It is said that daemons are reflections of the soul, many facets squeezed into one creature, to embody form and function. People with dog daemons usually become guards, those with snakes seem to gravitate towards politics and so on. There have been centuries of study dedicated to the existence of daemons and what they represent.
Gods having daemons though . . . was new. Even Jim, who had seen a lot of crazy stuff, often found himself staring at Loki's daemon, Sabella, with her crisp grey coat and dark yellow eyes. Fox daemons themselves were not rare, but the colouring was unusual enough to merit a longer glance. Even Aurel, a rare golden tanager, who prided himself at being the one people took note of, found Loki's daemon of interest.
"It's almost silver," Aurel would mutter, jealous, and Jim would repress a snicker at his disgust. Lately, they've been closer than over, ever since the reactor, where Jim locked Aurel out of the chamber and dragged himself away to fix the ship. Each step away was a blow, more painful than any wound he had ever received. It was not something he would repeat, watching Spock wilt as his wolf howled piteously, clawing at the glass. And Aurel, Aurel stood there, full of grief and judgement as flecks of his skin peeled off to fade away, the unraveling of them both.
How they were brought back, together again . . . it's a mystery. Many people had asked, tried to document it. He politely refused while Aurel warbled, purposefully annoying and grating.
Loki never talked about it, ever. He simply couldn't bring himself to and Sabella always watched them out of the corner of her eyes. At times, it was unnerving, to be the scrutiny of a daemon. In some places, it was considered offensive. Jim shrugged it off. Aurel preened.
"It's me, you realize," Jim pointed out. Aurel simply sniffed inaudibly, "All attention is good attention."
That's not true, never has been, but Aurel, like Jim, knows how to play a part. And if he shivers at night, cold at heart and bone, while death creeps into his mind, Sabella will curl up at his feet knowingly while Loki's hands would brush over the trembling Aurel in peace.
Otters are highly adaptable creatures, able to spend equal times on land and water. Raven often joked that it implied that he was too "slick" for his own good. Charles ignored that. Having an otter as your daemon meant everyone trusted you. They're small and appealing animals after all. They may not be as obvious as the dog and cat daemon but it suited Charles just fine. Cato preened and squeaked on cue when Charles hit the bar, the perfect wingman so to speak. Raven would glower as Alojzy would turn a brittle orange to reflect her mood. Sometimes, Charles worried that her daemon was too obvious, too much of a tell of her abilities.
Such concerns faded away long ago on a beach in Cuba where Erik deflected the bullet into Cato.
There aren't many cases of daemons being injured, but it did happen and it affected each person differently. For Charles, it meant the loss of his legs. For Cato, it meant pain, a pain so shared and strong they could not pull themselves apart. Cato could no longer scurry into corners and Charles could not bear distance. They were together, always.
In a way, they were a reflection of Erik and his daemon, Shayna. Shayna was beautiful once (is beautiful still), but her coat never regained her former beauty and her footsteps are hunted. Cato always crooned whenever Shayna was near, unable to bear the tarnish. Erik never spoke of it. They never spoke of it.
When the twins were born, their daemons had already taken on a permanent form, as two tawny lions that were curled up against each other. This was not the strange part that people took notice of, for Alia was the same, her raven remaining fixed from birth. It was the fact that lions were not desert creatures. Stilgar did not even know what they were until it was explained in detail. Lions were all but extinct, only lingering in dormant dna strands of other cats, such as the Laza Tigers.
"It's unnatural," Stilgar pointed out gruffly. Alia shrugged while her raven fixed a quelling look on him.
"We are unnatural," she said, "But that can be a blessing too."
This is not particularly strange or unusual by any means. There are plenty of daemons who rarely speak, especially to others. Tony's daemon named Apollo, a lanky spider monkey that tucks itself in the groove of his neck rarely says a word. Though he does take great delight in interrupting Tony in key moments which always makes Tony splutter or calm down. Daemons were always the other half, the space between. The great connector. There were tons of literature on daemons, ranging from religious texts to new scientific discussions. HYDRA had done experiments on daemons and Steve had never forgotten the empty-eyed creates in cages, simply waiting for their limbs to turn to gold dust.
Loki often has that look. A hunger for an end. Whether it means death or not, Steve doesn't know. Doesn't ask. It was the one weakness he does not mind as much as the others because it is a weakness no one else shares. No one asks about Loki.
( No one asks about Steve either. They care, but he can see the fringes of it in their eyes, overlaid with awe. He's made followers of his friends and it bites into his palms every time he picks up the shield. )
They lounge about in Steve's roof. Sabella seems to be sleeping on Loki's lap. She does not purr as Loki runs silent fingers over her fur. Both Steve and Marcus, his Tibetan Mastiff, watch this even though this is a normal sight. And yet, Steve finds himself pushing ahead
"Why doesn't Sabella say anything?" He asks suddenly. Marcas gives him a solemn look (which is really a dirty look, but Steve ignores it)
Loki's eyes, which were closed, the dark dusting of his eyelashes against his pale skin, open, half-lidded. The green is so striking. Steve has never felt as if he's lost Loki's attention, though sometimes he wonders if he can ever bear the full scrutiny of Loki's gaze. It could swallow up the world.
( sometimes, he wished it would )
"She can't," Loki replies when Steve had almost given up. He starts, automatically laying a hand on Marcus.
"Why not?"
Sabella does not move. She can still shift shapes (unnatural, someone had whispered. Steve whipped his head, almost wanting to lash out, but Loki merely raised his head and walked on) but the form of a grey fox was one she preferred to be in. If there was a reason for it, neither Loki or Sabella had the words to explain it. No one could adequately explain the nature of daemons, not even Gods.
