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a heart's a heavy burden (loki tv series, mcu, thor series)
originally posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82171911
the ten times Loki truly felt love for another that shaped who he is, was, and ever will be.
i. thor
At a young age, parents are intimidating figures of authority, especially if they are Asgardian royalty. The only one that Loki felt equal to was his older brother: Thor.
“Loki!” Thor Odinson beamed from the balcony above the gardens, waving at his little brother. In a flash, he had run through the marble halls of the palace and down the stairs to meet Loki.
“Thor!” Loki grinned, lopsided and toothy at his beloved older brother. He held up his hands, garden snakes coiled around his arms. They all lifted their heads in unison, staring at Thor.
“Brother, leave them alone. Surely you wouldn’t want to be handled were you a snake,” Thor chided.
“But I think they like hanging on my arms. At the very least, they don’t seem to mind.” Loki gently pet one of them on the head before lowering his arms, letting the snakes slither off and back into the bushes. Looking up at Thor, a mischievous look crossed his face. “Look what mother has been teaching me!” Loki reached over, plucking the dagger out from Thor’s belt. He holds it offhandedly, casting a spell and turning into one of the very garden snakes that were just hanging off his arms.
Thor’s eyebrows furrowed, and for a moment Loki recoiled, worried he had angered his brother. “I-I can turn it back–” Loki is interrupted by Thor’s loud laughter, throwing his head back.
“Lok, that’s so cool! What else has mother been teaching you?” Thor questioned, reaching over and gently patting the dagger-snake on the head.
They were so, so young back then.
ii. odin & frigga
He came around to his parents quickly afterwards, his mother more so than his father, but he loved them both.
“Loki.” Frigga’s voice rang through the dining hall, clear as a bell. Loki had been looking outside, and he turned at the sound of his mother’s voice.
“Mother.” He smiled – warm, genuine, innocent. “Do you need me?” He strode across the hall, meeting her halfway. She crouched to take him in her arms.
“No, darling, though your father has sent for you. Have you been working on your magic?” She hummed, running her hand through his hair before pulling away.
“I certainly hope he has.” Odin’s voice echoes through the hall – loud, but not commanding. Just enough to announce his presence and nothing more.
“Father!” Loki peers over Frigga’s shoulder. His smile falters upon seeing Thor behind Odin.
“My son.” They join Frigga and Loki in the middle of the dining hall. “I was hoping to train you boys. Perhaps some sparring?”
And young Loki, happy to spend time with his family, eagerly followed him to the sparring grounds.
iii. the throne of asgard
It wasn’t love at first sight. It was a slow burn, yearning type of seduction. The more Odin pitted him against Thor, intentional or not, the more appealing the idea of being a leader, being a ruler sounded. He could lie to everyone else, but he couldn’t lie to himself.
Every damn day, that throne mocked him. Begged for him to claim it, pleaded for him to sit upon it.
Soon, Loki would whisper, kneeling to his father who sat in it.
Soon, Loki would whisper, watching his brother’s coronation.
Soon couldn’t come soon enough.
iv. frigga (again)
Maybe he just didn’t realize how good he had it until he lost it. His mother was so good – too good for him. She made him who he was: master of magic, god of mischief. Loki Friggason.
She was the only one in the family that saw him as an equal, treated him as an equal. Even though she was his mother and teacher, he never felt lesser around her. Not in the way that Thor and Odin made him feel.
It was his fault she died. His fault that he lost the one person in the Nine Realms that saw him, loved him. And the last thing he said to her was that she wasn’t his mother.
He’d regret it until the end of time.
v. odin (again)
Hate is a strong word. It’s too strong a word, too simple a word to describe Loki’s feelings towards his father. The throne he still coveted, but…
Memories of Frigga crossed his mind. He couldn’t bear to lose another parent, especially not a father. He already killed Laufey with his own two hands, inadvertently killed Frigga with those same hands. He will not be made to kill another parent.
