#coming to terms with the pain you were willing to cause in the moment because you never thought it would last (but it did)

[ghirahimbo]

evil time loop escape conditions where you can't get out until you've fuucked up your life in the most spectacular way possible, confident that the next night will reset the slate as usual.

instead, the next day comes.

[hanibalistic]

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff, faint angst / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 8175

warning | briefe violence / use of spanish phrases translated from the internet :( let me know if i'm wrong about anything! / everything i know about e-42 miles morales is from the movie / this part deviates from the movie 

parts | one, two, three, four

There were four things you learned from what happened at the bank. 

One, Gwen's finishing touches to your glitch-prevention bracelet saved the essential parts of your body—neck down and hip up—from getting injured. Upon detecting the incoming air pressure released from the explosions, which the bracelet mistook as the effect of a glitch, it surrounded your torso with a protective shield that would have covered you fully if the blasts did not cause it to malfunction.

Two, the loyalty Rio has for her son was extraordinary. After Miles called her out to the back alley of the hospital building, she did not hesitate a second to sneak you into a vacant room and take from the hospital the medical supplies needed to treat you as best as she could. She did not ask any questions. It was one look on Miles’s anxious face, and she was on her feet, taking charge. Because of the safety measures Gwen placed in your bracelet, you did not sustain any fatal wounds, making it much easier for Rio to help you. The only problem you encountered was pain, a lot of it.

Three, Miles has done terrible things. He was the prowler, whatever that meant. The explosions were one of the significant steps in a bank heist that he, Uncle Aaron, and Gwen took up as a side project. Most of the time, they work on lucrative commissions offered by the likes of Kingpin, whoever that was. Kidnapping, assault, and even murder were not irregular to him. He confessed that he had killed someone before, and you asked him to stop it at that.

Four, after shutting yourself out from everyone, except for letting Rio bring you food occasionally, you realized you couldn’t care less about what Miles has done.

The thought haunted you, leaving you in an endless debate with yourself. How dare you let go of your conscience? How dare you treat a criminal with kindness? How dare you look a killer in the eyes and see someone different than their dirty past? To say you were distraught would be an understatement, as the accusations your mind kept throwing at yourself were the least troublesome hurdle to jump through. The most teeth-rotting matter was that you were guilty. You avoided seeing Miles because you knew once you did, the outrageous truth would hit you harder than the bomb blasts did. The fact that you still looked at him with love.

“Can I sit next to you?”

“Yeah–yeah. For sure.” 

You climbed on his bed and sat cross-legged next to him. Miles sucked in a breath when you touched knees, and suddenly, all his senses were focused on that particular contact spot. You picked at your fingers sheepishly, feeling rather silly about your week-long silent treatment. But you needed it for self-reflection and to come to terms with your conclusion. Miles waited for you to speak. He didn’t know if this was only a spur of the moment, and he wasn’t willing to take any risks that might chase you out of his room. 

“I thought about what you told me at the hospital,” you started, rubbing your hands. 

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” he said, turning his head ever-so-slightly to gauge your reaction. “I would never hurt you on purpose, [Name]. I really had no idea you were there.”

“I know,” you nodded with a faint smile, “I forgave you the night it happened.”

You felt he didn’t accept your forgiveness and supposed that was only natural. If you were in his shoes, the mental gymnastics you would do to keep yourself occupied with blam could rival his. The only thing that could get him to treat himself kinder would be time, specifically having you pass through it with him. Licking your lower lip, you rubbed your nose and hummed a soft, audible grin. He turned fully to you then, feeling less anxious.

“Miles, I don’t judge you for what you did or what you plan to do,” you said, your head mildly gesturing in emphasis. Concentrating in deep thoughts, you rubbed your eyes, sniffed comfortably, and faced him with a knowing upside-down smile. “Be it you have a reason or not, I don’t think I will ever–how do I say this? I don’t think I will distance myself from you, ever.”

He felt breathless, but it came from the incongruence between his mind and heart rather than the supposed relief that you accepted him. He was too accustomed to anticipating horrific reactions that he forgot people could be open-minded. You were not supposed to be okay with what he did. You couldn’t be okay with what he did!

“[Name],” he heaved out with an uncontrollable shake of his head, “my hands are bloody.”

You looked down at where he rested them on his lap. Were they? Miles’s hands may be bloody, but they were also a multitude of other things. They are a mother’s secret financial support; they peel the skin off fruits, stroke your hair when you cry to sleep and dance across your love handles in a ticklish haze. You reached out tentatively to hold them, finally realizing he was trembling. Was he scared? You didn’t react to it. His hands fit cozily in yours, as they always have, and suddenly, Miles didn’t fear the atrocity they were capable of. You broke him down, mellowed him out, rinsed him off all he’s ashamed of, and he—

“Mine will cover the stains for you.” You held up your interwind hands with a tight-lipped smile. “See? Can’t even see your palms anymore.”

—loves you, in a frightening way that it seemed like you felt the same way too. 

“[Name],” he hushed, his head dipping in exhaustion. “I’m not gonna stop berating myself.”

He wouldn’t, and it would hurt you less than it would hurt him.

You let go of his hands and watched him desperately scramble for you. It was a heartbreaking sight, even for a split second, to see his longing ragged out like an unwatered plant reaching for the faintest taste of rain. Getting your arms out and open, you refolded your legs into kneeling to pull him into a proper hug. Miles gritted his teeth to silence the screeching voices as he returned the hug immediately. When he closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling the usual crank of it because your neck was sensitive and ticklish, he began to calm down.

Feeling you pat his back, he supposed this was all anything should feel like. Love—a word capable of expressing an emotion of its terrifying caliber. What else could it be? True love is the inability to abandon, in the same way Miles waited for you even after you died, and you refused to let go of his cold-blooded hands made warm by holding yours. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I would never hurt you on purpose.”

“I know.” You nodded with a sudden thoughtful hum. “Hey, you know what you can do to make it up to me?”

Miles perked up slightly and pulled away. He raised a brow when he saw the bashful smile on your face. You’ve got an idea, and he might not like it.

The pressure in your stomach dropped whenever Miles was pulled back to the ground by gravity. Not a second after reaching the floor, he was up in the air again, his boots allowing him to reach a much greater height and distance when he jumped. As the chilling air hit your face and hair, you realized Miles was right to bundle you up after he finally agreed to take you on a stroll high up in the air. 

When you raised the idea to him, his reaction was as he suspected: he did not like it. Or, well, he did not understand it.

You had told him about the faint memory of a floaty feeling the day of the bank accident, which, after he told you about him being the prowler, you could deduce had come from him taking an unconventional shortcut to the hospital. He made the mistake of admitting that he was hopping from roof to roof to get you there because the next thing you asked was for him to do it again, but this time you would be conscious of experiencing it. 

Perhaps he has possessed the convenience his prowler suit gave him for too long. He couldn’t understand being fascinated with the ability to be in the air. You briefly mentioned Spiderman and his interesting web-shooting function as an argument to get Miles to understand you, but how could he? He wasn’t even sure if Spiderman was real! Still, he caved into your wish, grabbed the boots he kept hidden in his closet because he refused to go anywhere with the risk of bumping into him for now, and brought you on a rooftop stroll. 

What was originally a safety hazard forcing his claws to wrap steel tight around your body soon shifted into something of ease. His heart grew in size at how much fun you were having, and for once, he reverted to the boy he was the first time he experienced the thrill this well-made suit gave him. He kept his eyes forward to map a path across the buildings, his claws helping him move closer to the sky. He heard your uncontrollable laughter, he wished he could see your eyes light up brighter than the moon above, and he envied the wind that brushed your face and hair. 

This was a good idea. This may be the single best thing he has done.

“Where are we going?” you whispered, tightening your arms around his neck.

“You’ll see. Hold on tight.”

Miles kicked his feet against the brick wall to hoist himself a good distance upward before forcing his claws through the concrete. He pressed the hand on the low of your back into his body, keeping you steady in one arm. You couldn’t bear to look around at the height you were stuck in, but the arm strength Miles has to support two weights while climbing up a tall building with one arm was surprising and, dare you say, attractive. 

The skyscraper was a place Miles hadn’t visited since ‘your’ death. Being here with you now did not make him feel better. He was careful where he stood on the edge of the highest point of the building; he wanted you to look over the bright borough.  

“Oh, no way! You brought me to the skyscraper?” you exclaimed, looking up at him. “You always said no when I wanted to come here.”

“I got reasons,” he huffed out quietly. Upon your silence, he peered down from the night view and saw you staring at him expectantly. He barely rolled his eyes in defeat. “You died here. You fell.”

The high-pitched hum you let out was comedically timed. Rigidly turning your head to face out, you could only imagine the exact height of this skyscraper as you could not see below the horizon. No wonder he didn’t let you on the ground—this would be one hell of a fall if history repeats itself. Miles chuckled lowly when you curled your arms tighter around his neck and slumped your weight further into him. You echoed his chuckle.

“Well,” you muttered, “definitely not letting go of you anytime sooner.”

“I’m not gonna either,” he said.

A sudden gust of wind blew at your face. You leaned closer to his neck for warmth, your eyes squinting at the building lights. It was too late into the night for the borough to remain bustling as in the morning, but the illumination from apartments, stores, and other high buildings made an equally homey view. The silence was enjoyable, too; just the open air and the inner sound of you counting your breath. 

“Was it embarrassing?” you asked suddenly, your voice hoarse.

“What is?”

“Me falling? I don’t know–“ your body shifted upward, forcing Miles to adjust to your new position–“did I look weird when falling? Did you see me fall? Did anyone see me fall–oh my god, were the police here?”

“I’m sorry. Where is this coming from?” he asked with a confused deadpan. “What are you even saying? None of that matters?”

“It actually does matter because I feel–“ you sucked in a deep breath dramatically–“I don’t like having too much attention on me, and if the police came, I feel that would be very awkward.”

“You trippin’.” He rolled his eyes.  

“What? That’s very valid!” You knocked your fist on the back of his shoulder. “Did I look weird when I landed? Did you see it? Did my brain splatter–“ You quieted down with an opened mouth when he flashed you a pointed look, but several suppressed giggles periodically left your lips as you moved your hands from his neck to cup his face. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put that thought in your head! Don’t think about that!”

Miles’s eyes softened. He wanted to kiss the laugh lines around your mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”

You breathed out the last of your giggles and then stared at him. He was thinking about you even with you here—you knew, you knew very well. Your fingers grew timid at his stare, but they refused to leave the curve of his face. They could only ghost across his skin in freckled spots, treating him with the care he has given you. Miles barely leaned into your touch. He tested the water first, afraid that you would pull away at his immediate engagement, and he fully pressed his palm to your hand when you kept it where it was. 

You brought his face to yours. “Hey!” you whispered with a soft grin when your nose touched. 

“Hey,” he returned. He was soft. You’ve made him soft, made him a messenger of affection. “Your hands are cold.”

“I know.”

You pursed your lips at the feeling of his nose scraping past the bridge of yours. He was leaning closer, inviting you to something more intimidating than standing on the edge of a skyscraper. 

“Miles.” your voice was hushed. “Miles, I’m shy. Can you kiss me first?”

He leaned forward to kiss you after dropping a relieved sigh. You closed your eyes at the sheer force of his desperation, your hands mustering up the courage to grip his face tighter and bring him to you. The taste of your lips cascaded over his conscience. You hit him, like a ton of bricks, like the feeling of flesh wrapped around a blade, like being in the center of a firework explosion. It was a feeling he would trade anything for; one could ask him for a lifetime in return for a second of your lips on his. 

“Woah! Did you forget you’re on the run, Miles?”

“Oh, jeez! Mayday, don’t look!”

You two broke away immediately at the uninvited voices. Miles puffed air into his cheeks with an eye roll, not even attempting to hide how irritated he was at the interruption. Still heaving from the kiss, your brows furrowed when you came face to face with four outrageously different-sized figures, all dressed in a variation of a Spider suit, with a literal toddler wearing a Spiderman mask too small for her head. 

“Who…?” you started slowly. “Spidermen…? Spiderman’s sidekicks?”

“Now that’s just disrespectful,” the one with spikes on his head commented.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you muttered in response.  

“Who are you guys?” Miles asked defensively as he took a few steps back. He held you closer to him, his knees barely buckling in preparation to run. 

“How could you forget your mentor, Miles?” The man took off his mask and opened his arms as an introduction. “It’s me! Peter!”

“Oh my god, it’s Spiderman.” You slapped Miles’s chest to be let down on the ground, but he refused. Although his hair color changed, and he looked relatively scruffier than you remembered on the news, those features could not be mistaken. That was the face of the superhero you grew up seeing. “I thought you died. It was all over the news!”

“How could I be standing here if I died?”

“You know him?” Miles questioned. “I don’t know him.”

“Apparently not?” you mumbled. “Maybe he faked his death somehow?”

“Wait, what about me? You remember me! It’s Pavitr? We fought together! You saved my girlfriend’s dad, Inspector Singh?” He pointed over to his friends, his hair bouncing lusciously. “With Gwen and Hobie?”