Loki hums to chase away the coat of silence that slips and slides over the room, overcast, "When we fell, she screamed for me. Until she could scream no more. So I speak for both of us."
Oh.
Marcas growled softly as Steve rubbed behind his ears. Loki's lips twitch as he reaches out for Steve's hand. Without thinking, he reaches out, curling his fingers on Loki's. His hands seem so much larger.
"Steve," Loki says gently, the corner of his eyes crinkling, "I'm not screaming right now."
It's not enough, he finds, the restlessness building in his chest. It's not enough and it's not right. Marcus rests his head on Steve's knee as they sit there.
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jim/loki
Gods having daemons though . . . was new. Even Jim, who had seen a lot of crazy stuff, often found himself staring at Loki's daemon, Sabella, with her crisp grey coat and dark yellow eyes. Fox daemons themselves were not rare, but the colouring was unusual enough to merit a longer glance. Even Aurel, a rare golden tanager, who prided himself at being the one people took note of, found Loki's daemon of interest.
"It's almost silver," Aurel would mutter, jealous, and Jim would repress a snicker at his disgust. Lately, they've been closer than over, ever since the reactor, where Jim locked Aurel out of the chamber and dragged himself away to fix the ship. Each step away was a blow, more painful than any wound he had ever received. It was not something he would repeat, watching Spock wilt as his wolf howled piteously, clawing at the glass. And Aurel, Aurel stood there, full of grief and judgement as flecks of his skin peeled off to fade away, the unraveling of them both.
How they were brought back, together again . . . it's a mystery. Many people had asked, tried to document it. He politely refused while Aurel warbled, purposefully annoying and grating.
Loki never talked about it, ever. He simply couldn't bring himself to and Sabella always watched them out of the corner of her eyes. At times, it was unnerving, to be the scrutiny of a daemon. In some places, it was considered offensive. Jim shrugged it off. Aurel preened.
"It's me, you realize," Jim pointed out. Aurel simply sniffed inaudibly, "All attention is good attention."
That's not true, never has been, but Aurel, like Jim, knows how to play a part. And if he shivers at night, cold at heart and bone, while death creeps into his mind, Sabella will curl up at his feet knowingly while Loki's hands would brush over the trembling Aurel in peace.
erik/charles
Such concerns faded away long ago on a beach in Cuba where Erik deflected the bullet into Cato.
There aren't many cases of daemons being injured, but it did happen and it affected each person differently. For Charles, it meant the loss of his legs. For Cato, it meant pain, a pain so shared and strong they could not pull themselves apart. Cato could no longer scurry into corners and Charles could not bear distance. They were together, always.
In a way, they were a reflection of Erik and his daemon, Shayna. Shayna was beautiful once (is beautiful still), but her coat never regained her former beauty and her footsteps are hunted. Cato always crooned whenever Shayna was near, unable to bear the tarnish. Erik never spoke of it. They never spoke of it.
leto, dune-centric
"It's unnatural," Stilgar pointed out gruffly. Alia shrugged while her raven fixed a quelling look on him.
"We are unnatural," she said, "But that can be a blessing too."
steve/loki
This is not particularly strange or unusual by any means. There are plenty of daemons who rarely speak, especially to others. Tony's daemon named Apollo, a lanky spider monkey that tucks itself in the groove of his neck rarely says a word. Though he does take great delight in interrupting Tony in key moments which always makes Tony splutter or calm down. Daemons were always the other half, the space between. The great connector. There were tons of literature on daemons, ranging from religious texts to new scientific discussions. HYDRA had done experiments on daemons and Steve had never forgotten the empty-eyed creates in cages, simply waiting for their limbs to turn to gold dust.
Loki often has that look. A hunger for an end. Whether it means death or not, Steve doesn't know. Doesn't ask. It was the one weakness he does not mind as much as the others because it is a weakness no one else shares. No one asks about Loki.
( No one asks about Steve either. They care, but he can see the fringes of it in their eyes, overlaid with awe. He's made followers of his friends and it bites into his palms every time he picks up the shield. )
They lounge about in Steve's roof. Sabella seems to be sleeping on Loki's lap. She does not purr as Loki runs silent fingers over her fur. Both Steve and Marcus, his Tibetan Mastiff, watch this even though this is a normal sight. And yet, Steve finds himself pushing ahead
"Why doesn't Sabella say anything?" He asks suddenly. Marcas gives him a solemn look (which is really a dirty look, but Steve ignores it)
Loki's eyes, which were closed, the dark dusting of his eyelashes against his pale skin, open, half-lidded. The green is so striking. Steve has never felt as if he's lost Loki's attention, though sometimes he wonders if he can ever bear the full scrutiny of Loki's gaze. It could swallow up the world.
( sometimes, he wished it would )
"She can't," Loki replies when Steve had almost given up. He starts, automatically laying a hand on Marcus.
"Why not?"
Sabella does not move. She can still shift shapes (unnatural, someone had whispered. Steve whipped his head, almost wanting to lash out, but Loki merely raised his head and walked on) but the form of a grey fox was one she preferred to be in. If there was a reason for it, neither Loki or Sabella had the words to explain it. No one could adequately explain the nature of daemons, not even Gods.
Loki hums to chase away the coat of silence that slips and slides over the room, overcast, "When we fell, she screamed for me. Until she could scream no more. So I speak for both of us."
Oh.
Marcas growled softly as Steve rubbed behind his ears. Loki's lips twitch as he reaches out for Steve's hand. Without thinking, he reaches out, curling his fingers on Loki's. His hands seem so much larger.
"Steve," Loki says gently, the corner of his eyes crinkling, "I'm not screaming right now."
It's not enough, he finds, the restlessness building in his chest. It's not enough and it's not right. Marcus rests his head on Steve's knee as they sit there.
I'm not screaming right now.