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sserpente · 2 years

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A/N: Requests from two anons. I know exactly what would make a perfect gift for President Loki. So let’s say that this is the canon story of how he got his new horned helmet, alright? ;-)

Words: 1133 Warnings: violence, a bit of angst

“Look at this stuff, isn’t it neat…” You sang to yourself as you dug your hands into the piles of debris—leftovers Alioth had not bothered to devour. You rarely came across useful things these days.

Electronic devices usually didn’t survive the pruning, making them completely useless—not to mention that the Internet connection in the Void was probably an utter mess. Every now and then, you found a few clothes that were still wearable and one time, there had been a pair of pretty earrings hidden in a cardboard jewellery box.

Food and toiletries were the most important things to look out for, though. Even gods had to eat and that included Loki. You had nothing else to do and while Loki usually enjoyed the comfort of his bed made from hundreds of stolen blankets and sleeping in, you grew restless after too much silence—even though the God of Mischief looked rather adorable when he was asleep.

You had been counting the days since your pruning. 311 in total. It had been shortly before New Year’s Eve—shortly before the TVA had shown up to stop Loki from running for president. Now you were stuck here and Loki had claimed you first as an assistant, then as a fuck toy and now as a lover.

You had probably lost your mind already, so why not fall for the most dangerous and unpredictable man you had ever met? What could possibly go wrong?

You sighed. 311 days. It was gonna be Christmas soon. Only here in the Void, you would hardly get to celebrate it. There weren’t even any trees for you to decorate, let alone anything to decorate them with. All you could do really was to pretend and maybe ask Loki for a merry illusion.

You frowned when your hands closed around a horn-like shape. You pulled it out, examining it with a smile. There were indeed two golden horns that were part of the head of a costume, possibly a Viking, and it reminded you of Loki’s helmet. He had lost it when you had been attacked by the TVA and was now unable to conjure it up given it never made it to the Void. He usually went for an illusion whenever he wanted to appear extra intimidating.

Maybe… you could surprise Loki with a Christmas present? Reaching for the dagger strapped to your thigh, you got to work, cutting out the golden part of the headpiece until you could rip it off. A little more shaping… it wouldn’t cover his whole head like his old helmet did but it would frame his face perfectly and highlight those gorgeous cheekbones of his.

You smiled to yourself. All you had to do was sneak it past Loki somehow and hide it until Christmas.

Loki’s mood had drastically changed when you joined him for breakfast a while later. He was distanced, cold and… almost cruel. A little like he had been when you first met. It was probably another Variant that had angered him with something but you had to admit, it had not quite ever been this bad.

“Loki… are you okay? Is there anything I can do? You seem… tense.”

“Tense?” He repeated, making you freeze. His tone… his tone made you want to flee the scene. “Do I?” He asked with his head tilted, his blue eyes narrowed at you. “It’s funny, is it not? How you offer people the tiniest amount of trust and they take it with their hands outstretched… but in the end, they will disappoint you. As always.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I have no idea what you are talking about, love.”

You flinched when he suddenly jumped up, sending the chair flying and the cutlery and dishes toppling over with a loud clatter that hurt your ears. His hands closed around your neck, dragging you up and backing you up until your back hit the wall, with Loki’s face only inches from yours.

“What are you hiding from me?” He hissed, his grip tightening. You gasped.

“L-Loki! What is happening, calm down, please! I’m not hiding anything!”

“Oh no? I watched you sneak back inside this morning, concealing something under that repulsive dress of yours.”

“Y-You said you liked this dress!”

“Oh, did I?” He scoffed. “Well, isn’t it just too bad I am the God of Lies, pet?”

Fuck. “Loki, listen to me! Okay, I did bring something in today, something that I hid and that I don’t want you to see. It’s a Christmas present, for Heaven’s sake. I… I found something in the debris that I thought you might like… and since there’s only a few days until Christmas…”

“Oh, are you still counting the days? Accept it, pet, we are not going anywhere. We are stuck here. What makes you think you can keep secrets from me now? I’m in charge!” He bellowed. You swallowed. That was the reason his campaign had failed. His grief and his anger, his desperate need for recognition had overwhelmed him and turned him into a megalomaniac tyrant. You knew he didn’t truly mean to hurt you—your heart stung nonetheless, tears forming in your eyes.