“Gwen?” you and Mils exclaimed in unison. Her eyes widened at the sudden collective attention.

“Dude, what are you wearing?”

“Gwen, you’re a Spiderman–err, woman?”

“Okay, you’re seriously playing up the Spiderman jokes?” Miles deadpanned as he arched his neck to look at you.

You pulled a face before swinging your arms to gesture at five newcomers. “They’re literally here. Spiders, all of them!”

“I’ve never seen spiders stand on two feet.”

“Clearly, you haven’t seen a lot.” 

Miles sniffed with distaste. “Right. I’m gonna listen to someone with spikes on their head.”

“Miles!” you exclaimed with a harsh pinch to his cheek, then you turned to apologize. “I’m sorry. I think they look super cool.”

Taking a step forward, Gwen promptly eliminated the ongoing conversation by taking off her mask to reveal herself to you both. You tilted your head. She looked nothing like the Gwen you knew, and from her furrowed brows and darting eyes, she knew too. After a prolonged stare between you and Miles, the puzzles in her head piecing together, her relieved sigh was barely noticeable as realization hit her. She turned to her team with a shake of her head.

“This isn’t the Miles we’re looking for,” she said. “This is Miles from this Earth.”

“I knew that already,” Hobie smirked, hands in his pockets. “With the braids and all.”

Pavitr gasped with widening eyes. He pressed a hand to his chin and nodded. “Oh wow, I didn’t even register that. You look good, Miles!”

You punched Miles’s chest when he kept a brooding silence. He scoffed, smacked his teeth in dismay, then slurred out, “Thanks.”

“Okay, wait! Hold on, hold on!” Peter yelled without having gathered his thoughts. He shifted the weight of his legs, leaning on one hip, and pinched the bridge of his nose as a monotonous thinking noise churched out of his throat in a flat line. “But how? Our watch told us he was here. It gave us the signal that someone from Earth-1610 is here.”

“Someone is,” Gwen said. She turned around slowly, a look of uncertainty, then she pointed at you. “It’s them.”

None of them explicitly explained what they were talking about, but using your experiences and the confusing context clues, you could easily decipher the problem's gist. Something was happening on a multi-universal level. You didn’t know what exactly, but this felt to be a problem regarding that.  

“Gwen, I know you thought you explained the issue but you didn’t,” Peter muttered. He whipped his body around to you and held both hands in the air in a chopping motion. “Are you a Spiderman?”

“No.”

“Not you, big guy. You!”

“Oh, me?” You pointed at yourself for clarification and shook your head. “No, but there is one where I came from. Technically there are two, but the original one died, and he looked almost exactly like you! Just different hair color and… ski–never mind.”

“First of all, I had a feeling you were gonna call me fat. I’m not. I just look like a dad now, which I am. I have to clarify, okay? This is all dad weight, and this cutie-pie is my daughter, Mayday!” Peter said as he gestured toward himself and at Mayday. Then, he burst into a fit of confused noises. “Second, where you came from?” he repeated after you incredulously, paused for a brief moment, and then turned to Gwen, his eyes rolling. “Okay, yeah. I think I know what you’re talking about.”

“Psst… what are they talking about?” Pavitr whispered from the side, unknowingly having inched closer toward Hobie, who leaned down to his height for an explanation.

“That lad is Miles’s lookalike from this Earth. The one he’s clutching to him like a madman is from our Miles’s Earth, which is bonkers 'cause how did they even get here?”

“They’re not from here?” Pavitr widened his eyes. “That’s not good!”

“How so?” Hobie stood up straight.

“Oh, you know, with Miguel and everything,” Pavitr said as he twiddled his thumbs. “Actually, maybe not! I’m sure Miguel isn’t that obsessed about all of this.”

Just after his voice dropped, a portal emerged from behind where Miles stood. The second he noticed the faint glow flashing over his shadow, he jumped away to stand with the newcomers he was still wrecking his brain to familiarize himself with. You stared at the portal with wide eyes. Not once in your life have you seen technology like this, and when you glanced over at the others, you could see a certain dread on their face that peaked your heart rate. What got a bunch of Spider-people so agitated? It must be a real threat.

“Won’t you look at that,” Miguel appeared from the portal, his eyes looking as dead as usual. Following behind him were Jessica and Ben. “The whole gang is here.”

"How did you even find us?" Peter exclaimed in annoyance.

"Your watch, obviously." Miguel pointed at Peter's chest. "Your daughter took it.”

Peter gasped as he looked down at Mayday. He didn't notice it before, but sitting loosely around her wrist was the watch Miguel gave him that he took off before Gwen came to find him. He squeezed his eyes shut—shame on him for letting the same thing happen twice, even though neither was technically his fault.

Hobie breathed out a chuckle at Mayday before he elbowed Pavitr. “Do whatever you want, but I’m telling ya, you got to watch out for the things you say. You’re gonna jinx up the whole place like this.” Bringing his leg up so he could march over to Miles and stand behind him, he bent forward until his face was within Miles's earshot. "I suggest you run home now."

"What? Why?" Miles whispered, stepping away from the proximity. His attention shifted when Peter's obnoxious voice rang through the air.

"Jesus, Miguel! What do you want now?"

"The same thing you all want," Miguel said as he rubbed his wrist. He snapped his head over at Miles, who gulped when his gaze averted to look at you. He stared for a bit too long. "People who are not supposed to be here."

You. That man was talking about you. Miles didn't know what business he had. If anything, he thought himself a much bigger threat. But Miguel was looking at you when he spoke, so it must be.

He bolted the second he made that conclusion. He would deal with it if he later discovered he had come to the wrong one. For now, with the warning from a man whose words he could barely understand and a bunch of context clues he haphazardly strung together on the fly, he was unwilling to take any risk that would make him lose you. Wrapping his arms around your body to hold you into a hug rather than a carry, he instructed you to hang tight and took a few bold steps backward to the skyscraper edge so he could drop off its height.

"Wait, hold on, Miguel!" Peter shot his arm out to squeeze Miguel's shoulder when he saw that Miles would be followed. "You're after the wr–"

"Peter!" Gwen shot out a web aimed at Peter's back and immediately pulled him away from Miguel, preventing the man from telling the truth. Taking the slipping chance, the three slipped past in pursuit of you and Miles.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked incredulously, his eyes following the fading backs of his once colleagues.

Pavitr and Hobie approached them to catch up on their conversation. 

"Let Miguel chase him," she said sternly, her eyes fixated on Peter. "It works in our favor that he is occupied with the wrong Miles. It buys us some time to find our Miles."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no thoughts leaked out. Gwen's logic was sweet and sound. It would make everything so much easier for them if Miguel was temporarily out of the picture. But there was a pierce he felt, through his supposed moral compass, not at the blatant lie of omission he has to tell but at the fact that he would willingly send a grown man after two children, one of whom was just an ordinary civilian.

"Gwen, I don't feel like that's the right thing to do," he sighed.

"Maybe we can try to help both of them?" Pavitr suggested. "We can find Miles as fast as we can and then help the other Miles."

"They won't last," Peter said. "I don't know if that Miles has superpowers, but he's definitely not like us. I don't think their friend is capable of anything, either. Miguel will get to them before we can be done."

"You're saying if we want to help, we ought to do it now," Hobie sniffed.

"That's what I just said."

"I know. I was just repeatin' it."

"We can't afford to be distracted!" Gwen argued, her tone releasing from being firm to a pathetic, exasperated plead. "Don't forget, you're the one who exposed Miles's location in the first place. And now you've exposed ours!"

"Woah–Gwendy, calm down," Hobie said with a light pat on her shoulder. He spun to face Peter, humming at his distraught expression, then turned to meet in a general direction. "We're wasting an awful lotta time arguing about nothing. How about we get a move on, yeah? Pavitr's plan might work if we go now.”

"Yeah! I agree!" Pavitr clapped in agreement. “We just need to go in quick and come out even quicker!" 

“That made no sense,” Peter mumbled. 

“Maybe not to you.” Hobie shrugged.

“Focus, you guys!” Gwen hollered over the wind, catching everyone’s attention. She pursed her lips, her mind filled with a singular goal: save Miles Morales. “I’m going regardless of what you say," she said as she stepped to the edge of the skyscraper. Before she tipped over, she added, "I'm gonna save my Miles."

"Dramatic," Hobie chuckled with big strides forward, seemingly to follow after Gwen. "Better catch up, lads." He clicked his tongue confidently and mocked a salute as he fell off the edge. 

Miles was on the run. You already knew, but that fact punched you in the guts with even more velocity when you realized how quickly your surroundings were passing through. He was no longer holding you in an embrace-like position. After he made it down the skyscraper, Miles hoisted your upper body over his shoulder with his arms circled around your waist so he could better run at his regular speed, which you learned was abnormally fast, much different than the speed he picked when he was strolling around the area. 

Closing up behind you was a man in a Spider suit furiously galloping on all fours. You didn't even know they ran like that. You thought all Spider-people swung with their webs. Running like this may be faster than swinging around. Or perhaps the man's sheer will to catch the two of you amped up his speed. The only reason why Miles was able to periodically distance from Miguel was that he knew this Brooklyn like the back of his palm; all the detours and shortcuts were mapped in his brain, and he knew how to properly mix and match their usage. 

"Miles, he's crazy," you whispered, clutching his shoulders. "He's running like a wolf."

"Tu puta madre–" he spared a glance back and widened his eyes–"why is he chasing us? What did we even do?" 

Hopping off a building and into an alleyway, Miles slipped to the side and hid behind a wall. He pressed his back against the concrete wall to hide behind the shadow. 

The more he ran, the more he saw how it only delayed the consequence of getting caught. He could run home as suggested, but bringing trouble directly to his mother wasn’t ideal. On top of that, it may expose his prowler identity, which was the last thing he wanted. He could keep running, but eventually, he would get tired. He wouldn’t overestimate his ability to escape; a man that size running on all fours has the kind of stamina he could not rival. He had to fight with gimmicks to win, and his first option was to hide.

Taking the time to reposition you on his shoulder, apologizing with amusement when you shivered at his hands gliding past your hips to your waist, Miles carefully placed you back on the ground. When your feet hit the ground, he reached for the crown of your head, squeezing your head and trailing both hands down to your face. He pushed your face together, forcing you to pucker your lips. This was supposed to be a fun night. He felt terrible that this was how things led to. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks. “Are you okay?”

For the time being, you felt like you could be. His hands were warm, and his touch even warmer. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault.” You smiled bitterly once he let go of your face. “He’s here for me, but I don’t know why.”

You haven’t done anything. Even arriving on this Earth was not a purposeful doing. You made no significant changes to this Brooklyn; even if you tried to, you would not have succeeded. You regularly lived as you would have in the universe you came from; staying at home, doing house chores, learning how to cook, getting groceries, watching movies, maintaining a good friendship, and falling in love. None of those were criminal activities! You have done nothing remarkable for a random Spiderman to get so upset with you!

“Be honest, [Name],” Miles started, touching your shoulders. He took a deep breath before squinting. “Are you secretly a world-class criminal?”

“If jumping universes is a crime, then–“ You hummed thoughtfully before shaking your head in disagreement. “Yeah, no. I’d just be a regular criminal because I only jumped once, and it’s by accident, too.”

“Actually, I never asked, but how did you get here?”

You suppressed a burst of laughter. “Are we seriously gonna talk about this now?”

“My bad,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, “is now a bad time?”

“A super bad–“ You screamed when a figure abruptly slid upside down beside you. Instinctively, the hand initially reaching for Miles’s face deflected from its path to punch the intruder in the face.

Ben swung slightly on his web, a curse pushed out of his mouth at the impact of your fist. He hadn’t registered you to be a big enough threat that he failed to block your sudden attack. If it had been Miles’s gloved claws swinging at him, he likely would have reacted. Miles smirked, almost feeling a sense of pride at the sheer strength of your punch. While you profusely apologized for doing something you didn’t mean to do, he grabbed your hand and ran down the alleyway. Mid-way through, he tugged harshly at your arm to bring you in front of him so he could scoop you up as he picked up his speed.

“I can actually run pretty fast,” you complained lightheartedly.

“For sure, baby,” he mused, his feet screeching for an abrupt right turn when he heard Ben’s voice calling after you both. 

However, just as he turned a corner, he was met with the wheel end of a motorcycle. Miles raised a hand up to grip the spinning tire. Before he could dig his claws through the material and pop it, he felt himself being pushed back by the heavy force, so he, tensing his arm muscles, attempted to deter the bike's path before the millisecond of him getting thrown back. His back hit a brick wall, knocking his senses everywhere for a brief moment as he haphazardly reached to cover your head. When he looked up, he was only met with the yellow shades of a woman in red. He huffed; if there was any indication that these people were getting fed up, it would be hitting him with a motorcycle.

“Jessica. You caught them!” Ben exclaimed as he emerged from the shadow, a hand massaging his chin that was pulled into a sneer. His voice was weirdly raspy as if he was playing up a character. “That stupid kid punched me. How dare they.”

“You showed up out of nowhere!” you retorted with an accusing finger pointed at him. “Also, shouldn’t you be able to block my punch? You’re Spiderman! You can’t block a punch from a teenager?”

