#and then he resigns himself to that and nearly dies or succumbs to despair in it bc of flint. and then makes peace w it just to lower

[butcharyastark]

also back to my point before i got rambling but man in this rewatch it's so much clearer how obvious it is flint is subtly manipulating silver's emotions the whole time since the end of s2, some of it overt to silver's observational skills and some not. and the whole thing w silver needing a tether while being someone who tempers someone like flint and madi does that, she is the person that drags silver away from flint and flint's goals, she's the one he sees good in and reciprocated love and it like. makes me insane. silver's been trapped in the narrative with flint for 4 seasons of on and off emotional hell and trauma but the second he's given a tether, he near immediately gets pulled back out. do you understand.

[imagine-darksiders]

I’m in the mood for angst so how bout a scenario where Karn takes Deaths human charge (Death has feelings for but hasn’t confessed) to explore since Reader used to hike and something happens to make Reader get hurt badly and get knocked out cold, Karn breaks down and picks them up and runs back to the forge and cries and yells for someone to help. Death sees his hurt and unconscious charge and completely looses it on Karn and when Reader wakes up, they tell Karn it’s not his fault?

Thundering footfalls resound off the walls of Tristone, each embellished by a wet splash as a young maker staggers through steadily pouring rain, his breath escaping in short, ragged gasps that send clouds of condensation billowing from his parted lips like smoke. 

There’s an unmistakable urgency to his gait and a wild-eyed look about him that bears a close resemblance to one beset by hysteria, or mania. 

Such a volatile state doesn’t come without reason however, as the Horseman - Death - soon discovers upon emerging from the makers’ forge. The old Reaper’s mood perfectly reflects the gloomy skies overhead, his dourness due in no small part to the absence of one, irrepressible human.

It isn’t your absence itself that has him irked, rather, it’s the fact that you’ve once again disappeared from TriStone without a word or a trace as has been a habit, of late. One that you seemed to have adopted after meeting your newfound friend, Karn.

Grumbling, Death shakes his head and allows the door of the forge to slam shut at his back, wondering where in the nine realms you and the maker could have scurried off to this time.

The Horseman is so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he barely takes notice of the rain that begins cascading down his spine, only glancing up when something utterly enormous barrels down the stone steps towards him and in the blink of an eye, he finds himself nearly run over by a panic-stricken youngling.

“Pup,” the Horseman drawls, a raised brow the only indication of surprise at the sight of the giant careening to a halt just in front of him, with arms cradled against a broad chest as though there’s something immeasurably delicate that he’s trying to hide behind his hefty biceps, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen that blasted human, have you?”

The youngling doesn’t respond at first, merely stares down at the Horseman with the same, fraught stare that’s so uncharacteristic of Karn, Death is instantly suspicious. 

“Pup…”He drops his voice to something low and dangerous, eyeing the flash of hair that pokes out above the maker’s arm. “Where is Y/n.”

At last, Karn’s eyes stop darting and settle properly on the Horseman, his pale pupils slowly coming into focus.“It… it was an accident,” he stammers miserable, bending down onto one knee and, with more care than the Horseman has ever seen him exert, unfurls his arms.

What he reveals ignites an icy rage in Death’s chest, born from an uncomfortable pang of alarm that he’d rather not acknowledge.

In the maker’s arms lays the very human Death had once pulled from the ruined Earth, the same human who has been his unorthodox companion over the last few weeks and who has been so, unwaveringly determined to make a friend out of him, the Horseman begrudgingly let his guard down and allowed a friendship to be cultivated, against his better judgement.

“Y/n?” he breathes, reaching a hand over Karn’s forearm and hovering the appendage warily above your head, from which rivulets of glistening blood trickle down into the creases around your eyes, each screwed tightly shut. The youngling’s broad chest is keeping you shielded from the rain, butDeath almost wishes it would fall on you just to wash away the crimson liquid running down from your hairline.

The Horseman almost succumbs to the immediate, knee-jerk reaction to find out how this happened, yet he reminds himself that standing in the rain and grilling a rattled maker for answers won’t get you the help you so clearly need.

So, swallowing down the urge to tear Karn’s head from his shoulders for allowing you to get hurt, Death grits histeeth and growls, “Eideard. Now.”