How was he supposed to know that stripping his father of his powers and banishing him to Midgard would kill him too?
The last words his father gave him were praising his skills, followed by:
“I love you, my sons.”
It was all he could’ve asked for.
vi. thor (again)
He really did just want to be seen as his brother’s equal – but not by others, by Thor himself. It was a pleasant surprise to be outwitted by his own brother on Sakaar.
He was even more surprised to find that his dimwitted, sentimental brother had finally rubbed off on him. Finally, without the pressure to perform, without a throne to covet, he felt like maybe… Asgard was home.
Too bad he had agreed to a plan to unleash a being that would destroy it. No matter. He never cared for those pristine marble floors, ornate gardens, and his silk sheets…
“If you were here, I might even give you a hug.” Thor looked more like Odin every day. He tossed an ornament at Loki, who caught it, smirking.
“I’m here.”
It was nice to be wanted.
vii. just asgard
Sure, it lacked the amount of care and attention to detail the Asgardian palace had, but the Statesman made a fine place to call home. After all, it had his brother, Valkyrie, Heimdall… and all the Asgardians coming around to him. His people. Maybe, finally, he could live a life not leaving a wake of destruction behind him.
He had only barely started making a place for himself before his life ended unceremoniously.
viii. sylvie
He didn’t know how to feel watching his life play back in the Time Theatre. Should he feel lucky that he avoided such a tragic life, riddled with loss after loss? Or devastated that he missed out on the love he would slowly gain, those connections he would make through nothing but his own charisma as Loki – not the God of Mischief, not the God of Lies – just Loki?
He doesn’t like thinking about it, so he doesn’t.
Sylvie is a welcome change of pace. He’d never met someone more vengeful, more bitter, more angry than him. It really forced him to look at himself – literally.
And he couldn’t help but feel… empathy. Admiration. She was skilled, dedicated, everything that he was and more.
It wasn’t his proudest moment, professing his love to her and kissing her in front of He Who Remains. It was selfish, narcissistic, and unbelievably on brand for Loki. Well, a Loki he used to be. He knew it was wrong after he did it.
It was the last selfish act he would ever do.
ix. mobius
Like the throne, this one came slow. He didn’t realize how important Mobius was to him until he himself was lost to time.
Mobius didn’t pull punches, but he wasn’t aggressive with his remarks. He chided Loki in a gentle way, one that reminded him not of Odin, but of Frigga. Maybe it comes with knowing everything about someone, having a file with every piece of information of your life laid out, easily organized and easily digestible.
Loki didn’t mind. Maybe he liked being easily read. It was refreshing. They complimented each other on missions – Loki, the rule breaker, thought outside of the box, while Mobius, the analyst, was a more straightforward thinker. Both lines of thought were often needed in the TVA.
And then Sylvie killed He Who Remains, and Loki was lost to time. Every time he was forcibly dragged to another time his first thought was “Mobius.”
After Sylvie killed He Who Remains, Loki found Mobius. He didn’t remember him then.
After that, he found Mobius in his present. Begged him for help.
When fixing the Loom failed and Loki was lost to time a second time, he found Mobius on his place on the Timeline. Found out who he was before the TVA. His heart ached at the happy domestic life Mobius – or rather Don – had been torn away from.
When fixing the Loom failed a second time and Loki was out of options, the first person he went to was Mobius. Asked for advice, begged for help again.
And in typical gentle, Mobius fashion, he guided Loki down a path he never expected to go down.
x. loki
It was a long time coming. Centuries, millenia of denial led up to this.
Loki could lie to everyone else, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He tried.
But when he looked at his friends – at Sylvie, at Mobius – and saw himself, he knew what he had to do.
He knew what kind of god he needed to be. For them, for all of us.
He loves them. And he can’t love them without loving himself first. So maybe, in the end, his final act of selflessness was selfish after all.
the post-loki cope continues with rivals fanart! the esu skins are sooooo frat boy coded i love them. im lvl 18 loki and never touched thor a day in my life - its time to learn!