“I wanted to surprise you, alright? Go. I hid it under the spare bed. Go right ahead.”

Loki let go of you as if your skin was burning him all of a sudden. He gave you another glare, not uttering a single word as he marched into the spare room of his makeshift palace and flung the mattress away with a blast of his magic.

His lips parted when his blue eyes fell on the golden helmet. It had taken you another hour to shape it perfectly and make sure it would look as good as new. Now, you were not so sure anymore that he would have even liked it.

“Where did you find that?” He choked out after a moment of silence.

“The debris. It… it was part of a costume. A theatre costume, I presume. It reminded me of your helmet so I cut it out and shaped it. I was going to give it to you on Christmas Day.”

Loki took a deep breath… and then another.

“I, uh…”

“Don’t bother.” You knew what he could be like, after all. “You can throw it away if you don’t like it. I just thought… never mind.”

You turned to leave, if anything to hide the new tears worsening your sight as of right now.

“I do like it.” Loki suddenly said, grabbing your wrist. “Thank you.”

Your smile was weak. “You’re welcome.”

“And…” He paused, pulling you into his arms. “And you do look beautiful in this dress, pet.”

You closed your eyes. It was his way of saying that he was sorry.

A/N: Christmas has to be angsty with President Loki, right?

If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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thesearchforbluejello · 3 years

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Imagine a "Star Trek: Lower Decks" style sitcom in the Stargate universe. Stargate: SG-47... the crew that follows up on all the really boring planets SG-1 goes to once and never again. They always debrief with Walter instead of the General. They annoyed the Nox once and now they show up to pull pranks on SG-47 in revenge. Minor Goa'ulds catch them and are depressed they're not SG-1 or someone more important so they just release them.

My notifications ate this ask; I don't know when it's from, but I'm just seeing it now. Please accept this totally unedited bullshit fic as my apology and thanks for how hard this ask made me laugh. I'm definitely not supposed to be writing a final right now. And I know you said minor Goa'uld but like I couldn't resist this opportunity. Also, me, using a minific to talk about my obsession with what the hieroglyphs in a Goa'uld ship could be? More likely than you think.

A Soldier, a Linguist, a Botanist, and a Biologist Walk into a Ha'tak

Major Lissa Cannon emerges from the event horizon into the bright, clear sunlight of P4X-737. She takes a deep breath and immediately sneezes. "Great," she says.

Dr. Jess Abubakar passes her on the right, heading down the stone stairs of the gate platform without hesitation. "Better get used to it," he says with a cheerfulness that she doesn't-- and any reasonable person wouldn't-- share.

"Jess, I swear to God," Dr. Beth Rosenberg says as she follows him down the steps.

"You're just salty you have to help us collect samples," Jess counters, more affable than Cannon would have expected anyone to be before she actually started working with him.

Beside her, Dr. Chris Richardson just gives a wry smile before heading down the stairs after their teammates. Cannon sneezes again.

"It's the pollen!" Jess says as she joins the group. "Initial samples brought back by SG-1 indicate that it's at least twice as potent as anything we have on Earth."

"How is that a good thing," Cannon gripes even though she'd sat through the briefing and already listened to Jess and Bill Lee go on about how important it could prove to be.

"I mean, just think of the possibilities!" Jess says, more than happy to repeat himself. "We could synthesize new antihistamines, or even make existing ones more effective. We could develop new crops that are potentially more resistant to blights or unfavorable growing conditions."

"Yay," Beth says, drier than the climate on this planet has likely ever been.

"You're just mad because there are no indigenous people here to talk to," Cannon points out.

"You could talk to the plants," Jess says.

"Studies have proven that talking to plants encourages growth," Chris adds, soft-spoken as always.