“This kid is talking back to me. I feel a little distraught. I don’t know how to talk to children.”

“Shut up, Ben.” Jessica waved her hand before she turned to you both. She observed as Miles hopped back to his feet and glared at her. You looked less menacing, but your furrowed brows spoke caution and ready disobedience. She sighed. Another pair of moody teenagers. Miguel would not be happy about this. “Look, we don’t have time for this. You need to go back to where you belong.”

You pursed your lips in dismay and shook your head. Miles pushed you toward him when you circled your arms around his neck, and you slightly averted your gaze from the woman to avoid confrontation. Jessica squinted her eyes at the way you two held each other, a sudden inkling developing that she desperately wished to be wrong—you fell in love with someone from a different universe. She already felt bad enough about what had to be done to Gwen. There was no wrong in sticking to what she believed in. It was just unfortunate that she had to treat teenagers mercilessly to do so.

“You two can write letters to each other,” she said after gathering her thoughts and reverting to professionalism. Her job was to return all anomalies to their world, not limited to villains. Getting off her motorcycle, she slowly walked over to Miles, who didn’t get the sense of running away because of her regular speed. When she was within an arm’s length, she grabbed your arm. “We’re leaving.”

“No!” you refused and tried to shove her off, but she was persistent. 

“Dude, stop!” Miles attempted to step out of reach.

“Dude?” Jessica repeated with wide eyes. “Your mama taught you no manners?”

“His mom is great!” you exclaimed as you snatched your arm away from her grip. Your irritated eyes turned into a glare.

Miles nodded. “Yeah, she doesn’t throw a motorcycle at people’s faces.”

“Okay, I’ve had it.” Jessica laughed in disbelief. “I was trying to be nice, but that’s out the window now.”

Deciding to ignore her harsh tugs at your arm, you resorted to making sure you never let go of Miles instead. You intertwined your fingers that met at a point of his neck and buried your face to his shoulders, tuning out the world. Fear lingered in your chest like a haunting ghost, and it dimmed somewhat when you zeroed in on the feeling of Miles’s grip on your body. You were still here. He was still with you, holding onto you with a death grip. And you thought this might resolve itself eventually. Maybe these people would let you go if you two struggled enough together. Or perhaps it wouldn’t end well, but at least you held on as best as possible. At least you tried.

“Miles Morales.” Everyone paused to look behind Jessica’s shoulder. Miguel stood tall and alarmingly brutal just a few feet away. His dead eyes shifted from the boy to you, and he tipped his head into a brief greeting. “And you.”

Jessica took a deep breath; the real threat finally showed up. She released her hand from your arm and turned to face Miguel. There was something she wanted to say, not to deter Miguel from his plan to take you back to your Earth, but rather a few trying words to prevent him from executing any more brutality, especially when you were as harmless as a dove. The last thing Miguel should have on his conscience was inflicting injuries on a regular civilian. It would be good for him in the long run. Before she could open her mouth to speak, though, Miles buckled his knees and jumped up high. He was making a run for it again, but before his feet even touched the top of the wall separating the streets, his body barely turning away from anyone, a red string caught onto your wrist and snapped you out of his arms.

“¡Mierda!” 

He caught onto your ankles, engaging in a tug-of-war with Miguel that did nothing but put a strain on your limbs. Clicking his tongue, he gave one final hard tug at your feet before letting you go. You screamed, your body swinging toward Miguel at full speed while Miles, fully utilizing his boots, ran to sneak up behind the man and shoved him forward so Miguel would collide with your flinging body. Letting Miguel stumble in confusion and, out of instinct, reaching his arms out to catch you from a hard fall, Miles jumped forward and did the job for him. He secured you in his arms, wasting no time to bolt away. But Miguel was phenomenally quick to regain his senses, and his eyes glowed a bright red once he realized how difficult Miles was being.

He leaped forward, fangs and claws out to grab Miles by the back of his neck. As he swung the boy around, you dropped to the floor and knocked your forehead against the dirt. Miguel slammed Miles into the closest wall, denting the red bricks. He squeezes the poor boy's neck, not entirely cutting the air out of his system but suffocating just enough to make Miles feel outrageously uncomfortable.

"Ay, would you stop that, big man? You're gonna kill the kid!"

White webs shot out and attached to each of Miguel's wrists. He could recognize that godforsaken voice anywhere—Hobie Brown. Noticing the webs on his wrists, he groaned lowly in irritation. He might just snap (if he hasn't already, this madman) if he has to come across one more obstacle. Not allowing Hobie a second to pull him away, Miguel squeezed Miles's neck tighter to pull him out of the dented wall and threw him across the alleyway to the other side. The collision collapsed a hole through the bricks, creating an unnecessary ruckus.

"Now you've gone and done it," Hobie muttered, looking at the destruction. 

Your jaw dropped anxiously. You could faintly see Miles under the debris, showing no signs of getting up. He couldn't have died. Not only would that become a personal problem, you simply refused to believe a childhood superhero figure would kill someone you know and love. Scrambling to your feet with quickened breath, you took a weak step forward, his name hanging quietly at the tip of your tongue. When he didn't respond still, you tried to run towards him only to be pulled back at your wrist.

You looked behind your shoulder to find Miguel facing away from you. His grip on your wrist was firm, almost bone-breaking, to serve a warning. The same portal you saw him arrive in opened up, creating a gust of unnatural wind, and he was pulling you toward it. You attempted to break away, but he was much stronger. Nobody around seemed to be able to help you, not even Punk-looking Spiderman, so the only thing left to do was to hyperventilate for sympathy. This felt like an impending doom, where doom was actually just a few steps away on the other side of a portal. 

"Wait, please don't do this. I don't want to go home. I want to stay here!" you cried, a migraine developing from how you kept turning back and forth to look at Miguel and Miles. "Why are you doing this to me? Please stop, please!"

Sympathy rested in the hands of those who couldn't help. Miguel was as stoic as a rock to your pleads, and you somehow expected him to be. It was just heartbreaking to be proven right how difficult things could get. You kept sucking in deep breaths and forgetting to release them, causing your chest to expand awkwardly. You didn't know what to do, but you've got to try something! Anything! 

"Wait–I haven't said it! I haven't–" a deep breath–"I haven't said goodbye! I haven't said I love you! Let me say goodbye, and I promise–" another deep breath–"I promise I'll leave with you. Please. I promise, I cross my heart."

Miguel paused, and that mere action took everyone aback. He pursed his lips, a flicker of remorseful nostalgia showing in his eyes as he recalled the sudden death of his daughter. You didn't remind him of himself, but your wish was similar to what he would have asked for if he ever could re-experience the tragedy—he would want to say goodbye. He would like to tell his daughter he loved her. Heaving a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. At least you were cooperative; he felt he could be kinder in this case.

"Do not try anything stupid."

Once Miguel released your hand, you ran and fell on your knees next to Miles. Pushing the debris off his body, you scooped him onto your lap and caressed his face. Sniffing away a tearful voice, your voice ended croaking anyway when you called his name, "Miles?"

He opened his eyes meekly to see doubles. It took him a good minute to concentrate on your face, and he smirked when he did. The first instinct to take you and run away was defeated by a pained back and exhausted legs. He would not overestimate his ability, even through immense desperation. He wouldn’t get both of you far enough to not get served something worse. This appeared to be it.

”Mi cariño. Hey."

You laughed; you still had no idea what that meant. Miles refused to tell you, and he also got his mom in on it. But you figured it was a term of endearment. Miles took off his gloves to hold your hand, pressing your palm to his face as he stared at you. Somehow, he couldn't muster up the courage to cry despite the continuous drops in his chest. It could be a pride issue, or he didn't want you to see him suffer in your last minute together. Last for now, at least.

"You're going to leave me," he acknowledged.

"Not on purpose," you replied.

“I know,” he hummed. “You love me too much to do that.”

He had thought about it before. There must be people you were dying to go back to in your world. Not a classmate, no. Not even a friend. But a parent, perhaps? Family members? A pet, certainly? There has to be something waiting for you back in your home. There was no method for you to jump universes yet, but Miles figured if you were raging to go home, it would show. The fact that you blended into his life so casually and permanently, to a point where you memorized his schedules and knew where little trinkets were located in his apartment, told him you chose him over the life you used to have. Every day you woke up, you preferred a life with him in it rather than what you had before.

“You do love me, right?” Miles asked for assurance, his brows furrowing. “I didn’t hallucinate that.”

You squeezed his cheeks—gentle palms over bloodied skin, gentle palms over gentle skin. No more violence, not more crimes. He was but a boy you loved. He doubts your affection, and you would go home with him burned in the back of your head, finding his touch trapped beneath your flesh once stripped naked. From a universe away, Miles was all you would remember. Smiling, you peppered kisses over his brows, his eyes, his nose, and finally his mouth. When you pressed your forehead against his, you scrunched your nose and nodded. 

“I do love you, Miles.”

“Yay, score.” He chuckled, then his voice quieted down to a low hum only meant for you to hear. “I love you too, okay? Aqui y allá, mi corazón es tuyo.”

“Time to go, kid!”

You smacked your lips and puffed an exhale. Running your knuckles down the side of Miles’s face, you nodded to yourself as an encouragement to get on your feet. Your feet budged, then your knees, but instead of standing up, you only shrunk your body closer toward Miles. You willed your voice to say a farewell, but it couldn’t under the threat that this goodbye would be your absolute last one, so you cried instead. Fat tears silently rolled down your chin, caught on your tongue, and forced you to choke on them.

Jessica rubbed her eyes as soon as her voice dropped. She shouldn’t have let Miguel talk her into breaking the moment. Instead of moving, you only leaned your body down and pressed Miles to your chest, hugging him. A passive protest, perhaps. You were not directly struggling but weren’t listening to them, either. She eyed Miguel when he sighed in defeat. He wondered which one was worse—chasing a rebellious kid with Spiderman powers or this. This one sure made him feel like the bad guy if anything. 

He reached for a portable trap box and threw it toward you without hesitation. Before it could reach you, though, a web shot out and pulled it backward, causing the gadget hit Miguel in the face.

“You need to reconsider your morals,” Hobie said in a scolding tone as he walked up from behind everyone. “Trapping a kid in a box. Are you mental?”

He has been watching everything unfold from the shadows, and clearly, he realized the differences in how he saw you and how the other three saw you. Your lack of cooperation was a sign of rebellion, which could be considered so to a certain degree. But Hobie knew to consider other factors; he looked at the bigger picture. There was nothing you could do here, literally. One web shoot and you’d be caught, and you probably already knew that. Your so-called sign of rebellion was less chosen and more forced by the hands of emotional turmoil. You were about to be separated from the boy you were in love with. It would make sense that you were physically unable to be the person to walk away.  

If you were going to leave Miles Morales, you must be taken and nothing else. You stood by not leaving him intentionally. Miguel was going to do that for you, but Hobie decided to take a much gentler approach. Trapping you in a box when you’ve done nothing wrong was, as he said, fucking mental. 

“Don’t struggle, yeah? It makes me uncomfortable,” Hobie muttered as he reached for your waist and pulled you up. He slapped his hands on your shoulders dramatically and turned you around. “The portal is gonna feel doozy. You might vomit. If you feel like you’ll vomit, do it when we arrive at HQ. Preferably all over the floor. Just splatter it around like a sprinkler.”

“Huh…?” You did a double-take at what he said. “That’s disgusting.”

“Vomiting? Yeah. Vomiting on an establishment?” He hummed and tilted his head. “Debatable.”

“I’m sorry, but I really am having a hard time understanding you, Spiderman,” you said, your sobs increasing because you thought Hobie might take it as an insult. 

“Why are you apologizing? You haven’t said anything you shouldn’t,” he said, the panic in his voice unnoticeable. “Also, call me Hobie, not Spiderman.”

“I’m sorry,” you squeezed your eyes as if to produce more tears, “I know that’s your name. I just didn’t use it because we’re not close.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hobie mused, a hand slipping from the top of your head as a makeshift pat. “I’m more friends with you than those three over there.”

You let the faintest giggle of disbelief escape your lips and turned back to Miles. Hobie continued to pull you away from the floor and toward the portal, not taking a moment’s rest. You didn’t struggle against him; eventually, your hand slipped from Miles’s.

[ijustliketoreadstuff]

Kim chose differently

At the start of the series, Kim’s behavior was noted to be insensitive as he was seen making fun of Ivan for not being able to confess to Mylene back in “Origins part 1”, aiding and siding with Chloe against Alya back in “Lady Wifi”, ridiculing the zookeeper and his panther in “Animan”, etc. (more here) Now, although Kim did express less and less of this behavior as the series progressed, we never actually saw him being confronted about it, even more so was that we never truly saw him look back on his mistakes when situations escalated against him. 

(Kim begs for help as he tries to hide from Animan, never looking back on why he was being pursued) 

In “Derision”,  Kim is finally faced with the reality of his behavior, and it is here where we realize Kim was all in all oblivious to the consequences of the things he says and does, as we not only witness him proclaim his admiration for Chloe’s beauty and sense of humor in front of his girlfriend Ondine, but also finding no fault in the cruel prank he helped carry out with Chloe the year before that humiliated and traumatized Marinette. 