As far as I can tell, I haven’t been able to trace the origins of that ornament at the professor’s house, which is why I’ve made this up, but perhaps the truth has already come to light somewhere.
originally posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81877146
takes place after the events of s2 - when another Loki variant shows up at the TVA, how will Mobius react? (a doomed Lokius character study)
“Don’t freak out.” Those words should’ve been Mobius’s first warning.
In one of the many offices in the TVA, B-15 caught Mobius on his break. Time flows differently in the TVA – it doesn’t quite flow at all, honestly – but enough of it had passed that the memory of Loki only produced a gentle, bittersweet ache in the hearts of his friends.
“There is very little that could make me freak out, B-15,” Mobius chuckles. The worry on B-15’s face doesn’t ease.
“You remember how there are still a few wild Sacred Timeline lunatics on the loose?” She asks.
“Separate from Dox’s loyalists, yeah. We finally catch the stragglers?” Mobius leans against his desk, crossing his arms.
“Not quite. We caught one, but not before… Not before they took someone here with them.”
“Ah, shit…” Mobius mumbles. While the TVA had become a more accepting, open work environment – more worker’s benefits, less indentured servitude – they still did their best to remain as a force behind the scenes. In the very rare case that a typical (they decided that calling them variants felt wrong) found their way to the TVA, they couldn’t simply send them back. New protocol lately has been teaching them the ins and outs of the TVA before offering them a choice: help out or get sent back, memories wiped. “They decide to stay?” Mobius asks.
“Not quite. Haven’t finished giving him the talk, just the basics.” B-15 pauses. “Listen, Mobius… I thought long and hard about this. I almost decided not to tell you about all this, but after consulting OB and Timely and, God forbid, even Sylvie…”
The lines on her face deepened, only concerning Mobius further. “Spit it out, B-15. What is it?”
B-15 pushed off the desk she was leaning on, gesturing for Mobius to follow. “Probably best if I just show you.”
The tension between the two grew tighter and tighter every turn and elevator the pair took. Eventually, she stops in front of an interrogation room. B-15 grabs his wrist when he reaches for the door handle.
“Jesus, B-15. You can’t keep leaving me in suspense like this.” He says it lightheartedly, watching the way she avoided his gaze.
“Let me tell you before you open that door – it isn’t him.”
Mobius feels the blood drain from his face. He pulls his arm free from B-15’s grasp and opens the doors to find Loki Laufeyson sitting at the table. The projector was on, playing back his life from the formerly Sacred Timeline. Loki doesn’t seem to have noticed that the doors have opened.
Mobius turns back to look at B-15, pain etched into every line in his face. All she can do is give him a tender look while placing a hand on his shoulder.
It’s not him, she mouths.
Mobius swallows thickly, rubbing his beard as he straightens his posture. He clears his throat and knocks on the door, grabbing Loki’s attention.
“Mind if I join you?” Mobius asks. His voice was a little strained, but he hoped his natural rasp covered it up. On the screen, Loki watches as he dies at the hands of Thanos. From there, the tape switches to the variant’s life at the TVA – to his Loki’s life. Mobius remembers watching it back alongside all his friends, to truly see and understand what Loki went through in those moments leading up to his sacrifice.
It turns out, there was a lot Loki was doing when he was timeslipping.
“I was destined to die anyways,” Loki breathes, interrupting Mobius’s thoughts. He was trembling, teary-eyed, not at all unlike his variant’s first reaction to watching his Sacred Timeline life. Mobius sighs, reaching over to pause the recording, showing the variant in front of Judge Renslayer. “All that… just to die pathetically in the hands of a tyrant?” Loki laughs drily, incredulously.
“Not… Not quite.” Mobius leans in, putting his weight onto his forearm on the table between them. “That’s just one possibility – one branch in the timeline that your life could’ve taken. Unfortunately, it is the only branch we have a recording of here in the TVA. That, and, well…” Mobius trails off, dragging his gaze back to the screen. The variant’s back was to them, facing up defiantly at Mobius’s old friend.