Then, as less of an afterthought and more of an instinct, he leans over Karn’s arm and slides his cold, raw-boned hands underneath your fragile, little body scooping you gently out of the maker’s hold and never once taking his eyes off your face.

Although Karn bridles a little at having you taken from him, he doesn’t argue, instead staggering to his feet and once more uttering, “It was an accident…”

Death, at least for the time being, ignores him to spin on a heel and march back towards the forge, his grip on you growing firmer as you roll your head floppily into his chest.

————————

A concussion, Eideard had eventually deduced after a brief minute of chaos ensued once Valus and Alya caught sight of you laying unresponsive and bleeding in Death’s arms.

The village elder had ushered the twins out fairly promptly with much protest and reluctance on their part, and then he’d had Death place you on the anvil where he set about trying to determine the cause of your injury. In the meantime, Karn had remained as close as he could get to the anvil, wringing his hands over one another and chewing a deep welt into his bottom lip.

With steady hands and softly murmured words, Eideard wove together a few healing spells, watered down to their most basic level of power to accommodate for your delicate, human frame. Every now and again, you would try to crack your eyes open and speak, but your words made no sense and blended together into an incomprehensible noise that Eideard would gently shush, reminding you to keep your eyes closed, lest the light cause you any more pain.

Finally, after far too long, in Death’s opinion, the wound on top of your head stops oozing blood as ancient magics stitch your skin back together and Eideard raises his eyes to give the Horseman a reassuring nod, his own relief palpable in the sagging of his titanic shoulders.

It’s only then that Death feels the immediate danger has passed.

Slowly, with the threatening glare of a predator, he turns his gaze to the youngling.

Death barely hears Eideard’s sharp warning not to take his frustrations out on Karn, he’s too sunken into his own fury and desperation. 

It’s with a primal kind of ferocity that he rounds on the young maker, his Reaper form rippling underneath the surface of his pale skin like a brewing storm, just moments away from exploding outwards into a full-blown tempest.

Karn feels a raw pulse of sickening energy hit him square in the chest and he’s forced back a step, tearing his gaze off you with a dull sort of resignation painted across his features as he turns to face the bristling Horseman.

“What. Did. You. DO!?” Death roars, each word pervaded with tremulous power and preceded by a rattling hiss, every neuron in him firing off impulses that tell him to protect the human on the anvil behind him. Yet without an immediate threat present, his rage redirects its attention to the next best thing; the one who’d let this happen to you.

Karn however, even in the face of what could well be a dangerous situation, doesn’t even flinch. He merely stands there as the Horseman bears down on him, his ears drooped and arms dangling limply at his sides.

The decidedly non combative stance doesn’t deterDeath though, who continues to stalk right up to the youngling’s boot and once again shouts, “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

If Karn hadn’t been feeling so guilty about yourinjury, he might have noted how unusual it is for the Nephilim toexpress this level of concern for another.

Dropping his gaze ashamedly to the stoneunderfoot, the maker heaves an unsteady sigh. “We were only inBaneswood,” he murmurs, more to himself than the room, as though hestill hasn’t quite come to terms with the events, “I was on thelookout for demons, not the damn trees!” Peeling his lipsback with a despairing whine, he scrapes a hand over his sparsedusting of hair.

“What?” Death hisses when he doesn’t elaborate, momentarily thrown bythe notion that now, apparently, even the trees can pose a risk toyour safety.

Karn’s eyes drift down to the ground and theHorseman can’t help but notice that they’ve clouded over, stuckbehind a memory of whatever had occurred in those dreadful woods.

Death doesn’t have to wait for long however beforethe maker reveals what he’s seeing with his mind’s eye.

“Was a branch that did it,” he mutters,“must’ve already been barely hangin’ on, what with the wind andrain. When we passed under it, it – it just…. fell..”Shuddering back into himself, he blinks and glances sorrowfully overtowards you, quietly adding, “By the time I heard it snap, Y/nwas… was….” Karn’s unsteady voice peters out and hesubconsciously rubs at the spot on his own head that mirrors theplace where your wound is.

