your point is…?" He rolled his eyes as always, then raised an eyebrow at her in question.

"Right." Robin sighed, pushing the humour aside, and went back to business. "I don't think that Dumbledore actually tried to strengthen my end. Had he truly wanted the prophecy to end, I'm very sure he would've found a faster and more efficient way of making that happen. By not giving Morgan the portrait, for a start, or by not giving him way more information than what he gave to us."

"I see… In that case however we would have to ask ourselves yet again what it actually is that Dumbledore wants and plots."

"Precisely. Even though that should be nigh impossible to do; the man is about as transparent as a brick wall. Figuring out what he wants is… vain, really. Well, unless-..." Robin stopped in the middle of her sentence, creasing her brows before her eyes widened in return at her own sudden realization. In but a second, her eyes were fixed back on Snape in front of her with a new spark of excitement in them. "Unless he has already told me without meaning to!"

"What?"

"At the end of sixth year, you remember? I went to his office after the end of term feast and he told me to keep my relationship with you behind closed doors."

"How could I ever forget that…"

"Well, he didn't just say that. When I asked him what he gets out of encouraging the ties between you and me, he told me that I'm thinking in the wrong dimensions. He was being surprisingly honest with me, now that I think of it."

"That should be taken as the very first indicator of deceit already. The more open and honest he seems, the less of either he is."

"So he was lying?"

"As far as I can tell, he lies about as often as you or I do. Which is to say, not at all."

"Fine, so he tried to mislead me with the piece of actual information he gave me. Is that more like it?"

Snape nodded, but the inquiring expression didn't leave his features. "Presumably. What did he tell you though?"

"That I should ask myself what advantage our relationship might bring up in general, and who might profit from it. And who might profit from that in return and so on, until at long last the chain leads to whatever he gains from it." Robin let out a huff between amusement and annoyance at the memory. "I remember telling him that he was pointing me to a deliberate string of causes and effects estimated from a specific point he did not reveal to me. Meaning it's basically impossible to guess what he would gain from it."

"Your memory is remarkable as ever, but I believe in the current light of matters, you would be wrong about that." Snape replied, and when it was Robin's expression now that was all but inquiring, he went on. "See it this way: what is the obvious meaning behind this statement?"

"Well, we thought he meant that it would strengthen my side of the prophecy, and thus that he wants the prophecy to end through me."

"Exactly. And if we take into account what we just discussed about the misleading nature of his truths? What could he have meant instead?"

"Gods, Sev, just tell me!" Robin groaned, and barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. He really could be quite insufferable at times, especially when he took too much joy in making her guess.

"I have no idea. It was an honest question."

"Oh…" That, Robin hadn't expected. Obviously they both were just figuring all of this out, together. And just like her, he tried to supply answers by asking the right questions. She could very well work with that, and thus went to attempt answering his question. "Well, I still think Dumbledore meant that you obviously would help me with the prophecy, with your knowledge and skill. That much must have been obvious to him back then."

"He usually sees through people like they are made of glass. He knows their intentions and actions, sometimes long before they do. To him, everyone is just a mere chess piece in his schemes."

"Well, everyone-... Everyone but me, I believe." Again, Robin found herself surprised at her very own string of reasoning. But now that she really thought about it, the revelation almost seemed obvious. Upon Snape's questioning look, she repeated the statement. "Dumbledore apparently can't predict my actions and motives."

"What makes you think that?"

"He told me so, but I don’t think he actually meant to tell me. So it was probably indeed the unfiltered truth for once."

"That should complicate matters, for him at least. If he cannot estimate what course of action we will take then-..."

"Wait a second…" She cut him off as her line of thought continued. "Dumbledore said he can't predict my actions… But he believes he knows you quite well! He must believe himself to be able to predict your actions a lot more easily than mine!"

In an instant Snape's brows furrowed again, and his question came out more as a grumble of discontent. "Did he say that?"

"Yes! And if you and your knowledge are meant to be to my advantage, and Dumbledore can more or less predict your actions, then he must believe that eventually we will end up doing something he can see coming by predicting what you will do! He wants us to act a certain way, to do something specific, which he believes you will initiate eventually." Robin concluded, excitement and urgency swimming together in her tone now. They were getting closer at last, bloody finally, to whatever it was that Dumbledore was hiding. To figuring out a little bit more of this mess.

"That would mean he ultimately expects you to subordinate to me and my will, at least in terms of choosing a plan of action. Which is a ridiculous thought, in absolutely every implication."

"Well, not from his standpoint." Robin shrugged almost easily, but when Snape only frowned at her in return, she went on to explain with a half smile on her lips. "You've changed, Sev, as have I. We have changed each other over the years, and he hasn't considered that. You're not the same person he used to know anymore."