“You did good here, Loki. Well, not quite you. That version of you,” Mobius points at the screen, “was actually from an earlier point in your life. He was angry, bitter, lusting after a throne, prattling on about–”
“Glorious purpose?” Loki interrupts. He watches as Mobius’ face flashes with an old, weary pain.
“Just that,” Mobius confirms. He reaches for the playback device, hesitating over the play button. “He was – is the most incredible man I’ve ever known.” Loki raises his eyebrow at the correction.
Mobius resumes the tape and stands to go. “I assume B-15 gave you the lowdown about the whole situation. When typs find themselves here, we can’t exactly just send them right back like nothing happened.” He stops at the door, looking over his shoulder. Loki’s focus was on the screen as he watches the variant and Mobius’s first meeting.
“B-15’ll be around. Let her know your decision.” He pushes open the door and steps out. “And take your time. We have eons to spare in the TVA.”
-
“Do you understand now why I said ‘don’t freak out?’”
The automat is uncharacteristically empty, much to Mobius’s relief. He picked at his key lime pie.
“You know, I think I would have preferred it if you had just told me that the typ brought in was a Loki,” Mobius hissed. “Particularly the fact that he’s basically the same one that saved our asses!”
“I didn’t want to overwhelm you! After whatever happened with the Loom and Loki, you weren’t yourself, Mobius.” B-15 wasn’t sitting with him, rather standing against the wall, arms crossed. “I didn’t want to put you through that again if I didn’t have to.”
Mobius pinches the bridge of his nose and drops his fork on his plate, letting out a long exhale. Suddenly, he lost his appetite. “Well, in the end, you told me, and I’m grateful you did, B-15. Everything’s sorted, just gotta go through the motions. He make up his mind yet?”
B-15 shakes her head. “He was taken off the Asgardian ship. Quite literally right before his Sacred Timeline death.” She’s fiddling with her TemPad, fact checking herself. “Knowing what we know about him at that point in his life, he’s probably weighing his options. Who would want to go back just to immediately be killed?”
“He finish watching…” Mobius can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. B-15 does it for him.
“Loom Loki’s file? Yes. Probably also factoring into his decision.”
Mobius looks down at his pie and then across to the empty chair in front of him.
“Do you remember that time I was so angry with my father and my brother, I went down to Earth and held the whole of New York City hostage with an alien army?”
Mobius chuckled.
“Tried to use the Mind Stone on Tony Stark. It didn't work, so I threw him off the building! I mean – let me tell you something – wasn’t tactical. I lost it.”
He glanced down at the pie in front of him.
“Sometimes our emotions get the better of us.”
B-15’s TemPad beeped quietly with her inputs from across the room.
“Let me ask you something. X-5… You know, he obviously touched a nerve, right? You’ve never wanted to visit your place on the Timeline?”
“Mobius.” B-15 had moved to his side. “I need to check up on some Minutemen. They have a lead on another fanatic. Join us when you’re up for it.” She gives him a small nod before heading out.
Mobius leans back in his seat, pulling his pie closer to him. As he ate, he thought. At the time Loki asked, he couldn’t afford to think about his origins, what his life was like before he was kidnapped and put to work at the TVA. He was afraid to find something good that would cause him to be torn between the life he knew and the life he deserved. He loved his work and the people in it – it just wasn’t worth risking just to see what he could’ve had.
But after Loki’s sacrifice, he finally had a moment to breathe. Loki had a point.
So he went to his place on the Timeline. A domestic life – that’s what was robbed from him. Two boys, a job he was passionate about, and a well-loved house. He didn’t deserve to be taken from that. No one deserved to be taken from that. But to Mobius, what’s done is done. He was thankful that that version of him got to be happy and loved in sleepy Cleveland, Ohio. He was also thankful that he himself is happy and loved by B-15, O.B., Casey… and at some point, Loki. Maybe not in the way Mobius loved him, but he was loved nonetheless. And besides, there’s no way to know now. Loki was lost to the Temporal Loom, to time—
Behind him, there’s a clearing of the throat and two sharp knocks.