"I'm not talking to the plants," Beth says.

"Why not?" Cannon asks. "With this much pollen in the air, after a few hours they might start talking back."

"Oof, like when SG-7 was on P8Q-984," Jess laughs. "That's not an experience I want to have for myself."

"Those were spores, not pollen," Chris corrects amiably as the team starts into the forested area beyond the field in which the gate sits.

"Sentiment's the same," Jess says.

Cannon hears a rustle in the undergrowth and raises her P-90, her team stopping immediately in defensive positions behind her. After a moment of nothing but birdsong and her own breathing, she relaxes. "Must've been an animal," she says.

"SG-1's initial exploration didn't indicate any indigenous animals on the ground," Beth says.

"Well, that's why we get their leftovers, because everything is just 'initial,'" Cannon points out. She takes the lead as they continue between the trees, rifle still ready in her hands just in case.

"Bloodthirsty squirrels is not on my extraterrestrial exploratory bucket list," Jess says.

"Yeah, mine neither," Cannon agrees. She's barely got the sentence out of her mouth when she hits a force field, face-first. "Motherfucker," she tries to say, a natural reaction, but the syllables come out muddled because her face is suddenly very numb. She drops to a knee and raises her rifle, looking for whatever danger has to be in the forest with them. Around her, her team drops the specimen cases they'd been carrying and raise their own weapons. They're not armed for this; SG-1's previous mission and the UAV surveys hadn't revealed anything dangerous enough to warrant coming through armed with anything more than Cannon's P-90, a couple of flash-bangs, and an assortment of 9mils and zats carried by her and her teammates. Except for Cannon, they're scientists, not soldiers.

"Lower your weapons," a voice commands from the trees.

"You lower your force field," Cannon calls back.

"I think not." Around them, Jaffa begin to materialize from the forest.

"Fuck," Cannon says.

The Jaffa strip them of their gear, tossing their vests, holsters, and packs in a careless pile on top of the specimen cases they'd dropped when the force field had initially gone up. They're surprisingly respectful about it, which Cannon almost laments because she's pissed off and ready to fight, even if she knows it's a fight she won't win. She watches their gear disappear from view in a flash of light as they're beamed up to a ship she knows must be waiting above.

Gold walls and a polished floor illuminated by dim lights materialize around them. Another group of Jaffa is waiting. One of their captors reports to a man Cannon assumes is his superior. She tries to pick of bits and pieces she recognizes from the language but doesn't get much.

"Wait," Beth says, "can you say that again? That's word isn't in the lexicon we've been developing."

The Jaffa looks at her sidelong in confusion before his superior barks an order.

"This way," he says. The Jaffa behind them push the team roughly forward.

"Yeah, I heard him," Cannon says, her face still numb and her words muddled, "relax."

They spend the next several hours sitting in a cell. Beth whips a notebook out of one of the pockets of her pants and starts making notes on the glyphs in their cell.

"Does that actually say anything?" Jess asks. "I've never been on a Goa'uld ship before."

A chorus of variants on "yeah, me neither" precede Beth's answer.

"It does, actually, though most of it just repeats. A lot of it is just vague, seemingly formulaic stories of someone's victories and conquering and blah blah blah, but the name has been chiseled out," she says, tapping a glyph that's clearly been destroyed deliberately.

Cannon turns her head against the wall from where she's sulking with her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. "Why?"

"My best guess? Whoever owns this ship now stole it from another Goa'uld and had their name erased. Think damnatio memoriae."

"Huh," Jess says, setting his hand of cards down to Chris's obvious annoyance. "But they kept the part about the victories?"

"Why not? Obviously they had someone spend all the time necessary to do this to the whole ship, so keeping the rest saved a hell of a lot of work. Plus, if they bested the guy this ship used to belong to, that's quite a flex." Beth shrugs and goes back to writing in her notebook. Jess picks up his cards again and Cannon can tell by the barest quirk of Chris's lips that they have the winning hand.

"You know what I'm thinking about right now?" Cannon says. "Mashed potatoes."