Unfortunately for him, his explanation does littleto soothe the ire roiling in the Horseman’s chest.

“Why did you take a human out of Tri Stone inthe first place!?” Death barks, “You know it isn’t safe!”

Karn’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly, wettinghis lips. “I… I thought I could keep ‘er safe…” he utterssoftly, ducking his head when Death brusquely snaps, “Well, youthought wrong. Y/n was hurt on your watch. The lasthuman in the Universe could have died, all because of you!”

Chest heaving with barely restrained contempt, theNephilim ignores a disapproving hum that warbles out of Eideard’sthroat and lowers his voice to a much darker, somehow far morefrightening pitch, holding Karn prisoner beneath his poisonous glare.The youngling looks as though Death might as well have torn his heartasunder right then and there. “Might I make a suggestion, Pup, thatso long as you value your life, you’ll keep Y/n out of it.”

He isn’t sure what he expected the youngling tooffer in response. Perhaps a meagre protest, perhaps a flat outrefusal to stay away from you, as Death had just not so subtlysuggested. However, what he certainly doesn’t expect is for Karn tooffer up nothing more than a resigned nod of his head before turningabout and trailing slowly towards the doors at the far end of theforge, dragging his feet with each, heavy step.

Death waits until the stone entrance slides shutin the youngling’s wake, then, heaving a weary sigh, he twists aboutand focuses his attention on the anvil, or more importantly, thehuman laying quiet and still at its centre.

“That,” Eideard grumbles, furrowing his bushybrows until they almost form an uninterrupted line across hisforehead, “was an unjustly cruel thing to say…”

“I notice you didn’t interject.”

The Old One’s chest rises and falls around anindignant puff of breath. “Mark me, I would have, had Ithought you posed any real threat.”

Death can only give a humourless huff, feigning disinterest and wondering when he’d grown so soft that the maker wouldn’t see him as a constant source of danger.

Apparently, Eideard has him all worked out.

——-

The dark blanket of night gradually begins torecede with encroaching rays of sunlight that emit their faint,orange glow from behind the far-off mountain peaks, chasing the starsback into darker corners of the sky.

Almost immediately after leaving the forge, Alyahad accosted Karn and bullied a confession from his lips, after whichshe’d subjected him to an admonishing that had been strikinglysimilar to Death’s, although hers was accompanied by a swift cliparound the ear, doubtless the very least she wanted to do tohim.

After that, she’d left him to sulk, alone in thedead of night where he could torture himself by imagining all theways he should have protected you from that falling branch.

Now, he sits slumped upon the east-facing wallthat looks out over the distant peaks, his mind far from the goingson of the world around him. Rain still falls from the fat, blackclouds overhead and serves to dampen both the ground and Karn’salready dreary mood.

How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? Yes,he knows the dangers of the Forge Lands, perhaps better than most.It’s a wild and unpredictable place. But… he’s Karn.

If anyone was going to be able to protect you, itwould be him….

… Wouldn’t it?  

Raindrops cling to the youngling’s eyelashes, buthe can’t even bring himself to blink them away.

Sagging further into himself, Karn drops his chinonto his knuckles with a grunt, expelling all the air in his lungsand focusing on the burning sensation it brings rather than the stingbehind his eyelids.

He’d been so sure he was doing the right thing.

You were sad. You’d been sad ever since you firstarrived in Tri Stone. Then, one evening spent sat amongst the giantsin Muria’s garden, you had made a comment, something throwaway andforgettable to the others, but not to him. Karn had vowed never toforget a word you said from the day he met you.

You told him how much you loved exploring.

“I used to go and hike the local trails all thetime back home,” you’d murmured as a wistful smile tugged atyour lips, “Just me, my music and the open road. It was so muchfun, even if I was doing it on my own...”

Hearing this, Karn had leapt at the opportunity tocheer you up, inviting you to explore Baneswood with him in the hopesthat it would take your mind off the fate of your home world. And ithad…

…At least for a little while.

Groaning, Karn buries his face in a pair of gloved hands, pressing harshly against his eyelids until specks of colourbegin to invade the darkness.

Even with the best of intentions, he still managedto mess it all up. Death was right, after all. You very well couldhave died back there. The first, real friend Karn had ever had, andhe almost got you killed.