“Mind if I join you?” Loki wears a mischievous grin, but it doesn’t hide the exhaustion in his eyes.
“Please.” Mobius gestures to the seat across from him.
“Sorry to bother. I was going to speak with the woman – B-15? – but she was in a rush somewhere and directed me here to speak with you instead.” Loki sits down as he speaks.
“Yeah, yeah, for sure. What’s up?” Mobius pushed away his empty plate, making a point to give Loki his full attention.
“I’ve made my decision.” Loki pauses, gauging Mobius’s reaction. “If it’d be better if B-15 were to be here–”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll just let her know afterwards.” His heart clenched. He didn’t know what would be worse – losing another Loki or replacing the one he already lost.
Loki takes a deep breath as he looks around the automat. “I recognize this place. From the recording.”
Mobius chuckles. “Yeah. He really gave me an ass kicking about my past life, huh?”
Loki doesn’t laugh. “It got me thinking. Everything I – he – did here. He…” Loki clenches a fist and purses his lips, pained. “He found his purpose. His glorious purpose. Like you told him: most purpose is more burden rather than glory. I’ve walked around the TVA. It doesn’t seem like he’s exactly heralded as the hero of time.”
“After He Who Remains, forgive us for not putting any one individual up on an unreachable pedestal. It’s a thankless job but…” Mobius looks out the automat’s doors. “We know what he sacrificed for us. As long as we know, I think that’s what matters.”
Loki is silent for a while. Mobius lets him sit with that information.
“He loved you, you know,” Loki finally says.
“He loved all of us. That’s why he did it.” It comes out a lot more defensively than Mobius intended.
“Indeed. But you were the person he looked for first, every time. After killing He Who Remains, after timeslipping to the future, to the past, to completely different timelines – he looked for you first.”
Realization dawns on Mobius.
“And I see he meant a lot to you too.” Loki stands, walking over and placing a hand on Mobius’s shoulder.
“I’ve decided to return to my time. Like you said: more burden rather than glory, but who else is going to bear the burden?”
Mobius chokes back a sob, placing his hand over Loki’s on his shoulder. “You’re a lot like him.”
“Oh, please,” Loki scoffs. “I am him.”
-
“Hey, Loki.”
The last time Mobius had been down to the remains of the Temporal Loom room was when he returned from his one and only visit to his home on the Timeline. He looks through the thick glass windows, now coated in dust – the only evidence that maybe, time does pass in the TVA.
“Had a variant of you pass through here just now. He’s just like you. Of course he would be, but…” Out the window, Mobius looks up the gangway to the end, where he last saw Loki.
“I don’t think I ever thanked you for what you did for us. Centuries spent learning temporal science, watching us die over and over again – and then to make the most selfless decision one could make,” Mobius chokes, placing a hand on the glass. After a moment to catch his breath, he continues.
“I know you urged me to go back. Live the life that was taken from me. But the truth is, this is my life now. B-15 and O.B. and Casey and, God forbid, D-90… and you, Loki.”
He leans his forehead on the glass before pulling away, leaving a clean spot where his hand and forehead touched. “Thank you, Loki. For being the god we needed, but not the one you should have had to be.”
And somewhere at the end of time, the God of Stories cries.
ive been out and about the last few days so i havent been able to draw much new stuff - so here's some more of me figuring out my art style! i wanted to draw my beloved archaeology professor but i reaaaaaally didnt wanna draw his dotted eyed face (no matter how iconic it is...)
the legacy of robert robertson the third (dispatch) (10)
originally posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78263641/chapters/211026571
the thirteen times the Z-Team saw their late dispatcher in each other after he died on the rooftop that night to Shroud.
(short, slice of life moments following each Z-team member's grief over Robert's death.)
10 - Flambae sees Robert in Phenomaman.