When Ondine shows great disappointment in Kim’s insensitivity and begins informing him of the wrong in both his behavior and actions, Kim is unwilling to be compliant about the situation as he genuinely believed he was not doing anything wrong by simply performing pranks and making jokes, why? because to him, it was only natural to assume everyone around him would share his sense of humor and find his actions just as funny as he did. Up to now, Kim has had the liberty of saying whatever he wanted and doing whatever he felt like, without anyone confronting him about his behavior. 

So to Kim, Ondine wasn’t helping, she was threatening his free spirit, restricting him from speaking his mind and limiting what he could do. Hearing others tell him it wasn’t good to be himself, was an insult to him and his way of life. As a result, through his mind alone, Kim was willing to believe there was no fault with him, everyone else was just in the wrong for not attempting to share his sense of humor and were unwilling to understand that his actions(through his eyes alone) were only ever meant to be " just a joke". However, what ultimately makes Kim reevaluate himself, was coming to terms with what led him to be akumatized into Dark Humor in the first place. Near the end of “Derision”, when Kim is once again faced with the same conversation over his behavior, he looks at the charm Ladybug gave him and is reminded of the little words of wisdom he left her, “May it help you avoid making the same mistakes again”. 

Although Kim was originally angry over Ondine’s words the first time, he understood it was his unwillingness to listen that caused him to be akumatized. Rather than make the same mistake again, Kim decided to take the time to really think about exactly what Ondine was trying to tell him and figure out if what she was saying was true or not, and sure enough, he realized she was right. 

Ondine told him he does awful things even when he isn’t akumatized, and despite him not knowing whether or not his jokes would actually hurt someone, it was no excuse, because although he believed such jokes would be just as entertaining to everyone as it was to him, the fact of the matter was that his jokes were not always morally right. In one little moment, everything he had said and done in his life came flooding back all at once, and for the first time, Kim took the time to really think about what it was like being in the position of those who suffered the pain of his jokes, and thought about what Marinette had to go through as the person she liked not only humiliated her, but broke her heart, a feeling Kim had likely realized he was all to familiar with the day he had attempted to express his own affection to a girl he liked, that girl being of course, Chloe. 

Chloe told him the year before that if you like a girl you should get on one knee, compliment her and give her jewelry, and as we all saw in “Dark Cupid”, that’s exactly what he attempted to do with her when he tried to ask her to be his valentine. The results were of course disastrous as Kim realized he was not only rejected, but humiliated as Chloe took an embarrassing picture of him and shared it with the entire school as a joke. It didn’t matter if Chloe did or didn’t know her little joke would hurt him, the pain was still all to real for him. 

Kim said in the beginning of “Derision” that he is the way he is and he likes it, he had no intention of giving up what he believed was simply a part of who he was, but upon realizing the true pain his sense of humor had inflicted onto the people around him, Kim was willing to accept that living a life where he would continue to hurt others over his jokes for his own amusement, was simply not a way of life he wanted to continue upholding.

Back in “Syren”, when Kim expressed his admiration for the heroes, he explained to Ondine just how much he wanted to be just like them, but because he had no real powers of his own or any way of knowing how to train to be a superhero, Kim decided to instead uphold his life as someone who would help others in his day to day life, just as any hero would. 

In “Party Crasher”, when Kim helped master Fu, Kim explained that he believed being selfless and helping others was something that should be as natural a reflex as it was for fish who would swim in the waters. It was Kim’s aspirations and drive to be selfless that made master Fu decide to entrust him with the powers of the monkey miraculous.

And so, as Kim was faced with the reality of his behavior near the end of “Derision”, the choice was left to him to either continue living as he was, regardless of what others thought of him, and expect others to abide by his views of the world and his sense of humor, or set aside his pride and accept the truth about himself, that he had committed wrong to not just one person, but to many good people. 

Kim ultimately chose to commit himself to changing by making the effort to reevaluate himself and be willing to sacrifice the part of his sense of humor he now realized was never morally correct, not just for the sake of the good people around him, but for himself as he strived to become the hero he always wanted to be. Kim understood he had a lot to make amends for, and although he knew a sincere apology would not erase everything he had done, it was more than enough to let Marinette feel willing to set aside their past and give him another chance to better himself.

[miradelletarot]

Part 4: Under the Moonlight - The Weave and the Vines

Summary: Sagora meets Gale outside of camp for a private moment under the stars.

ACT TWO SPOILERS Don't judge me, this was my very first foray into smut writing, and I adored this scene so much I used some of the lines from the game because they were just too good to replace. Sorry not sorry. I have made some edits/improvements though so hopefully it reads better than it used to. TAGS: Fluff, hurt/comfort, body worship, PIV, Fem!OC , very unexciting but productive use of mage hand. Words: 4,000 | AO3 MINORS DNI - SMUT UNDER THE CUT

“Good evening! I’m here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep.  He wishes to extend you an invitation for a private conversation in a more suitable locale.”Sagora tilted her head, confused as to what Gale was up to. He said to come to his tent this evening, but she expected him, not a projection. Still, her curiosity was piqued so she followed the projection’s instructions, and traveled the path set before her. She arrived a little ways outside of camp to see Gale sitting in a lush, grassy field. Fireflies flitted nearby him as conjured sparks of the Weave surrounded him in a glittering aura. He heard her soft footsteps coming from behind, and turned to look at her. He smiled. “I love this time of night.” She smiled back, and quietly sat on the blanket next to him. He spoke so eloquently, so gently, about the peak of darkness, of eternity. Suddenly, she was snapped out of the daze his voice lulled her into.

“ –The timelessness of lovers. That most beautiful of fantasies.”   His eyes sparkled like the stars in the sky. She could drown in those eyes. They made her insides swirl, and her heart skip, but she noticed a shift in his gaze. A hollow feeling seated itself in the pit of her stomach. “This may be my last night alive. I wanted it to be under a canopy of beauty and wonder.” He turned his gaze from Sagora towards the iridescent night sky. Translucent waves of purples, blues, and greens blanketed the starry landscape he created.  He needed an escape from his inevitable reality.

“Gale, do you really think this is the right choice? To die for a goddess who so casually cast you aside like a piece of rubbish?”

“It’s Mystra’s will. If she thinks that this can turn the tide of our most unfortunate of circumstances then perhaps I should.” He hung his head. Saying the words out loud make sense enough, but the knots in his stomach tugged at him with hesitation and uncertainty.

“You’re quite brave to face this so…so calmly.”

Gale let out a faint chuckle. “Truth be told? I’m terrified. But, that doesn’t change anything about the task I’ve been given.” “You don’t have to do this, you know.  All of us - together - we can figure something out I’m sure of it.” Desperation washed over Sagora’s face. Was he truly willing to die for such a cause without considering other options?

“I appreciate the sentiment. Really.  My fate is inevitable, I'm afraid. Best to meet it on my own terms.”  His words sounded so confident, but the pained look in his eyes spoke otherwise. “This is ridiculous. Gale, you don’t have to die. There are so many possibilities that lay before us. You have all of us, for better or worse. Let’s figure it out together. No one needs to die…especially for the sake of an ungrateful goddess.” Sagora furrowed her brows at the mere thought of Mystra. Gale didn’t need her anger though. She wanted to comfort him as he did for her days before, though he could sense the rising fury within her that she tried to keep hidden. “ Sorry …I didn’t mean to – ” Her words trailed off as she cast her gaze to the ground. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew her anger would ruin a lovely evening if she continued. An awkward silence hung in the air. Gale understood that she was angry about his new mission. Yet, he couldn't imagine anyone caring so deeply for him. It only made him fall for her more. “One moment with you could sate me for a lifetime. I’m so very glad you came.” He turned to Sagora, and smiled softly. “Thank you for sharing this with me.” She returned his smile with one of her own, and placed her hand on his. His skin felt electric and warm, still charged with traces of the Weave. “I know this is unreal, but I created it for you.” He paused. He was unsure how she would react to his confession. “You must know that you’re...you’re very special to me.”  He wanted nothing more than to be back home, in Waterdeep, showing her all the wonders the City of Splendors had to offer. To do things properly. But, they were all on borrowed time. The luxuries of a proper courtship wouldn’t be possible. Say the words, Gale. It's now or never. “I’m in love with you.” Sagora saw trepidation, adoration, and anxiety flood his gaze all at once. His words echoed in her ears as the heat rose from her core, and pricked at her skin. Her body moved of its own accord as her lips caressed his. Her impulse was all the response he needed for his confession. Softer than the finest silk, he thought.  The sensation sent shivers through him. Such a delicate touch evoking the most fervent response. He didn’t need to hold back this time. Since Elminster stabilized the orb, Gale was free to feel as deeply as he wished. For now. Taking Sagora’s hand, they stood together. “I want it to be perfect.” He sincerely and excitedly shared his ideal evening with her. Within the Weave, bonding like the gods do. To intertwine their spirits in an ethereal landscape with no mortal limitations. “All of that sounds lovely, Gale. But –”

“But ?”

She sighed softly as she cupped his face in her hands. “I don’t need illusions. I want you. Just. You.”

He stepped back with a gentle smile. “If that is what you wish, so be it.” With a flourish of his hand he conjured a bed. It had been so long since Sagora lay in an actual bed. While it was still an illusion, it was real enough for her to dive into. It felt plush on her skin, and smelled of freshly washed linens. Truly, a delight to her senses after a long period of dirt, blood, and a flat bedroll.

She propped herself up on one side so she could look at him. Her eyes darkened with desire as she tapped seductively on the bed, and waved him over. He sauntered over to the edge of the bed, and grazed his hands up her body as he climbed up to meet her. Her pulse quickened as his hands explored her over her garments. She was suddenly overcome with a soft, whispered giggle. Gale paused. The deepening desire that was once on his face was now replaced with confusion, and concern. “Is everything ok?” He really wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction. She grinned wildly. “Yes . It’s just -”

“We can stop if you’re not comfortable.” “No! Gods no. I just - haven’t - it’s been a while.” Her cheeks flushed. “And - I’ve never been...romanced before. I quite like it.” She looked away, and bit her lip sheepishly. His gaze softened, and he smiled. He lowered himself down to whisper in her ear. “Then let me take care of you.” Her eyes flashed at his request. “Me? Why?” Their faces were so close their noses nearly touched. He planted a chaste kiss on her forehead before he sat up.

“Because you deserve it. You’ve done so much, Sagora. Let me show you how much I appreciate you.” His eyes darkened once again. “I told you. I want it to be perfect.” She was fairly certain she forgot to breathe. This was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, but she yearned to experience everything Gale wished to offer her. With a gentle smile and a nod, she gave her unspoken consent, allowing him to pleasure her as he wished.

He extended his hand to her, shifting enough so she could sit up. With his other hand, he slid his arm around her waist, and pulled her in closer to his chest. His fingers lingered at the hem of her tunic. “May I ?” He whispered. He dared not move an inch unless she gave her permission.

“Please.” She gazed at him as he gingerly pulled the garment over her head, and carelessly tossed it aside. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and began tracing his fingers down the length of her body. Her collarbone , her breasts , her stomach . His breath shuddered with every contact of her delicate, exposed skin. But, this moment was for her. He’ll tend to his own desires later.

Gale gently patted her thigh. “Roll over, and lie down.” She flashed a curious smirk at his gentle command, but was happy to acquiesce. When he straddled her thighs he noticed the moonlight had illuminated a multitude of old scars on her back and sides. Some were large gashes, and more smaller cuts. If there were others he hadn’t noticed them in the darkness. Sagora could sense his delay, and looked over her shoulder. She knew what gave him pause. “It was a long time ago…” Thankfully, her vague statement was enough to dissuade him from any questions.

As if his touch couldn’t be any softer, he delicately traced one of the larger scars that went up her back. Then another, and another. He lowered himself down to her, pressing his body gently against her curves. “You’re beautiful.” He whispered into her skin as he began to kiss each scar tenderly. He sat back up, and whispered an incantation, a thin layer of oil coating his hands. He rubbed them together for warmth before he slid them up her spine, and spread them out to her shoulders. A moan mixed with pleasure and comfort was forced out of her as he massaged her sore muscles. “Gale...” Her call to him was muffled by the blankets beneath her. “Yes?” Sagora tried to respond, but all that came out of her were breathy moans, and incoherent mumbles as the tension left her body. He smiled knowingly, continuing his soothing ministrations.  “Are you comfortable?” All she could do was nod, completely overcome by his warm touch. As the oil began to absorb into her skin, he leaned down to her once more, and nuzzled the side of her neck. She giggled softly as his beard tickled her sensitive skin. “How do you feel, darling?” “Amazing.” Her face was slack, and still muffled by the blankets. A contented sigh passed her lips, and she smiled. “I'm glad.” He whispered, and left a gentle kiss on the back of her head. He removed himself from the softness of her body, and asked her to turn again. Sagora took a moment, humming a satisfying moan with her stretch, and savoring the lack of tension in her muscles as she rolled over onto her back. Gale draped his legs around her once more only to find more scars - ones he neglected to notice earlier. The darkness did well to shroud them before, but the moon didn’t allow her to hide her past so easily this time. He knew better than to ask who or what caused her such pain, but he couldn’t help the heat that rose within him. It took all of his will to keep his rising anger from showing itself when his purpose in that moment was to make her feel comfort.