The youngling’s ear twitches at the sudden soundof approaching footsteps, almost imperceptible among the drumming ofrain on hard, grey stone. Too light to be a fellow maker, too heavyto be the Horseman’s….

The maker’s heart lurches and he keeps his facecovered stubbornly when a small voice calls his name.

“Karn? There you are!”

Ashamed as he is to admit it, his first impulse isto leap off the wall and put a safe amount of distance betweenhimself and you.

What are you doing out here? Not that he isn’tdelighted to see you conscious again, but surely neither Death norEideard would have allowed you to be up and about so soon after thatkind of injury.

The footsteps trail to a stop at the wall besidehim where a brief pause ensues before he hears a grunt and the soundof hands and feet scrabbling for purchase on the slippery stone.Seconds later, a tiny, shivering body presses up against his leg andstartles a sigh out of the maker. You’ve climbed up to sit next tohim, evidently.

“Karn?” Your voice is so soft and mellow, asthough speaking too loudly causes you pain. “You okay?”

He doesn’t reply, but the rain cascading down fromabove coupled with the tremors he feels through the thick leather ofhis trousers is enough to make him pull a hand away from his face andlower it slowly towards you, cupping his colossal palm around yourfragile frame as closely as he dare. Karn’s spare hand slides downhis stubble until it drops heavily into his lap whilst he stares outinto the distance with a glum expression ageing his otherwiseyouthful features.

It must have perturbed you that Karn – of allmakers – isn’t trying to fill the silence, because you promptlytake it upon yourself to answer at least one of his unspokenquestions. “Death doesn’t like that I’m out here talking to you,”you mutter gently, noticing how the maker tenses against your side,“I don’t think Eideard likes it either, but he wasn’tactively trying to stop me.”

Chewing pensively on your lip, you lean furtherinto the maker’s palm, feeling the minutest twitch of his thumb as heresists the urge to brush it over your head. After a few seconds oflistening to the rain patter off his shoulder pauldrons, you openyour mouth and carefully say, “When I woke up, Death wouldn’t tellme where you were, but… I wanted to make sure you’re all right….

Something about that tugs at the maker’sheartstrings and his eyes dart down to you before snapping away againonce they spy the faint traces of blood still clinging to your scalp.

Dimly, you watch his fingers curl towards you inchby painfully gradual inch. “Eideard said I could go and find you,provided you were still in the village, and under thecondition that I rested for a couple of hours first, which I did.”You throw a smile up at the side of his downturned head, hoping thathe’ll catch your attempt to lighten the mood. “So, you know, theykind of had to let me go. That’s not to say Death didn’t throwa temper-tantrum about it beforehand though, the drama queen…”

It is both disquieting and frustrating to see themaker’s ear flick down at the mention of the Horseman’s name, yet, toyour surprise, he finally, finally opens his mouth to speak. “Youcould have died,” he utters, sounding far older than hisyears suggest, “He’s not bein’ dramatic.”

“I’m afraid he is,” you retort, “Andfrankly, you sitting out here by yourself in the rain is prettydramatic as well, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Karn scowls at that and for the first time, aspark of ire ignites in his chest and turns its burning gaze ontoyou, frustration growing like mould around his ribcage. You seem fartoo nonchalant about the situation, in direct contrast to his own,tumultuous flurry of emotions. “I – I thought I damn well killedyou!” he chokes out, at last twisting his head around to glare atyou, rain pouring down his cheeks in much the same manner as tearsmight, “So… So I do mind you sayin’ that, thanks.”With a huff, he tears his eyes off you and fixes them straight aheadonce more.

With a demeanour that’s so typically laid-back andfriendly, his clear burst of agitation doesn’t seem to suit the youngmaker in the slightest. Even more worrying though, is that he seemsto be under the impression that somehow, in some way, your injury washis fault.  

Reeling back a little until your spine knocksagainst the heel of his palm, you spare him an incredulous huff oflaughter and blurt out, “Karn, you… you understand that it wasn’tyour fault, right? Why would you say you nearly killed me? Youdidn’t do anything!”