It’s stupid, and he fucking hates it, but Phenomaman embodies everything Robert believed in.
So, he avoids Phenomaman as much as superhumanly possible. He never really went out of his way to hang out with the guy to begin with, but now – given the opportunity – he would go out of his way to avoid being around him. Whether it be on calls, after-work bar runs, or break room shenanigans, Flambae wouldn’t be found anywhere near Phenomaman.
So, he wondered, how the fuck he managed to get cornered by the man himself.
Phenomaman’s massive frame blocked the only way out of the break room. Sure, Flambae could shoot out the window, but Torrance SDN just got rebuilt. He may be a chaotic force of nature who serves nothing but a skin tight suit and a great ass, but he has some respect.
He didn’t used to, he realized.
“Flambae. I would like to speak with you, if that is alright.” Phenomaman gestured to the little coffee table, pulling out a seat. Flambae, having no good reason to say no, begrudgingly sits down.
“Make it quick,” he huffs, crossing his arms, and leaning back in his chair.
“I was just wondering if I have done something unsavory towards you, or to offend you. If I have, please be assured I did not mean it.”
Phenomaman’s words are weary, though genuine. He sits with a hunch – the grief permeating through all of SDN Torrance weighed down on him visibly.
“Nah, but if you keep me here longer than necessary, then we’ll have a problem.” Halfway through his sentence, he makes a conscious effort to lilt his tone towards lighthearted joking.
“Oh. Then let me keep you here not too much longer.” Clearly Flambae’s abrupt switch in tone flew over his head. “Just- are you certain, Flambae? I only think this because you have been avoiding me for the past month.”
“I have not been avoiding you.”
“Yes you have. When we are the only two left to be dispatched, you conveniently have somewhere else to be. During breaks, I see you walk away after spotting me. Last night, we were all going to The Sardine then-”
“Alright, enough.” Flambae pinches the bridge of his nose. “I get it. You haven’t done anything wrong, Phenomaman.”
“Then why have you been avoiding me? I simply want the Z-Team to continue functioning the best it can under such solemn circumstances-”
“The Z-Team is missing a member!” Flambae snaps, slamming a fist onto the table. “Forgive me if I don’t fucking feel like acting like a team player when the fucking team is incomplete.”
If Phenomaman looked pathetic before, he looked just downright depressed now. Despite that, he reached over, placing a steady hand on Flambae’s shoulder. Flambae shrugged it off.
“And no matter how hard you fucking try with this ‘can-do’ fucking attitude of yours, you’re not him.”
Oh. Suddenly Phenomaman gets it. “Flambae, rest assured I am not trying to replace our late dispatcher-”
“Robert,” Flambae huffs.
“Of course. Robert. He was integral in my recovery as a hero. Though, I still have a long way to go,” he turns around to look into the bullpen, where Mandy sat at Robert’s old desk doing paperwork, “I hold his advice very close to my heart. Robert… He lost his father, he lost his friend, he lost his suit, yet he continued showing up here every day. He continued pushing.”
Flambae’s throat tightened, and he picked a cupboard to focus his gaze onto.
“All I wish is to continue his teachings, Flambae. I apologize that my actions perpetuate your grief. It was not my intention. I do not intend to replace Robert as the leader of the Z-Team, either.”
Flambae remains uncharacteristically silent, and Phenomaman takes it as his sign to leave. “I apologize for keeping you so long.”
At the start of their evening shift, Phenomaman is dispatched to deal with yet another kaiju on the coast. Just as he was getting poised to take off outside, Flambae joins him. Before Phenomaman could even open his mouth, Flambae interrupted.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I just want a turn fighting the kaiju.”
Phenomaman smiled, picking up on Flambae’s tone, but he asks anyways: “You’re joking right?”
Flambae laughs as he gets a headstart, taking off. “Of course I’m fucking joking!”
the legacy of robert robertson the third (dispatch) (9)
originally posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78263641/chapters/209305166
the thirteen times the Z-Team saw their late dispatcher in each other after he died on the rooftop that night to Shroud.