Still, it didn’t discourage him from repeating his adoration as he did before. He lovingly caressed and kissed every scar that painted her flesh. “I swear,” he muttered against her skin, “I’ll protect you so you’ll never have to endure this pain again. If you'll let me.”  

Sagora released a trembling sigh as Gale continued to explore more of her with his delicate lips. He then settled on the curve of her exposed neck, grazing her skin with passionate kisses to her jawline. He lingered by her ear, and playfully nibbled at her soft flesh. She hummed, delighting in the way he felt as his body pressed into her, his cock straining against his robes. He released a soft growl as he seductively tugged at her lobe once again, the vibration sending a chill down her body, her breath hitching at the sensation. She thought she might lose herself from the voracity of her sinful need.

“ Gale –” She huffed. “ Please –” She could hardly speak. “I need you.” 

A wicked grin flashed across his face. “Now, now, my love. Patience. You’ll have me. I promise .” His voice was low and rough as he caressed his cheek against hers. The want in her eyes was growing desperate, and he was enjoying watching her come undone by his touch alone. Slowly and deliberately, he slid his hand up the side of her body, and settled at her breast, filling his hand perfectly. He deftly flicked her nipple with his thumb, and an uncontrollable moan emanated from deep within her. He left a trail of soft kisses down from her neck to her other breast, and took her into his mouth while he continued to play with its mate. She arched her back, writhing under him as his tongue swirled and flicked at its peak. Her walls fluttered, clenching around nothing as she snaked her hands through his tousled hair, her arousal dripping between her legs the more he teased her. The vibration of his moan against her hardened peak forced a shuddering whimper from her lips, throwing her head back as she felt the urgency of his own pleasure begging her for more – begging to be released from its bondage.  Even Gale was growing impatient with the pace he set. Slowly, he grazed his bottom lip across her peak, his eyes meeting her gaze, and lips curling into a seductive smirk at the sight of her. Marking the abandoned spot with a kiss, he sat up and drew his hands down her stomach, finding the laces on her trousers. “Is this ok?” he asked as he played with the laces.

Sagora's eyes darkened with wanton hunger. “Not yet. I want something first.” As he reached for her outstretched hand, she hooked his fingers into hers, and pulled him back down onto her. Unsure as he was, Gale was not displeased with her intensity. She pressed her lips to his, the tip of her tongue teasing at the seam. He parted his lips, allowing her to slip past, their tongues now swirling together, one desperate for the other. Her hips bucked into him as she explored more of him, the fire of their embrace growing more passionate the more they tasted each other. Gods was he delicious. He tasted of honeyed wine, warm, spicy, and sweet. She brought her hands to his cheeks, pulling him away just enough so their noses touched. “I want to undress you…please.” She was breathless. Wanting. Needing. He smiled and pulled himself back, taking her hand as he did so. They stood at the edge of the bed, Sagora grazing her hands up Gale’s chest and down again. He watched her as she reached up slowly, she unclasping the small buckles that held his robes closed, doing so with tenderness like he was a gift meant to be carefully unwrapped. The fabric folded over itself begging to be removed completely, her fingers gently scratching through the small patch of hair on his bare chest. The scars left behind by the orb were now exposed by the vacant garments. She traced her fingers around it, following every wispy line, his breath hitching at her touch. She leaned into his chest, and blew a cool breath at the center of the orb before leaving behind a delicate kiss. He rolled his head back, and his eyes forced themselves shut, unable to stifle the shuddering, breathless moan that left his body. Sagora gripped onto the sides of his robes, and buried her face into his chest, kissing the now glowing orb, in an attempt stabilize her own trembling body. Gale put a finger to her jawline, tilting her head so she could look into his eyes. He moved his hands to hers, and guided her to his belt. She unfastened its buckle, allowing it to drop unceremoniously to the ground. His robes fell open as she slid her hands up to his shoulders, coaxing the garment to fall of its own accord. Once he was freed from his robes, he reached up to her hands and guided them down to the ties on his trousers. She smiled coquettishly as she bit her lip, reveling in the way he grasped her hands, and moved them to places they both desired. Before he let her go, she pulled his hand to the hem of her own trousers. They unwound each other’s laces, but Sagora stepped back against the edge of the bed as soon as he loosened her ties. She wanted to make a show of seductively – sinfully - lowering her trousers and her smalls to the ground. She wanted to put herself on display. Just for him to behold.

He swallowed hard. “Well – aren’t you a sight for these starving eyes.” He stepped closer to her, hooking an arm around her waist, the other cupping her cheek. “But I think I’ll require your assistance getting these off .” He knew by now that whispering in her ear made her shiver, but was equally happy to take advantage of the opportunity to press her naked body against him. She moaned into his chest as she slid her hands across the waistband of his loosened trousers. He placed his hands on hers, and together, pulled them down, along with his underclothes, discarding them with the rest of the abandoned garments at their feet, finally freeing Gale’s hardened cock.

Sagora looked at him with a devilish, playful smirk. “ Now, Mr. Gale of Waterdeep –” Every word she said was coyly enunciated. “What was it you wanted to do to me?” He moved in closer, forcing her to sit at the edge of the bed. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling his body into her. She whimpered, her slick cunt throbbing as his cock brushed against her inner thigh. "Whatever you desire." His deep brown eyes burned into her. She couldn't hold back any longer. “I’m yours.” Her eyes grew impossibly dark with want. “I need you.”

“You have me, Love.” He purred. “Lie down.” She followed his instruction, making herself comfortable. He climbed on top of her, pressing his leg between hers to spread her open before him. Heat rose from her center as he lowered himself down to her, the curves of her body perfectly entwined with his. She bit back a moan as the tip of his cock teased at her bundle of nerves. He grasped his cock, and teased at her swollen clit as he began sliding his tip gently through her folds, her slick arousal mingling with the bead of precum that leaked from his throbbing erection.

“Gale. Please,” she mewled. He guided himself to her entrance, watching as he sheathed himself inside of her, a shuddered moan breaking past his lips as her wetness surrounded him. She eagerly attempted to rock her hips into his, but her movements were halted. He grasped her hips, and held her in place so he could keep a slow rhythm. It was torture for both of them, but he wanted to savor her as much as possible. He pulled himself out almost entirely before sliding back in, his controlled movements forcing a curse from her lips as the pressure of his girth stretched her slick walls. After a moment, he settled into a steady, deliberate rhythm. She gripped his forearms, and dragged her nails into his flesh as another curse escaped her lips. “More. Gods…Please. More!” Her words were breathless and ardent. “The gods…can’t give you…what you desire, my love.” His own eloquence breathlessly began to falter at the mercy of his coiling pleasure. “Gale!” She pleaded, her eyes piercing into him hungrily. Hands still on her hips, he slid his hands under her ass and pulled her up, the new angle allowing him to bury his cock deeper into her core. She wrapped her legs around him forcing him to fold, and brace himself on top of her. Their movements grew faster and less coordinated while beads of sweat glittered on her skin in the moonlight. Gale’s breath hitched at the delectable sight before him.

“Sagora… ahh –” His mind betrayed him, no longer able to utter anything coherent. All that could be heard were the sounds of their gasps and moans, and the friction of their slick bodies against each other.  Harder. She bucked her hips into him, his cock plunging deep into her core.

Faster. Desperately, they chased each other's pleasure. With every thrust, Sagora moaned louder and louder, no longer caring if the camp or even of Faerûn heard her.

She arched her back, lifting her arms over her head, gripping the pillows beneath her, and crying out in toe-curling ecstasy as she found her sweet release. Gale’s thrusts intensified as her walls pulsed around him. A deep, guttural moan poured out of him as he spilled deep inside of her. His concentration broke as his cock throbbed, sending shockwaves through her overstimulated body. They gasped for air in a dizzying frenzy, trying to come down from their high, when suddenly…

POOF!

The bed vanished beneath them, and they collapsed with a thud on the ground. Stunned, they simply looked at each other for a moment before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

“Dear Gods! Are you all right?” His concern blended with a fit of laughter at their hilarious climax. Her reply was thankfully tangled up in her own laughter. “I’m fine. Promise! Are you?” Gale winced, rubbing one of his knees.

“Never better.” Despite the dull ache in his joints, he couldn’t help but smile. Sagora gazed at him with satisfaction, nibbling at her bottom lip with a playful grin, paying little regard to the untimely break in their illusion. “Well...that’s not exactly how I wanted that to end.” He sat up, still nestled between Sagora’s legs. “Perhaps not.” She smirked. “But...hmm. How many blankets did you bring by the way?”

Gale cocked an eyebrow, looking at her inquisitively. “Uh, three. Why do you ask?” Sagora sat herself up, legs still splayed open before him. Grasping his arms, she pulled herself into his chest, her breasts grazing his skin with each breath she took. She walked two of her fingers up his chest, and dragged her fingertips through the slick of sweat that caught in his chest hair. “I think…we should make our own camp here tonight – ” She kissed the center of the orb, the salty taste of his sweat on her lips. “ – under the stars.” She kissed the orb again. “ – our bodies tangled up to keep warm.” She looked up and gave him a chaste kiss on his lips. He wrapped his arms around her, and they pressed their foreheads together.

“That sounds lovely …but first –” With a nonchalant wave of his hand, the evidence of their climax had vanished. He offered his hand to her, and helped her to her feet, walking over to the blanket he spread out earlier, and leaving their clothing behind in an abandoned heap. She worked her own magic to make the ground more plush beneath the blanket. Lush grass, and small wildflowers cropped up through the entire field creating a soft, pillowy surface for them to lay on.

They spread themselves out on the blanket, Sagora nuzzling her body into Gale’s. She draped one of her legs around his while he made use of mage hand to help him fan out the extra blankets on top of them. She let out a contented sigh as the warmth of the blankets caressed her skin. He kissed the top of her head, and pulled her in closer, fitting together like two pieces of an intricate puzzle. The comfort of their embrace was enough to lull them both into the edge of sleep. “Gale…” “Hmm?” “I love you, too.” Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

[madmachaca]

I got this in my inbox, and I think is a worth seeing argument:

It is about a previous post I made about Doflamingo and since it seems it´s causing some confusion, I want to add something (I´m gonna write my answer first, because it´s less confusing that way, and then let y´all read the collaboration I got after the Readmore section. IF WHOEVER SENT IT TO ME DOESN'T WANT IT HERE, TELL ME IN AN ASK AND I WILL DELETE THAT PART)

(*I wanna mention that this I am writing now is not an answer to the person who sent it to me, but something I wanted to add. I appreciated getting that perspective sent, and to that person, I'm gonna say, "Thank you." it was a good read)

As I mentioned in a reblog (which was in spanish) I may have explain myself badly, when I said they went through the same, I meant their shared experinces. Or maybe, I oversimplificted things. Yes, I do acknowledge the two Donquixote brothers grew up in different envioremnts, I am not ignoring how badly Doflamingo was affected, but the point of my original post (and here is where I think it´s the first miscommunication problem) was that I like how the show doesn´t justify him with his past. I like when villians are let to be so. Doflamingo is a twisted man with antisocial behaivor and that (in a work of fiction) it´s entrataining. I don´t want him to be justified, but I like him being explained. understood and justified is not the same thing, I should mention. Explaining a character gives it dept, but explanation is not always done so the audience can empathize, sometimes, it just does that explains.

The other thing is a matter of personal taste. I like doflamingo because I like entrataining villians, but I don´t empathize with him and I still cheered everythime the strawhats ruinned his plans.

Now the other issue with my orignal post, and form here on I will put the topic of the brothers aside and talk in general terms, also I will change the size of the font to indicate a mood switch because this may be controversial: 

The decision to become kind does not depend on your past. It depends on you. 

I stand by this.

BUT,before you all say anything,

 No

I DO NOT THINK is as simple as “ah, get over it and be better to others!” I know it´s way more complicated, and I said it: it requires a lot of will. not to mention it´s painful, but it´s possible with help.

(Reminder that I am not talking about the Donquixote brothers here anymore, but genreall (and I will use you solely for the sake of simplicity):

Your hard past is not your fault. ok? if you suffered, what happened to you it´s not your fault. I wanna make that clear. 

 yet, there comes a moment when it becomes your responsability... by this I mean that using you past as a justification to hurt others is on you.

 and I get not everybody get´s the chance to change. Not everybody will be helped, but know that if somebody is willing to help you, most of the work would be not in them,, but in you. 

I am well aware there are real life examples of people that were never helped and that is, with no sense of irony, tragic and sad.

Sorry for that oversimplied rant there, I just wanted to make myself clear. 

Now, from here on, is what I got in my inbox (read it if you will, I genually think is a point of viewworth of considering)

AGAIN, THIS ANSWER IS NOT DIRECTED TO THE PERSON WHO SENT ME THIS, BUT A CLARYFICATION OF WHAT i SAID AND A THOUGHT I HAD. 