"Obviously." He huffed in return, then remained silent for a few seconds while his eyes wandered over the distant nature below them. Finally, and only when Robin next to him took his hand and laced their fingers together in equal silence and calm, he went on to add, "I'm glad that things have changed. That everything has changed."

"Me too." Robin answered with a sincere smile, giving his hand a gentle squeeze out of the uproaring adoration she was consumed by now. But now was not the time for anything more than a brief gesture of reassurance, she knew that all too well. But this chaos wouldn't last forever either.

"On the other hand," Snape eventually went on in a more factual mode, "I certainly don't have a lesser knowledge of magic these days than what Dumbledore would expect. Whatever it is he wants me, and in extension of that us, to do, it very likely still isn't too far off from what I would have considered to do anyway."

"Right… Whatever he wants from us, it has to be something we might do in regards to the prophecy. So what is it that you would do next?"

"I have been thinking about just that all morning."

"To which end?"

"None." He sighed almost apologetically, and finally turned back to look at Robin. "Yet."

She offered him a smile in return, a small reassurance and comfort just like their still interlaced hands were as well. "It's alright… We will think of a solution to this mess. And it won't be the one Dumbledore is bargaining for. I won't have him get what he wants only to leave us in the ashes of his creation yet again. We are better than that… better than him and his ploys."

A pause. Then a not-smirk came onto his lips and even turned into a hint of a smile while his eyes still remained fixed on hers. "You truly are the most astonishing creature I have ever had the pleasure to know, are you even remotely aware of that?"

That out of place statement made Robin frown in an instant, but she also couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her in return. "Why, thank you… I wasn't expecting a compliment, but I certainly won't complain either. Just to be sure though, to what do I owe it this time?"

"I-..." He stopped right there, before he could even properly begin, then he took a silent breath instead and closed his eyes for a second before opening them again while pulling Robin the remaining bit closer to himself. With another silent sigh he placed a far too brief kiss on her forehead, holding her close for a moment longer, and then finally pulled back enough to look into her mildly confused face. "I have to go. Supervise the usual dunderheads in detention without committing a murder. Don't do anything stupid, even if Morgan is kept busy for the day. And find me immediately if anything is wrong, yes?"

"Of course." Robin replied with a smirk instead of dwelling on whatever it was he wasn't saying. Pushing him never served in her favour, while giving him space had worked all the better for it in the past. Yet, she couldn't help the tease on her lips after all. "Whatever you say. Professor."

"Careful, darling. You wouldn't want to spend the day in detention as well, would you now?" He quirked an eyebrow up at her with a poorly hidden smirk of his own, which only served to humour Robin even more.

"You know you wouldn't be able to focus on the dunderheads if I was anywhere remotely nearby."

"I could drop you off with Pomona. Or Filius." He was quick to counter, and Robin almost would've laughed.

"So that I keep them happy with my company?" She wiggled her eyebrows in such a ridiculous way that it did indeed make him snort despite his best efforts not to.

"You are insufferable." He sighed, but with a lingering smile on his lips and the very opposite words in his eyes.

Robin gave his hand another squeeze, then winked at him with a smirk before he could leave. "I love you, too."

… … …

Sunday passed by surprisingly quickly, as did the first few days of the last school week before the easter break. Robin had seen to it that she stuck around other people whenever possible, while on her way to and from classes or meals, despite how unusual and – quite frankly – unnatural doing so felt to her after years of avoiding everyone but her roommates as good as possible. Beyond that however she had gladly spent most of her time scooped up in the office or the lab with Snape, quite like always, and had it not been for their relentless studying of every last piece of parchment they had found in Morgan’s box for clues on how to end the bloody prophecy, Robin almost could have believed that everything was back to the ordinary. Morgan stayed at a constant distance, not even giving her a single glance during meals, and he even avoided Snape almost religiously by now. Needless to say, Robin still chose to remain absent from defense class that week.

It was only during Friday's charms class, that dreadfully boring afternoon class Robin didn't feel like she was learning anything of relevance from, that things took another turn. They were about twenty minutes in, and while Flitwick was happily rambling on about a ridiculously complex charm Robin had already learned by heart two years ago (something about different methods of organising magically extended spaces… That's about as exciting as it got in charms class these days), nobody was paying him too much attention. The ongoing lack of energy in the room changed drastically though, in the very moment the door flew open and a whirlwind of black demanded everyone's immediate attention.