“Exactly!” he snaps, “I didn’t doanything to stop that branch fallin’ on your head! If I’d 'ave beenfaster, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt!”

“If you’d’ve been - Karn! That is themost ridiculous thing you’ve said yet! Of all the dangers in thisrealm, who could predict a branch would be the thing to watchout for? Nobody! Because it was just a freak accident!” As if inwarning, your head suddenly gives a painful throb and you let out agroan, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment and breathing deeplyuntil it passes. Getting worked up is helping no one, least of allyou. So, inhaling through your nose and releasing it slowly, you leanforwards to try and catch Karn’s eye again, finding that hestubbornly twists his head away, hand balling into a fist in his lap.“Karn. Will you look at me, please?”

Perhaps it’s the unexpected gentleness that’scrept into your tone, or the fact that he would do almost anythingyou asked of him, but reluctantly, the youngling moves his gaze downtowards you again, where it lingers briefly on the slight welt lefton top of your skull. With the rain weighing down your hair, he cansee far more of the wound than he’d like to, although you’re quick todivert his attention by ducking until his eyes lock with yours andthere, you hold him, a stern frown on your face when you firmlystate, “It was notyour fault.”

For a few seconds, you manage to hold hisbewildered stare before his face suddenly falls and he shakes hishead, a retort on its way out of his mouth. But before it can reachthe open air, you put a halt to it. “I mean it, Karn. Stop blamingyourself for what happened. It could have happened if I was out withDeath, or Eideard or Alya – anyone! It was just…. bad luck.”

The heat radiating off Karn’s palm keeps most ofthe rain’s chill at bay, yet for the sake of a friendship, you dareto venture outside of the meagre cover and stand up on the wall,curling your fingers around the top of his belt to hold yourselfsteady. All the while, he carefully watches your every move lest youslip and take a tumble off the side. In fact, he’s so preoccupiedwith making sure your feet are firmly on solid stone that he nearlymisses the moment when you press yourself against his side, your armsspread as wide as they’ll go to encompass even just a fraction of theyoungling’s girth.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things youcan’t help,” you mumble, your voice nearly lost against the fabricof his tunic, “And besides, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

At long last, the maker’s lips give the smallesttwitch, indicative of a smile. “Huh… Aye,” he breathes, liftinghis hand until it lands against your back, pinning you against himwith the barest amount of pressure and you have to roll your eyes,realising that he’s still filled with trepidation at the prospect ofaccidentally injuring you further. 

So lost in the ethereal peace that the rainfallbrings to Tri Stone, neither you nor the maker notice a figurestanding at the Forge’s entrance, cloaked in shadow and indifferentto the icy water making tracks down pale skin pulled taut aroundsinew and muscle and bone.

An old, long-buried part of the Horseman is urginghim to lose his temper, to march over to you and rip you away fromKarn, who likely has no idea how fervidly Death has longed tohave your arms wrapped around him in the same way you havethem slung around the maker’s bulky torso.

But… what would separating you possibly achieve?He had already tried that once, and now it appears that you and theyoungling are closer than ever…

Casting his luminous eyes to the glistening stoneunderfoot, the Nephilim shoves his childish fantasy down and grindsit viciously into dust, hoping that it’ll never raise its ugly headagain. For a bitter-sweet moment, it had been… rather nice topretend that he might be given the chance to feel the warmth of asmall, compassionate human pressed against his side.

Wrenching himself away from the scene, Deathbegrudgingly pushes open the door to the maker forge and, aftercasting a last, lingering glance over his shoulder at you, he slinksinside once more, resigned to a night spent reevaluating everything he thought he knew about humanity.

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 10

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Angst. Feels. Plot. Regerts. Fluffy inclinations. Mentions of torture. References to past MCU events. A/N: *radiates love to everyone* *begins singing Tina Turner’s “You’re simply the best”* Ask or reblog if you want a tag.

10. Leave a Scar

…   Reader  …

Two days later and you’re still praying that Loki has no idea what you’ve heard even if the chances seem remote. He’s grown quiet. Brooding. Most of the time he’s off somewhere without you but when he returns he finds a secluded corner and a carafe of wine to wash down his gloominess with.