I am just sharing because it´s a point to consider. as the person who sent it said “it´s more complicated that that” 

Thank you for keeping up with the mess of ideas and thoughts that is more brain, and now, this time for real, it´s the post I got sent:

Idk I think it’s more complicated than that. Those kids very much did not go through the same thing or have access to the same resources and that very much does impact their choices. Just the minor differences of one being the older protector to the younger drastically changes how they would experience and move through the world. Two years is a lot at that age and one was more aware more indoctrinated and needed more help and education to fix this.

With the story showing after they parted as children only Rosi received in any meaningful way while Doffy not only didn’t get any of that support but got negative enabling. If anything Law who was stated to be just like Doflamingo as a child shows that really more than being stopped or controlled the child needed to be rescued.

Sure now the character needs to be stopped but still it should be noted the first attempt didn’t work and ended with a death and the second one hasn’t really fixed any of the problems that created the situation nor corrected the man in question as another prison break could unleash him again. Doffy had issues but his brother was completely wrong in believing he was born evil and was never afraid or cried. We see evidence all throughout the flashbacks and present day that was never the real problem with the kid.

Rather it was the negative lessons he internalized that were promoted throughout his life by the people around him and that he later promoted and spread. For example Doffy wasnt born believing owning slaves was good he learned that from other adults and his parents never corrected this before they moved. So as a child he isn’t broken or twisted he is repeating the values taught to him and engaging in behavior he would have previously been praised for.

His negative reaction to the change is actually a common childhood reaction to drastic shifts in their environments and 180s in how they have previously been raised. You see these reactions all the time in real world deprogramming initiatives and kids from those do go on to change and live better lives. Doffy isn’t a god or monster he’s a normal human being. His actions are his own and have consequences that he must live with but they are also shaped by his environment. Not 100% one or the other but a toxic mixture of both.

[casitafallz-a]

Decay AU | Soothing Fractures

Isabela stared into the river, sniffling quietly in her misery though the grief had settled well into her lungs once again and it felt like she was slowly suffocating with it and the absence of anger now left rivers of cold in her veins and tiredness behind her eyes.

She was exhausted.

And she hated feeling exhausted as well… but she felt she had gained a lot of unpleasant facts beyond the obviousness of the town knowing but this…was far closer now and it ached.

Her mother wasn’t trying to help her.

Isabela had hoped the first time when her mother had come in today after that…she’d get a hug. Maybe a kiss on the cheek and words of comfort…anything. It had been a month since she last received any of that physical affection from her mother… and she craved that just as much as she wanted Abuela to see her as anything but the actions of that day.

She hadn’t meant to turn it into an argument… hadn’t meant to get so angry but Julieta had shown her stance; she’d never try to understand her side, only Mirabel’s side. Like everyone else in the family, they favored Mirabel, and…Isabela did understand why despite the bitterness that rose within her in terms of her sister. She really did but…they didn’t have to be against her as well. How could she get better when she had no support? Is no one willing to love her with just a little bit of warmth?

If all they saw of her was the bad guy…was she doomed to repeat and solidify that view? Would she ever get to…live a proper life than be under the shadow of her mistake? Would…Abuela ever be proud of her? When would her punishments actually end? It hadn’t escaped her that Abuela had been very tight-lipped for how long she planned to keep her punished for and nothing of what would be lifted…

Not knowing when it would be over was…unsettling. The uncertainty of it.

In her palm, Isabela idly grew another light brown lump about the size of an avocado. A single cool potato. Idly tossing it from one hand to the other before once again tossing it into the rapids and letting it float away out of sight.

A new thing but hardly one Isabela was overly excited about; it wouldn’t make Abuela proud. It was a potato. Still, there was some…satisfaction that she could be useful when she was allowed. Potato meant food. If she could create food then…maybe she could prove to the town her gifts were a blessing; not means of causing pain?

Isabela rose to her feet and padded back towards the center of her room, wiping her eyes again with a sniffle though drew her mind to mull about something else than ideals, considering getting into bed for a nap though her shoulders slouched for a moment as she heard the knock at the door, forcing herself to straighten up.

“Come in.” Because everyone else did regardless if she said no or nothing.

“Isa?”

Isabela sighed out, covering the mild frustration to see her father wander in. He didn’t look…angry though he wasn’t overly thrilled. She was probably in trouble for getting into an argument with Mama. Isabela sat down, flicking her hair from her face before he came to a stop a few feet away but she couldn’t feel it in herself to really meet her eye.

“If you’re here to tell me off…can you please save it for later? I’m…not in a mood to take any more.”

“I’m not here to tell you off, Isa…or give you a lecture.” Agustín sighed, “I came to see you.”

Isabela shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Agustín sat uninvited, but she didn’t look to see what sort of expression he had. “I’m sorry that happened to you…today of all days.”

“Tomorrow’s gonna be worse.” The news would have fully spread by then to everyone in the village if it hadn’t already. “I don’t know how long Mama’s gonna keep me in town either.” She was already dreading it; this morning all she wanted to do was leave and now she didn’t want to leave it.

“What?”

Mama clearly hadn’t talked to him… maybe she had a chance to get out of it? “I argued with her earlier…about Camilo and stuff...now she’s punishing me by making me go out with her tomorrow at her stall. She also thinks me showing my face might…be good.” Her tone turned sour. “I fail to see it.”

Her father stayed quiet for a moment. “I can talk to her later, Isa but… I won’t promise anything.”

“Thank you.” Isabela let out a heavy sigh, not disappointed but…at least it was something. She knew not to raise her expectations too high anyway. The bar was so low, it was six feet under.

Silence lapsed between them for a second, the request for him to leave was on the tip of her tongue before he broke it.

“Did you buy anything nice?”

“A few things.”

“Oh?” His tone was light, opening with the hint to explain more. Isabela probably should feel grateful he was trying; to keep away from a topic that could lead to more conflict but… he was trying…which was more than what her mother had done.

“Just stuff for my studies….something new to wear…” Isabela mumbled, “Some gardening tools… would have gotten a bookshelf but… they won’t sell to me.”

Agustín sighed heavily, “We’ll talk to the family later in regards to what happened, Isa. If they refuse to sell, then it’s a simple matter of pulling Luisa from their logging.”

Isabela shook her head. “It’s fine, Pa. I don’t care anymore about that…” It was a comfortable lie to tell when she was this tired. It sounded convincing. “I just….want to be left alone right now.”

She heard the slow intake of a sigh again before she felt the bed shift as he rose up, straightening up his vest though she flashed him a quick glance—unshockingly he wore a less cheerful face.

“I...I think later today, you should at least apologize to Mirabel about scaring her—I know that wasn’t your intent” he added swiftly, seeing her jaw tense “but she at least deserves that…and it might help her in the long run, Mija.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request, she supposed but… it felt like what he was truly asking was her to apologize for being angry. She hadn’t targeted Mirabel and yet… It made her jaw clench but she hid it with a nod.

“Si, Papa.” Providing she found an opening to do so.

 --

 Mariano wanted to groan and bang his head up against the wall as he hurried to collect up the last of his mother’s food from the shops; the whispers of what shouldn’t have been leaked was now haunting him with every stop and he considered cutting it short and head up to Casita to talk to Doña Madrigal.

It was all the same question: did Isabela ever get physical with her gift with him? Were there any signs he might have seen and missed? What sort of plants could she make? Was Mirabel alright? Was Antonio alright? Were you really going to marry her? Is that why you broke up with Isabela?

Mariano had done his best to not answer the questions as expected, Dolores had been helpful in teaching him that redirecting than non-answer was better and so far, he hadn’t validated anything but it was getting irritating now and he could feel their eyes as he carried his bag of shopping through the streets.

“Señor Guzman?” A voice echoed.

“Not now, Señor, I have to go,” Mariano called, hoping not to be dragged into another round of questions when he was already so close to home. “You should respect the Madrigal’s privacy and stay away from gossip.”

“No, no I’m not here to gossip about Isabela.”

Mariano turned with a soft exhale though he recognized the shorter man hovering anxiously a few feet away. Mateo Marquez. Only a few weeks separated them in age and he was a few inches shorter, Mariano knew him only really in passing; his mother had often visited the Marquez family for business. 

“What do you want?”

Marquez looked around nervously, “can we talk in private?”

“Of course,” it was probably for the best, given the pricking of eyes still on them. “Follow me.” He nodded the carpenter with him back towards his house though closing the door behind them was a deep relief.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I need to apologize to the Madrigals about my family’s behavior towards Isabela this morning.” Marquez spoke, “My…family doesn’t believe that the family owes an apology but…”

Mariano nodded slowly, “you’re embarrassed about their behavior.” He was a little surprised at how…genuine this man was. He barely knew Isabela that well but maybe he was trying to save face with the Madrigals?

Marquez nodded, “I’m not here to judge on what happened with the Madrigals. I can only assume they’re handling as they should and we should just mind our own business.”

“Why don’t you go up to the Casita with an apology? I’m sure that’ll be appreciated, why come to me?”

Marquez paled a little, his eyes flickering down. “I’m…I don’t want to be seen that close to their house… and my apology is a shelf. Isabela was interested in buying it and with how my sister got involved… I want to give it to Isabela as an apology gift.”

Mariano’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, almost dropping the bag. “You want to give her a gift?”

Marquez hesitated, “is that wrong?”

Mariano let out a laugh, “No, just… a surprise.”

The younger man nodded, though still just as cautiously “I can’t just….give it to her either publically. Which is…where you come in.”

What he was asking for made a lot of sense; it wasn’t really public knowledge yet that he and Dolores had started to date—he felt odd dating Isabela’s cousin but…he could feel Dolores was happy and he liked making her happy and she certainly enjoyed his poetry and work. He liked her appreciation as well. But it had been something they had agreed kept a little quieter given how close his and Isabela’s break up had been; for Isabela’s sake and to keep the gossip to the minimum until he and Dolores felt ready; he wasn’t going to rush to tell the world.

Given how today had started off great and turned rotten for the Madrigals, it was now a thing he was glad about they had kept quiet.

“You want me to pass it along for the Madrigals?”

“If you don’t mind?” Marquez hoped, perking up if a little though he seemed to hide the slight enthusiasm well.

“I’ll…talk to the Madrigals later today.”

“Gracias.”

  --

Camilo paces his room still, feeling no particular desire to leave but his stomach grumbled for food. His arms were folded over his chest and he couldn’t help but mull and grumble and he was already bored out of his mind; especially now he wasn’t allowed to use his gift.

Thankfully—and hopefully—his door opened to Dolores leading Mirabel in. Mirabel immediately frowned at him.

“Before you say anything. I am so sorry!” Camilo dropped his hands, “it also wasn’t me that told but…I’d rather take the blame but… it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t do that to you!”

Mirabel’s mouth opened before it closed as she absorbed the information. “Wait, you weren’t the one to spill?!”

Dolores shook her head as Mirabel looked to her for a second opinion. “My fault but… we need to make sure the family thinks it’s Camilo.”

“Wait, then who spilled? Certainly not Luisa or our parents…”

Camilo exchanged a look with Dolores though nodded for her to talk

“You know how…Antonio was trying to make friends.”

Mirabel’s face fell entirely, “Antonio…” her shoulders slumped.

“He doesn’t know how serious this is… and the other kids set him up!” Camilo put in quickly. “he didn’t do it for bad reasons!”

Mirabel’s eyes closed, letting her face fall into her hands, slinking down onto the nearest surface with a groan. “Which kids?”

“The one’s he’s been hanging around with today….. Alejandra and Cecilia mostly came up with the plan. They were…worried about you… but they wanted to know why you…got quieter.”

Mirabel groaned again, “Ugh… no, I can’t have that.” She pushed herself up, “I never thought that….” Mirabel didn’t finish before she shook her head. “Are you okay with this, Camilo?”

“Antonio shouldn’t get told off for this… He’s never done something like this before and… he’s never been told off for something this bad… he’s only four.” Camilo dreaded the cold chill at the idea of Abuela finding out and not to mention, he didn’t want Antonio doing chores and staying inside for 2 weeks, aside from school. That was miserable and Antonio’s hands were really small. How could anyone punish that innocent little face?

Mirabel nodded glumly, “I know… Antonio must…have really wanted those kids as friends.”

“We know he struggles.” Dolores spoke, “He prefers animals but… he’s got to interact with more than just his family.”

Mirabel nodded in agreement. “I know… but I’ll talk to the three later. They need to know that what they did was unacceptable.”

“They don’t think so.”

“If they value my friendship then they’re going to learn very soon” Mirabel looked at Camilo sharply. “Thank you…for covering for him.”

“He’s my little brother; of course, I would.”

“Should we tell Isabela?” Dolores asked, “She won’t be as angry at you?”

Camilo scoffed, “I don’t care what she thinks of me. Let her think the worst.”

“I don’t want you two to fight.” Mirabel winced, “it was bad enough earlier…. I can’t handle that again.”