Robin had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to keep from snorting… Snape still absolutely loved his dramatic entrances, and by now Robin was almost certain that at least part of the fear surrounding him was born from his unparalleled ability to startle people when they least expected it. At least it never failed to amuse her how the energy in the room shifted instantaneously whenever he was present. That amusement, however, was quickly wiped off her mind when she saw the sincere gravity in his expression even beneath the public scowl. Oh no… Something had happened, something she didn't even doubt was about the bloody prophecy. It always was, these days. They hadn't made any progress since Sunday, but as it seemed, that was about to change right here and now. For any other issue, he wouldn't have come here.

“Severus, what… What brings you here in the middle of the period?” Flitwick asked with a slightly weary smile, while Robin already packed up her belongings without wasting a second. Why the charms professor still even had to ask about Snape's motives was the only question she currently had no answer to; it wasn't the first time by far that Snape or sometimes even Sprout had come to collect her out of class for one or another important issue. It was more common than one could possibly still be oblivious to. She wondered if Flitwick really was that clueless.

“Robin. Obviously.” Snape replied tersely, and some people snickered only to be shut up with a menacing glare in an instant.

“Of course…” Flitwick sighed, then turned to Robin as she stepped up to stand in the aisle between the desks next to Snape. “You took note of the holiday assignment, yes? It's mandatory preparation for the NEWT examinations.”

“Of course, Sir.” Robin replied with a polite but feigned smile, giving the still weary looking professor in the front a nod in confirmation. “It'll be on your desk before the end of next week.”

“Very well.”

Without any further regards for the class he had inherited, Snape rushed Robin out of the room, and when the door fell shut behind them, his hand was on the small of her back as always, offering at least a small amount of comfort that was still somewhat appropriate for a public space.

“Are we headed to the office or the lab?” She asked in an instant, to at least gain an idea about the gravity of his revelation, and to thereby hopefully calm down the uproar of her nerves.

“Neither.” He replied in a toneless sigh, and continued to lead her through the hallways without another word.

“Your rooms?”

“No.”

“Then what's going on?”

No answer.

“Please, Sev�� I know something's up, I know you must have found out something of importance, going by the look on your face. Something that you're not telling me right now, for obvious reasons. But at least tell me where we're going. Please.” Robin spoke in a whisper, the message as clear in her eyes as in her words. It had been ages since she'd had to pry information from him like this, usually he was more than willing to share his thoughts with her even without her direct request. There had to be a reason he was refraining from doing so right now. “Or… is that part of the problem?”

He gave her a pointed look in silent confirmation, and Robin's stomach did another backflip only to resume its churning with nerves beyond that. Whatever he had uncovered, it was too great a risk to be spoken about even in the office or the lab. Bloody hell… She had no idea what it could be, and that thought was both frightening and exciting at once. It would bring change, be that for the better or the worse. She was willing to accept either if only it meant the possibility to finally be done with all of this.

Snape led her through some of the secret corridors, through a million doors and rooms and passages, until Robin didn't even know where exactly they were within the castle anymore. That was, until they suddenly found themselves outside again, under the grey sky and out in the cold. He still didn't say a word as they made their way further away from the castle, leaving the school grounds behind in favour of becoming more and more enclosed by trees and ragged stone.

“We're not running, are we?” Robin finally couldn't help asking, after twenty minutes of silent haste through the woods. “I mean… We're gonna go back to the castle after we've talked this through, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He finally answered her with spoken words again, and their walking pace slowed down to accustom the conversation. “It would obviously be better for everyone involved if you were to stay as far away from Hogwarts as possible, but I'm well aware that I could never convince you to leave just like that.”

“Not without you, at least.” Robin shrugged, offering him a half smile. “But we both know that's not going to happen, so there's no use discussing it. We are stuck here, and thus we'll have to be back inside before dinner. Anything else would draw too much attention.”

“Indeed.”

“Perhaps you should start explaining then. Why are we out here, and what revelation made you fetch me out of class in such a fashion?”

“There really is no easy answer to either of those questions, and I'd rather say their answers correlate in enough areas to make them only one answer to be given in the end, one which however is still of ineffable complexity nonetheless.” He replied evasively, and Robin huffed out a laugh while rolling her eyes. There really was no circumstance at all where he would ever not make things unnecessarily complicated just because he could. It would've been a lie if she said she didn't love that quirk of his, even if she would never admit that out loud.

“Perhaps you will just have to start walking me through this issue one answer at a time, then. From the very beginning on, if you will.” She said instead, half demand and half suggestion, then went to take a hold of his hand, interlacing their fingers in a subtle move like she had been doing for months now whenever they had a moment to themselves. It was the best silent affirmation and encouragement she could currently come up with, the only one with a clear message. “Whatever it is, after all this madness, it surely can't be that much of a shock anymore.”

“I think I know what Dumbledore wants.”

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