"Ugh, the mashed potatoes in the mess taste like plastic," Beth says without looking away from the wall.

"I know; once I start eating them, they're so disgusting I just can't stop myself. It's like the flavor gets grosser with every bite."

"They're not bad with the roast beef," Chris says.

"That's because the roast beef is the only palatable thing the mess serves besides jello," Jess points out.

"It was lemon chicken today," Cannon sighs. She rests her head against the wall again. "My vest had all my granola bars. What could these guys possibly want with us," she complains.

"Do you think they've realized that we're only number 47 because they want any potential enemies to think there are more SG teams than there really are?" Jess asks.

"I don't know," Cannon says stiffly, "but say that again a little louder and I'm sure they will."

Jess holds his hands up in placation, tipping his cards towards Cannon. Chris is about to destroy him with that hand.

"Well," Cannon sighs, "the good news is that I can feel my face again."

Heavy footfalls sound in the hallway and Cannon stands, shifting her weight to ease the stiffness in her legs. Beth hurriedly stuffs her notebook back in her pocket and Chris and Jess shove the cards into the pocket of Jess's pants.

"You will come with us," the Jaffa says.

"Sure," Cannon says as she leads her team after him. "I don't suppose you guys have any snacks on board this thing? You've got to eat, right?" He doesn't answer. "Didn't your mom ever teach you to share?"

The Jaffa ignores her and leads them into an open room with a throne at the fall wall. Ba'al surges to his feet as they enter. "Fool," he spits at the Jaffa beside him, who Cannon recognizes as the leader of the group that had captured them. "This isn't SG-1."

"My lord--"

"Who are you?" Ba'al interrupts.

"Major Lissa Cannon, leader of SG-47," she says, raising her chin.

"Forty-seven," Ba'al says in disbelief.

"We're a science team; we were studying the flora of P4X-737 when you so rudely interrupted."

Ba'al just looks at her. "You're scientists."

Jess raises his hand. "Doctor."

"Doctor," Chris agrees.

"Major," Cannon says with a shrug.

"Doctor," Beth says.

"I've seen this episode of M*A*S*H," Chris says.

"I did also once make a baking soda volcano for a sixth-grade science fair," Cannon adds.

Ba'al sits back on his throne, crossing one leg over the other and resting his elbows on the arms, looking the picture of a carefree megalomaniac.

"Bring them back to the surface," he orders the Jaffa with a lazy wave of his hand, without so much as raising his arm from the throne. "Finish studying your plants," Ba'al says, "I have no use for you."

"That's kind of rude," Cannon says.

The Jaffa drop them on the planet's surface and beam back up to the ship. Cannon pulls her vest off the pile, slings it over her shoulders, and pulls a granola bar out of the pocket. She rips it open and stuff it into her mouth, chewing as she zips her vest and secures her holsters around her legs.

"That was easier than I expected," Beth admits.

"Sometimes I think the only reason the Goa'uld try to capture SG teams is just because SG-1 pisses them off so much," Jess adds.

Cannon snorts at that. "Let's get our samples and haul it back to the gate before the mess runs out of mashed potatoes."

"You realize that's extremely unlikely, right?" Chris deadpans.

Cannon shrugs and stuffs the wrapper of her granola bar into her pocket. "Even so, let's get a move on."

#I wrote this in the drafts of my uni email so I could type it and MAN did tumblr botch the formatting when I pasted it #anyway I'm now extremely obsessed with this concept and with these random characters #I couldn't make it through this without making a jello joke #and also apparently a joke about Cam's obsession with the mess roast beef even though this is for some reason set pre Cam idk #reasonably it should be s9 or s10 but #also catch me handwaving how ba'al has braming technology pre s9 idk man look #he's crafty and he's smart just let him think he's the shit instead of just a little shit #minific #asked and answered #my fic #I have so many ideas for these characters rip #stargate sg 1 #unabletocomply #ETA I wrote this with the singular thought of 'let SG 47 say fuck'

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