Camilo’s face fell at the reminder; he had forgotten that part in the heat of the moment; a part of him had been too hyper-aware of the flowers and thorns Isabela had made and wondering if they’d attack him to even consider the fact Mirabel had been with him.

“No. If she knows, everyone else will.” He couldn’t risk her selling Antonio out as revenge for ruining her life just to even things out. Plus, now he thought about it; if her attitude changed towards him abruptly, the chances were his father would notice first and questions might start. “Our secret, okay?”

“Okay.”

  -

“Mi amor.”

Julieta’s head turned as he slinked into the kitchen with a tired smile though she was prepping the start of dinner alone, casita was helping with shifting the pots and keeping the fire fed as she cut the veg; working fast and efficiently and there was no mistake the amount was that she was doing a little more with stress but he wasn’t about to stop her.

“Smells wonderful.”

“Hm, yeah… though dinner’s not going to be easy. Should we keep the two separated?”

Agustín sighed softly, his hand coming to her lower back. “Isabela won’t do anything.”

“I know but… after what happened today, she’s not going to let it go.”

Agustín lent forwards, kissing her shoulder. “Let her be mad, My Vida. She’s had a bad day. Camilo can stay between his parents. Dinner will be fine.” He assured.

Julieta shifted to face him with a tired look. “Do you really think so?”

“Isabela’s not going to risk any more punishment than she’s already reserving.” Agustín smiled at her softly, “though… can I just ask if you reconsider taking her out to town tomorrow?”

Julieta’s brow furrowed, “you spoke to her?”

“Of course.”

Julieta’s jaw tensed, shifting the pot she had onto a cooler temperature. “You didn’t…argue?”

“No.” Agustín shook his head. “We didn’t talk for more than a few minutes.”

Julieta’s sucked onto her tongue, looking uneasy. “She tried comparing her punishments to Camilo… like it’s unfair. I can’t have her doing that.”

“I know, she shouldn’t.” Agustín agreed, “but… today should have been a good day for her. She waited a month for to leave Casita. Don’t you remember how excited she was?”

His love’s face didn’t change too much, even as she stirred the thickening soup. “What are you saying?”

“Forcing her out will not help her or the town this close to them finding out. The town’s in shock given how last time they saw her and she’s humiliated.”

He could feel under his hands how Juleita’s posture loosened. “We can’t let everything slide with her.”

“Right now, nothing has and she knows it. I can’t imagine how unpleasant it feels to have that many eyes on you…judging you.” He knew all too well to some degree on that and sometimes he still felt that; Abuela certainly judged him a lot on if he was good enough for her daughter and he still felt like that on a few occasions. “Right now, isn’t that enough punishment on top of what Abuela’s given her?”

Julieta tisked softly but not in disagreement, “she’d got it into her head that she thinks suffering abuse and contempt from the town will…atone for her actions. I don’t understand why she thinks that!”

Agustín tugged Julieta away from the stove, enveloping her into a hug to which she sunk into his chest.

“I don’t either… probably subconscious guilt that seeks out any way of relief, even at her expense but let’s not indulge that side that wants that by forcing her out.”

“You really don’t want her out?”

“Not tomorrow. Let tomorrow be a test to see how the town talks to you in terms of this. If you force her out and things go badly, do you think she’d be able to take it? I don’t want the town to see her get upset…they might jump to the wrong conclusions.”

Julieta sighed heavily, pulling back with a soft, tired look. “You’ve made your point, Mi Vida.”

Agustín relaxed a little, pecking her on the nose. “Thank you.”

[feastfic]

I've seen the headcanons and imagines for the Exe group and I adore how you interpret all the guys, even the one with the jealous Lord X and the wings awe.

I know technically he's not an exe due to having his own set of comics back in the day, but do you write for Fleetway? (I saw you included him when you did the sexuality headcanons for the group.)

If so, I was wondering how he would 'tolerate' someone who adores him, despite his dangerous and chaotic nature. Even with threats and a very high chance of death, they wont leave him alone and would just want to cuddle with him all the time. They care deeply about his being, despite him being evil..

I picture that when he comes back all torn to shreds and injured, they freak out and drag him so they can heal and patch his injuries. (Totally picturing him acting all tough like, "I was fine.. I could've done even worse in this state if I wanted." Lol, but he's just being his typical tough self.)

Oddly enough, I also think that Fleetway is the outcast of the group, not being exe and all, and that he doesn't really get along with others.. I feel the only one he would actually establish good terms with is Sunky and because they both an cause chaos and totally do pranks on the other exes.

Another thing I headcanon for him is that he actually likes his quills pet, like stroked upwards, and due to how much power he has in himself, I picture that he is always very warm because of being super all the time. Maybe if he's feeling a bit cheeky, he has a small spark come from his quills just to be a tease if that someone is something very special to him. (I believe it wouldn't hurt if the person he likes is stroking his quills. But it could also be a defensive measure to stop someone from touching him by making the sparks painful and even deadly.)

Sorry, I just noticed that one is allowed to share headcanons with you and I got a bit carried away.. I apologize for that. >< I just haven't seen a lot of Fleetway headcanons shared..

I write for Fleetway, yeah! And also you're so big brained for these headcanons holy shit you're a genius [grabbing you by the shoulders /aff /pos] And I can definitely work with the prompt you gave me :)

Even if he were charged by the chaos emeralds, and in some part a demon of his own accord, the radiantly powered hedgehog was still...fairly outcasted among others of his kin. Truly demonic eyes were always on him — he was different, he wasn't really one of their kind.

He was just some chaotic force, not some exe like the rest of them. And Majin too, he supposed; whatever Majin was supposed to be. You'd imagine because they were both not executables of a sort, they would have some sort of solidarity. That was when Fleetway had had a flash of naivety. Not anymore. That blue and purple demon was the same as the rest of them; underneath that cheerful exterior was someone as willing to damn you to hell, just like the others.

It'd come as no surprise, then, that he and they would fight. A lot. And normally he could reasonably hold his own. But if more than one or two of them showed up, not even he — with his incredible power — could stand unscathed. It isn't often that he bleeds. But he'd become tattered at the hands of his condemners. He wasn't used to feeling pain. So this kind of damage to his body felt like his own power had turned on himself, in a way.

And you...you were someone who, despite his propensity for including you in his mean tricks and gloating, his...well, his everything; you were still charmed by his antics. You, who hoped for him to leave the others alone — you didn't care about him bothering anyone, it was part of the charm. It was him putting himself in a situation where he could be killed that worried you. And oh, were you about to let him hear it.

Your heart skipped a beat and throbbed at the sight of him, limping slightly with a hand clasped over his ribs. The moment he saw you looking, his expression changed from a bewildered kind of panic to a forced smugness. "Guess who kicked ass."

"Guess who got their ass kicked—!" You forced the words from yourself and threw yourself towards him, making him stop in surprise. "Fucking– Look at yourself!" As much as you tried to be gentle with him, at the same time you quite literally dragged him over to where you could better tend to him.

He softly hissed in both pain and surprise as he was pulled over, and placed down on your bed.

"You're not worried about getting blood all over your sheets? Or is that just with something else?" He gave you a side-eyed smirk, and broke into strained laughter as you tried to keep acting serious. But god, did that hurt his lungs, it felt like.

Just like him to say that. At least he was still worth saving. You'd worried that he'd be too far hurt to crack another witty line; it brought you a faint thread of relief to know this.

"Y'know, I could've taken them." Fleetway added on after a good minute of you just working on him, your brow furrowed. Yet your eyes were sad, looking at all his fur stained red hues from his own blood and the blood of other hedgehogs. "Buncha chumps decided to gang up on me! And normally I could take them all on, but can you believe that they managed to surprise m—"

"Fleetway." Your voice was so soft that it was barely audible over the hedgehog's, yet he still went instantly hush. "Stop. Just...stop." Your hands held his forearms like he were fragile, something that could easily break at the slightest touch. "Just admit that you lost. It's okay."

The tips of his quills sparked at that, and his muzzle pulled up slightly to show his teeth. "I didn't lose. I fucked them up as much as they did me — there, does that work for you?"

It was the best you were going to get from him. So you had to take it. You nodded, and addressed the elephant in the room; his torso, which has absolutely seen better days.

It was lacerated, and the bleeding had slowed now that you'd cleaned at it. Three gashes coursed diagonally along him, from the left side of his upper chest all the way down to his right hip. And then there was still the bruising all over him; you couldn't see it through his fur, but the way he dug his claws into your arm and flinched away from your touch was all you needed to know.

You really couldn't help but feel bad for him. Hated as he may be by the exes, and as much as he likes to cause trouble...this felt like a lot. Although, you supposed being spared (or getting away) was better than that lot torturing him to death.

You were occupied with carefully stitching what you could when he spoke. "Why...?" You didn't look up, but noted the subdued tone in his voice. "Why do you care about me? What happens to me? You've seen everyone else. You help everyone else. They don't hate your guts. So why don't you be like the rest of them and hate mine too?" The tips of his claws dug into your arm again, springing pinpricks of your own blood up to the open air. It sounded like his teeth were clenched, like he were pained. You just kept working on his abdomen, switching your stitching when you reached the wider portions of his lacerations. "What makes you so different from them? Shouldn't you have learned by now that being all buddy-buddy is a pain in the ass with me? That freak of a little kid is the only one of them that doesn't try to shove me six feet under, did you know that?" Still you didn't answer, not even giving him a nod or a shake of the head. He watched you so painfully for some kind of reaction, and he discovered a third thing about himself in that hour alone. He could bleed, he could feel pain...and he could cry.

Why wouldn't you answer him? Why were you just ignoring all of his questions? Had you finally gotten mad at him?

He gripped your arm again, before grabbing your shoulders and snarling with hot golden tears streaming down his muzzle. "ANSWER ME, GOD DAMMIT!"

Your hands had freed themselves from the needle and thread, ghosting over his quills as they sparked dangerously at the heat of your palms. And when you finally touched them, the shock almost made you pass out, but you shook your head to stay awake and look him in the eye.

"It's because I love you." You adored him, despite everything he does. Although his antics were wild, unpredictable, dangerous...there was just something about him that was so alluring.

And those words from your lips felt like they'd completely shattered Fleetway's worldview for good. Shimmering afterthoughts of his tears glimmered against his cheeks as the sparking of his quills died down, until they were just warm and lightly quivering to your touch.

"And it's because I love you that I want you to stop all...this." You continued, glancing down at his stitched stomach. Wondering if those scars would ever be opened again because of another fight. "You can die. And I don't want to see that happening. So leave the others alone. There's more than just them that you can bother. I don't care who it is that you turn your sights to, but don't let it be someone or someones that already don't like you and would prefer you ripped to shreds."

"Except that little pipsqueak."

"Except Sunky. What do you think he'd do if he found out the others he hangs out with killed his number one prankster friend, huh?"

Fleetway's ears folded flat as he turned his eyes away from you. "Alright, fine; fine! I won't bother them anymore." His arms crossed over his chest, gingerly brushing against himself. "But what kind of lameass would I be picking off the mortals like you people? Xenophanes and the rest of those bloody freaks were at least fun! 'Look at me, the odd one out getting the upper hand!' I can't do that anymore!"

"You'll be just as able to fuck with anyone, Fleets. Except now they just won't be able to surprise you." Your fingers brushed lightly along his quills, the sensation making him lean into you. "Promise me you won't mess with them again?"

"Sure. Promise."

[lunarmote]

Another Earth (2011) Review

This review will contain spoilers for Another Earth.

I was not expecting to like this film as much as I did. For starters, I thought it was going to be a copy of Melancholia (2011) which was basically Depression: The Phenomenology.

It's true that Another Earth reminds me of Melancholia. I felt like I was looking at Lars von Trier's unsteady, off-center cam. Cahill focuses on weird visual tangents instead of leaving them out, obstructs scenes unnecessarily by shooting in front of poles, and does that "fly in the air" technique with characters in profile, hovering restlessly such that you can't look at their expression for long. And, of course, zooming in too close on a character's face.

But they're really different films. Melancholia is prototypically art house, and Another Earth is... something close, but more modest. And I may like Another Earth more because of that.

Brit Marling plays an ex-convict who causes a car accident as a teenager, killing the son and mother in the car. Four years later, she is released from prison and seeks out the father from the accident. Not realizing who she is, he hires her as a cleaner, and the two form an amicable and eventually romantic relationship. At the same time scientists have discovered another planet that is an exact copy of Earth and Marling enters a contest for a ticket to go there.

(The girl that Brit Marling plays is called Rhoda... I'll make an effort to use that name from now.)

To focus on the scientific implausibility of this would be absurd. It was obvious to me that, like in Melancholia, the backdrop provides a mirror against ourselves (and specifically Rhoda) to raise questions on identity and forgiveness.

Following her accident, Rhoda feels a lot of guilt. She seeks atonement. She is not sure exactly and to what end she's willing to go, but she knows it is necessary for her to make contact with the victim. Her excuse is that she wants to make herself useful to him, but she is really driven by the need to come to terms with herself.