(short, slice of life moments following each Z-team member's grief over Robert's death.)
9 - Royd sees Robert in Mandy.
He admits it: he always had his suspicions about Blonde Blazer’s powers. She always had a certain humanity, a level of empathy to her that other A-list superheroes lacked. No hate to them, of course.
Royd meets a very tired and overworked Mandy in her office long after the SDN building proper had closed up for the night. He’s holding a takeout bag from Johnny’s.
“BLT for Miss Blazer?” Royd smiles as he knocks on her open office door. Mandy looks up from her paperwork.
“Royd. Come in.” She gets up and takes her food from him, closing the door as he enters. “What are you doing here still, so late?” He follows her to the couch and they sit. Mandy sets her takeout bag on the table, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees looking at him inquisitively.
“Ah, you know. Down in the lab, just…” He doesn’t need to say it. They both know – the remnants of Mecha Man Blue resided in the lab. No one at SDN knew what to do with it. They didn’t have the heart to just scrap it all, but they had no one to pilot it. So there he sat, in the back corner of Royd’s lab, waiting for the day he’ll take off again.
“Still don’t know what to do with it?” Mandy asks.
“Miss Blazer, that’s your call to make. I ain’t the leader here – that’s all you.” He playfully nudges her shoulder, and she laughs.
“Not like this, I’m not.” Her hand instinctively reaches for where the Blonde Blazer amulet used to sit. “I think being like this though,” the hand on her chest curls into a fist, “I think it’s been good for me. I really needed to step away from Blazer – It’s good to be Mandy again.”
They sit in a comfortable silence for a bit. The city outside is quiet – it's been a lot quieter since Shroud’s death.
“It’s… Easier to grieve, as Mandy,” she admits suddenly. “As Blonde Blazer, I’m so used to taking on all these responsibilities, so used to solving everyone else’s problems, burdening myself with the pressure of tens of thousands of lives–” Her voice breaks, and she realizes she’s crying. Royd digs around in his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief for her.
“A handkerchief? I didn’t know you were classy like that, Royd,” she teases, taking it gratefully and wiping her tears.
“Yeah, well. You not the only one who’s been crying around here.” Mandy looks up at him to find his eyes glassy as well. “Go on. What were you sayin’? About being Blazer?”
Mandy holds the handkerchief to her cheeks, continuing. “I feel like I can breathe again. There’s space in between the work and heroism again. As Blazer, my every waking moment was spent working. Every spare thought I had was dedicated to SDN and all the teams here and all the people who rely on us to stay safe every day. That weight is gone, and god, it really is so good to breathe again, but…”
She chokes back a sob, and Royd gently pulls her into a hug. She leans her head on his chest, sniffling quietly.
“It's terrible timing to be Mandy again. All I wish for right now is to bury myself in that work, to pretend like all this grief isn’t here, so be able to lift up Torrance SDN like I did before as Blazer, but…”
That’s what Robert did, and look where it led him. Neither of them say it, but they both knew it. Robert put everything into Mecha Man to the point that he lost himself in the suit. Royd wanted anything but that for her.
“That weight would crush you, Mandy. It would crush anyone.” Royd’s chest rumbles against her cheek.
“I know,” she whispers. “And so, I’ll remain grateful that I get to be Mandy a little longer.”
the legacy of robert robertson the third (dispatch) (8)
originally posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78263641/chapters/208170691
the thirteen times the Z-Team saw their late dispatcher in each other after he died on the rooftop that night to Shroud.
(short, slice of life moments following each Z-team member's grief over Robert's death.)
8 - Phenomaman sees Robert in Waterboy.
He doesn’t fully understand this feeling – grief, the rest of the Z-Team were calling it. It felt similar to when Blonde Blazer broke up with him, but much, much heavier.