He’s plotting how to kill me. It makes sense – haven’t you done what he wanted you to? The talk about keeping you safe must have been nothing but a ruse to eventually break your spirit completely before delivering the final blow. On the other hand, it seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to if he was just going to waste the effort by being emo. Plotting to kill someone else? Now, that would make sense considering his track record.

On and on your thoughts run in circles and not even the beautiful view from the balcony can provide enough of a distraction today.

“Tell me, mortal.” His voice startles you, coming from right behind you. “What’s plaguing your mind, hmm?”

There’s nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from those piercing, green eyes boring into the back of your skull. Pulling at the sleeves of the purple dress (kindly lend to you by the Älfir), you consider how to out-lie a liar.

“What...what is going to happen now?” you manage to ask, forcing your voice past a lump in your throat.

The sigh that fans your shoulder is chilling. “It seems I have to change my plans.”

Unsure of anything, this isn’t what you had expected. Turning towards him, the somberness clings to his face and cuts his already sharp features from ice. Only now do you realize that there had been a spring in his step and a softness to his gaze a short week ago but since then something has extinguished the light.

Your hand twitches as you restrain yourself from reaching out to stroke his cheek. “What’s happened?” Did he see that?

If he did, nothing in his demeanour divulges anything as Loki steps as close as he can without the mossy greens of his clothing brushing against purple. A thousand worlds could come and go that second and you would never have noticed because the Asgardian’s presence is all-encompassing, sucking you into his personal vortex of pride and pain, stubbornness and deference.

“Why would you care what has happened?” His words are cold like blades of ice, but this time you see through it and wait him out. He resigns. “The Älfir’s magic is not strong enough. They cannot restore Jotunheim.” Deflated.

“If they could’ve then they would’ve healed the Priestess too.” Biting your tongue off suddenly feels like a really good idea.

The silence is oppressing, drawing out the seconds as the man looks you over as if you just dropped from the moon. Like he’s seeing me for the first time. The sensation is far from comforting, something that’s enhanced as the thin lips begin to curve into a crooked smile revealing white teeth.

“You did that.” Man, you hate the way he practically purrs.

“Barely.” You step backwards, bumping into a pillar.

Even now, you can’t help but notice how smoothly he moves as he follows in your footsteps. “But you did.”

Somehow managing to sidestep the god, you make it two steps into the shade of the room before his hands have gotten hold and you’re twirled, forced against the cold wall.

“Don’t -”

“Shush.” He places a cold finger on your lips, making you comply automatically. “We all have sacrifices to make.”

A smidgen of logic in the back of your skull is screaming at you to shut up, to let him have this victory while you figure out a way to get out of the situation. Of course you don’t listen to it, deciding instead to pull yourself up to your full height (as unimpressive as it may be compared to Loki) and glare at him. There’s even a moment there where you impress yourself by how calm your voice is when you answer.

“No. I won’t be your puppet anymore.” Black eyebrows shoot upwards at your words. “And if you kill me, at least I know you’ll still be crying every night.”

That’s the instant the sense of heroic pride dies.

The emerald eyes you secretly admire change into a sea of blood while a flood of blue, broken by ridges and lines cover what skin you can see and causes you to gasp, drawing in air so cold you can feel the lungs crackle in complaint. If at least Loki would snarl or growl, then it would somehow make sense, but he just smiles, the white teeth suddenly similar to the fangs of a predator. A wolf...and I’m the lamb.

“Mortal. Pet.” A claw traces along your cheekbone before scraping down your throat. “I thought we were coming to an understanding? You would obey my every wish in return for the life of those you love?” Nodding is the only option. “Tsk tsk. Perhaps I have underestimated you, wench, thinking you had a soul, a heart. Hoping you would recognize real evil when held up against the light of truth.”

Well...I’m already doomed. “You told a story -!”

“A story?!” This time he does snarl. “I’ll show you story!”

The cold of his hands burn the skin on your forehead, wrist, and palm as he slams your hand against his brow and mirrors the movement.

...  Loki   ...

The first glimpses are simple until the events fully unfold. Falling – he will hate the sensation forever. Falling through nothingness for half an eternity until he lands more dead than alive...except this time he’s watching it from the outside. We’re watching it. Though the Jotun can’t see it, he knows that [Y/N] is there with him, a spectator without the option to look away when the actor is found and brought to the Titan.