Despite the feeling, he kept showing up to work. Blonde Blazer – or rather Mandy – would give him this small smile that was just enough to keep him going. At first, he really only showed up to catch glimpses of her, the girl he ignored in favor of the girl he wanted her to be. To feel consumed in the lesser grief instead of facing the more permanent loss head on.
Unfortunately, that loss ended up staring him straight in the face one day when he and Waterboy were paired for a call, one that entailed being bodyguards all day for an elderly woman.
Really, they were just being paid to sit around in her house while her overprotective grandson was out of town on a business trip.
“Waterboy, correct?” Phenomaman sits on the red wooden lawn chair in their client’s backyard. Waterboy was lying in the grass, effectively watering her lawn with his powers.
“Yes– yes! Phena– Phen– Phenoman–” Waterboy sat up, trying to untangle his tongue. Before he could continue speaking, Phenomaman held up his hand.
“If it is easier for you, you may call me Katon-Ur. Or Katon. Or Dumpy.”
Waterboy blinked awkwardly. “Okay, Kat-Katon-Ur. You can call– call me Herman. Or Herm. Or Hermy.” He stuck out his hand in Katon-Ur’s direction, pulling his goggles off.
Katon-Ur smiles, leaning over to shake the wet boy’s hand.
“It's nice to meet– to meet you, Katon-Ur.” Herman smiles, looking up at Katon-Ur.
The grief hits him like an asteroid. Of the entire Z-Team, Waterboy felt the most mortal to Phenomaman – that if he were to look at him wrong he would crumple and die. He remembers first meeting Robert.
He was a little thing, a mere mortal that could fit in the palm of his hand. The way Blazer had described Robert to him really built him up, made him sound larger than life, so when he was finally face to face with the man himself, he was surprised to find… just a guy.
Robert was entirely unimpressive, not unlike the people of Earth that he saves on a daily basis. But throughout their time spent together, he had built himself up to be more than that mere mortal that he was first introduced to. He was hardy, tough, and a natural born leader. He never wavered in his morals, never second guessed his decisions once they were made. He always took responsibility if he made the wrong call.
At first, Phenomaman felt jealous of him, but quickly that jealousy waned and evolved into respect. And just as he was starting to truly understand Robert’s strength, he was lost forever.
“Kat– Katon-Ur…?”
He felt a wetness on his face, and he was about to ask Waterboy to please keep his powers under control before turning and realizing that he hadn’t even moved from his spot in the grass – he was just sitting up now.
“Oh. Forgive my inability to control my emotions.” Phenomaman stands, poised to launch to take a quick fly around the block. Before he could take off, Herman was at his side, grabbing his wrist.
“I miss him too.” Herman’s voice was clear, free of his usual stutter. Katon-Ur is caught off guard, relaxing as falls back into his chair. Tears still were rolling down his cheeks.
“Y-Y’know… It was b-both of you that got me– inspired me– pushed me to become a he– her– a hero.” Herman sat in the grass in front of Katon-Ur, his tall frame meeting Katon-Ur’s eye level with his slouched posture.
“I am glad to hear that I helped inspire you to become a hero. It was my intention with that commercial work.” Phenomaman tries to lighten the mood with his comment.
Herman chuckles. “Y-Yeah! I was a big fan- Pheno– Phenonomo– Phenfa–”
“Phenomafan?”
“Thank you. When I watched you– saw you on TV, with my grandma, we both– I wanted–” Herman leans forward, putting his head between his knees as he sobs, tears pouring out of his eyes uncontrollably due to his power.
Katon-Ur reaches out, gently patting Herman’s back. Herman sniffled, tears slowing. “Y-You got me my- my job at SDN. Rob-” Herman chokes back a sob. “Robert… got me- helped me become a hero.”
Phenomaman stands, pulling Waterboy up before pulling him into a gentle hug. He practically melts into Waterboy’s arms, the grief rolling in like waves.
“H-He helped you too, right?” Herman asks, voice strained from supporting Phenomaman’s weight. “I think… I think he’d want us to keep going.”
Phenomaman nods, holding onto the little mortal a little longer.
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