What were months or maybe years at the mercy of Thanos and his Children flash by in a few minutes, perhaps. Torture, mind games, hatred twisted and turned until it points back to the outcast prince and penetrates his soul, leaving it to fester before he finally succumbs to the touch of a sceptre. From there the events unfold in a blur only occasionally brought into focus when a part of the fallen god tries to rebel against the shackles.

It’s only when the Loki they watch is lying at the feet of the Avengers that clarity is fully restored, though one kind of shackles is replaced by another. Then: a speck of blue grants an opportunity impossible to dismiss.

A vision. A memory. A nightmare.

Loki’s hands fall to his sides. It’s over. The wall in the Älfir temple looks less real than what [Y/N] and the Jotun have just witnessed, but the wide eyes staring up at him brings reality back like a kick in the balls. She knows. Everyone knows when they witness the recollections of someone else – no amount of so called rational thinking can convince them they have hallucinated because they feel it as if they lived it themselves.

“[Y/N]...”

Tears are welling in her eyes, lips quivering as she tries to root herself in the present. “He...y-you...” What I wouldn’t do to take away your pain. “That was -” A sniffle interrupts her.

He hates it. Hates the despair she’s drowning in at his hands. Truly, he has proven to be the monster he claimed not to be. Losing control and forcing [Y/N] through this nightmare serves no purpose at all.

“I will...I will ensure your safety and then you will never hear from me again,” he promises shamefully, “now...get some rest.”

...

Flat on his back and with the hands behind his head, Loki’s gaze is fixed on a point far beyond the ceiling above. Dawn is nearing yet sleep has evaded him, chased away by memories and guilt. It served no purpose. Priding himself of his logic, the turmoil raging inside his heart is has pushed the Jotun to act rashly and he hates it because he wishes to be more than a beast that simply lashes out when cornered. He doesn’t want to be the monster he behaved like. No, the man in him has to find a way to -

“Loki?” The whisper is hesitant, almost too quiet to hear. “Are you...are you awake?”

He sits up, bare feet on the stone floor as if to ground himself. The covers slides from his chest, revealing the pale skin in the darkness but [Y/N] probably can’t see it with her human eyes as she stands in the doorway.

Draped in the soft-flowing silk from a borrowed shift, she could almost pass for one of the ghosts from the fanciful tales children enjoy to fear. Loki can see her better than that. He can see her face straining as she tries to find him in the dark, and her arms wrapped tightly around the ribs below her bosom perhaps to find some comfort.

“Yeah...I’m awake,” the god rasps softly in return. Is that regret or relief in your sigh?

Sitting there, waiting for the unknown, a tension begins to permeate the air and send tendrils to every nerve ending of Loki’s body. A coil tightens in his chest and it becomes nearly unbearable when [Y/N] tentatively walks towards him, her feet careful as they seek out the right path. A few steps before the goal, her hands reach out to locate the Jotun and he has taken them before thinking to stop himself.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, the mortal braves the silence. “This doesn’t mean we’re okay, but...I believe you now.”

“[Y/N] -”

“Shut up.” He does. “I’m trying to say that...that I get it a-and I trust you.”

Loki has no answer. Gaping slightly at her, he tries to come to terms with the woman’s foolishness. Once or twice a sentence nearly forms in his mind only to dissolve before it can be uttered and the task increases in difficulty as she shyly shifts her weight from one leg to the other, toes intertwining as best they can while she bites her lip.

He obviously startles her as he stands. Yet you don’t run, my dear? A shiver rolls through her the moment he embraces the lithe form.

“Oh! Oh, we’re...hugging? Okay, we can hug,” she babbles, unknowingly making the god smile into her hair.

It’s impossible to say how long they stand like this or when [Y/N]’s warm fingertips start a slow dance across his naked back. Then again, time hardly matters as the Jotun pulls back enough to study her face, smelling her hectic breath that fans against his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, but means I think I love you, “you should rest.”

Her hands retreat, and right away Loki misses the scalding touch and the heat of her body as she navigates the darkness to find her own bed.