It is never explained why she applies for the contest. Although there is no shortage of reasons why she would, we are never told why she does. What I think is that Rhoda wants to believe in an alternate universe where she did not make the decision she did, and is thus spared from her painful quest of self-discovery. I think she wants answers in the most obvious way and she believes talking to someone like-minded (i.e. same-minded, herself) will provide her with those answers. The irony being, of course, that someone with the exact genetic makeup and frame of mind would be qualitatively identical to yourself. From where would they obtain the answers you want that you yourself don't have?

If you watch closely the film follows a question-and-answer format. In the close-ups, in scenes that take place inside the house, characters reveal their uncertainty, their fears, their fundamental questions: "If I were to meet another person like myself, what would I do? What would they teach me about myself? How would I act?" The news anchor muses, "What really are the beings on the other planet like?"

In an early moment of bonding, the father invites Rhoda to look through his telescope at Earth 2. he says "You're up there and I'm up there... it's too much" The irony is palpable; while physically together, each looks away through an eyepiece, searching for answers elsewhere. Why don't they look at each other? Why don't they talk to each other?

Interspersed between close-ups are long, meditative shots when Rhoda is walking from her place to the father's. The visual distance gives us mental perspective. Like in a nature documentary, the atemporal voice of God narrates to us simple and eternal truths about this world. "People don't realize it, but they're already talking to themselves every day." We hear the narration, but Rhoda doesn't.

I think this concept of reaching inside yourself is exemplified in the story of the cosmonaut that Rhoda tells to the father. The first cosmonaut, suspended in space for 25 days, hears a tapping sound that he knows will drive him insane. So to break out of this damned fate, he decides he has to fall in love in his imagination. The tapping stops with him. The story wants to say, you are a world within yourself.

[merrikstryfe]

(I hate the title but the article itself is very good.)

Due to the security situation, we could not travel to the West Bank to meet with Palestinians, as I have done in the past. On this trip, I did not confront the “other” or absorb personal wartime anecdotes in which Israelis were not the victim. It was unsettlingly refreshing to take a break from considering the other side. The green pastoral farmland of southern Israel rolled by my window on the drive back to Tel Aviv from Be’eri, and with the smoky scent of death still lingering in my nose, I struggled to wrap my head around the apocalyptic scene I had just witnessed: a community of secular, liberal Jews — people just like me — who were raped and kidnapped and slaughtered in the year 2023. Seeking to distract myself, I opened my phone and began tapping through Instagram stories, only to face post after post decrying the IDF’s actions in Gaza. I felt hot resentment fill my chest. How could I be expected to care about the collateral damage of Israel’s efforts to destroy Hamas after what we went through? How is it that so many deny these atrocities? Sitting with this discomfort on that silent van ride, I observed how difficult it was for me to accept Palestinian pain and humanity in my current state of mind. In that moment, I was internalizing a dynamic fundamental to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Throughout the rest of the trip, as I continuously observed how easy it is while in Israel to dismiss Palestinians’ victimhood, I considered how the same dynamic exists in the other direction. This war comes at a time when Israelis and Palestinians are already struggling to accept each other’s legitimacy. A joint Israeli-Palestinian public opinion poll conducted in December 2022 showed that 84% of both Israeli Jews and Palestinians see themselves as the exclusive victim in the conflict, and that 63% and 90% of those groups respectively believe that this victimhood “grants them with a moral right to do anything they deem as necessary for survival.” A Gallup survey taken after Oct. 7 now shows that 65% of Israelis oppose Palestinian statehood, as opposed to 61% who supported it in 2021. 72% of Palestinians believe that Hamas made the correct decision to carry out the Oct. 7 attacks. But who could talk to Gazans about Israelis’ trauma when Israel has blown their neighborhoods to rubble and wiped out entire families? Palestinians aren’t ready to recognize that their side carried out senseless atrocities, and it’s not because they are all Nazis. They are also a people under existential threat. After decades of an eroding horizon for statehood and Israeli leaders now openly calling to push them out of Gaza, the only way forward many see is defeating Israel. Just as Israelis clamor about “no innocents in Gaza,” Palestinians are doubling down on armed “resistance” against Jews. When all you feel is your own pain, it’s difficult to be measured in responding to threats. In the short term, we cannot change Israelis’ blindness to the other side. As Jews in the diaspora, we should embrace solidarity with Israelis and allow ourselves to feel their pain and fear, especially at a time when so few in the world are willing to do so. But we also must step back to consider how narratives and trauma shape the conflict. It is on us, those who have a personal stake and the physical distance to put it into context, to emotionally understand and intellectually reject rhetoric that ignores, demonizes, or dehumanizes the other. We don’t need to be objective, but we do need to remain clear-eyed about all obstacles preventing a just future for the region, including those on our own side.

[ducknotinarow]

2k12 Raph 2k3 Don - #

| send me “#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses including:

"Man I thought this was over with. Fine whatever here just hurry up so I can be done with this shit finally. Jus' ya know don't read to much into anything here and I swear don't fuck go and tell him anything. There isn't anything to tell sure but still got it!"            

- what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone              

'Donnie'

"I mean nothin' speical about the name pick they use the same nicknames we all use for each other as is. I mean felt like they all called 'im Don most, and calling him Donatello just felt too much on top of it. So I dunno Donnie fits don't mean anything that I called him that..even if I slipped because he was the first other turtle I saw and I was confused since he also wore purple so I dunno guess I already saw him as Donnie."             

 - what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone                  

[image description]   Its Donnie in the lab smiling over at the camera, clearly busy with working on the device they were going to use to send Raph and Casey back to their own dimension. Fresh cup of Coffee was being handed over to them clearly from Raph himself.       

The turtle grows quite a moment averting his eyes a bit, "Well sure Casey and I hung 'round the others us often but I kind of got close to Donnie too. Figured if I could I dunno do something? useful. We could get back home sooner. I jus' didn't know what to do or how to do anything. But Donnie let me help him out at least..actually he even was nice enough to let me check out the games he had too.." Raphael shifts a bit where he stands. "I dunno it was nice I guess, he is nice I mean I guess.. or whatever." Raphael grumbles under his breath slightly. "Not used to that sort treatment I guess. I dunno my brothers an' are are the same age an' I kick Leo's ass for being like with me but..Donnie? Whatever just go to the next thing."

 - what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone              

No Way Out by Phil Collins              

Everywhere I turn, I hurt someone But there's nothing I can say to change the things I've done Of all the things I hid from you I cannot hide the shame And I pray someone, something will come to take away the pain

Normally I have the muse answer but gonna be me this time uwu welcome to I watch brother bear not to long ago and decided 03 Donnie is basically 12 Raphs adopted big brother and that made me remember brother bear and this song is at a very sad point in the movie but it just fits so so so well. In terms of timeline and such I recalled we said this happens around Raph and 12 Donnies small falling out. Which is part of why he sort of gravitates to 03 Donnie because hes in such a new world and don't know what to do its out of habit her goes to Donnie but his Donnie isn't there. And sure it hurts being around this worlds Donnie since him and 12 Don are in a bad spot. At first it can be claimed Raph is just replacing Donnie but in truth 03 Donnie more happens to be there for Raph when he really needed that. Raph's bad about opening up about stuff that bugs him and will blow it off as nothing as if hes over it but he's not. And with him being stuck in a new universe? He feels useless. Sure he kills time with the other Raph and Casey. But He ended up sort of sticking around Donnie the most. Donnie was just very kind and nice to Raph likely cause Raph is like a younger version of 03's own twin brother so he could read him a bit easier. But its not a kind of care Raph often gets nor allows. If the Leo of that world tried it the result wouldnt be the same. It's like getting his brother back at first then he sees 03 Donnie more like an older brother. He just a bit more nice to him compared to others and more willing to listen even because 03 Donnie makes him feel like he got a use by letting him help least gather supplies needed for the device he's making adjustments to and such. Which is where the songs come in uwu as said Raph feels he hurts everyone around him and such especially with his own Don, but 03 Donnie helps with a lot of that and for my end why Raph comes to terms of being able to talk to 12 Donnie and even help him when he gets stupid and near kills over later, not to mention willing to talk to him when approached

 - my muse’s last text to your muse

[text] imaged attached of some scrap metal and various other items like a soldering iron

[text] hey was this the thing you said you could use?

[text] old Casey and Raph got us walking through a junk yard right now and I saw this

------

[text] Hope you don't mind but thought I could hang back with you instead of going with the others for 'dragon hunting'

[text] still wont either way but if it's cool i'll head to your lab

----

[text] image attached of 03 Raph looked pissed off

[text] your Mikey said im your new favorite and I think he's jealous

----

[text] hey

[text] if you and old Raph fought how would ya know he meant it when saying he was sorry?

----

me again, I feel Raph spent a lot of time with 03 Donnie so there aren't too many text messages between them but shows even when he wasn't around Donnie, Raph had texted him pretty often. If he was aware of something Don needed, ever for other projects. Raph would snag it for them. I also think 03 Raph would get jealous over Donnie's fondness towards 12 Raph XD so threw that in as a funny thing. I like to think they are still able to call and text later and Raphs reaches out to 03 Donnie about making up with his own Donnie one the last text ;3;

[sammysorrowful]

Famine/1091 - Character Profile

Famine is the prideful, brutally honest, violent and yet cowardly, cannibalistic chef of The Flawed Survivors.

Personality: 

Famine has a single moral line that she will not cross. Being cannibalism. She has loose morals that she only enforces on herself, but is also incredibly cowardly.

Is willing to help “the greater good” as long as it doesn’t put her neck on the line. She has a decent set of morals, but will not enforce most of them on others. She’ll put them aside if it means surviving. 

She has different standards for herself than she has for others. 

She’ll do what she has to do to survive. 

She always pushes herself to be the best (without breaking the morals she enforces on herself). She will sacrifice whatever it takes to be the best.

She has a genuine care for others, and is rather considerate and thoughtful. But she often has trouble expressing this out of a fear of rejection and out of a fear of being "weak."

Is very afraid of pain.

She finds it very degrading to beg but she’s very very good at it. 

She is very against cannibalism and will never ever commit it, however she enables it in The Flawed Survivors group, being the literal chef of frying people up. 

Her name is Famine for a reason. 

Tends to be very sarcastic and witty. 

Really enjoys puns. 

Can be super grumpy when people treat the ones she cares for badly. She will have trouble standing up to people stronger than her simply because of a fear of being harmed. She is grumpy because she's angry at herself that she can't stand up to her superiors, feeling weak.

If you’re beneath her in terms of power, she will be 100% brutally honest.

Due to her trouble communicating, her honesty can often be mistaken for downright malice. 

When she’s happy she does a little dance. 

She holds herself far more responsible than she will anyone else.

Has a slight inferiority complex, which is why she is so afraid of death, and why she pushes herself so hard to be the best.

Can be ignorant to perverted ideas.

Despite her fear of pain, she is often not very sympathetic when it comes to hurting others.

When she gets very angry, her fear of being hurt often multiplies, as it brings back all her trauma.

Honors her own word and does as she says. But can be distrustful of others out of a fear of betrayal, which can cause her to be bitter.

She values the little moments.

Is very stubborn.

Has a lot of trouble taking the blame.

She’s afraid of being seen as weak, and needs it to be spelled out to her that caring for others doesn’t make her weak. She often lies to make herself look selfish, but in truth she does care deeply for the people that she knows and holds close. 

Is often very bitter about how cowardly she is.

She holds herself to different and higher standards than others. Which is why she starves herself, instead of eating human flesh like everyone else.

Unrelated but she's a lesbian

There are 2 outcomes to trying to fight her. The first being if you are stronger than her or a superior. "wait no, don't come over here! I didn't mean it c'mon" and then the second, where you are weaker and beneath her "tell me how my hatchet tastes. I'll 'free' you. Free your head right off your shoulders!"

Past

She was born in The Daycare. A place where children are raised to be slaughtered and turned into food for the Residents of The Flawed Surviors. However, one runaway kid slipped into the daycare. Famine, who was very young at the time, just wandered after the runaway child. The runaway child saved Famine from being killed off early when the two of them witness the slaughter at The Daycare. After this, Famine and The Runaway Kid become partners in (not actual) crime, and close friends. 

The Runaway Kid taught Famine how to play the piano at some point. The piano was strung up and they couldn’t get it down, so they were being held in the air when they learned.

The Runaway Kid and Famine tried to defeat ULTIMATE WEAPON on their own, but ULTIMATE WEAPON easily succeeded in fighting them off in seconds. Considering the both of them were young kids. The Runaway Kid begged for ULTIMATE WEAPON to not kill Famine, seconds before ULTIMATE WEAPON killed The Runaway Kid. ULTIMATE WEAPONS ends up honoring The Runaway Kids desperate request, by employing Famine as The Chef of The Flawed Surviors. But this came at a price. Famine would become The Chef, the one who cooked all of the human, and feed the meat to The Residents. Out of fear, Famine agreed. But in order to prove herself, she needed to cook The Runaway Kids corpse and serve it to The Residents. 

Desires

She does want to change. She does want to be strong. But she finds herself unable to, to afraid to stand up to anyone superior to her. This causes her to be bitter and upset a lot of the time, instead opting to be stubborn and think that change must be impossible. 

She wants to honor The Runaway Kids' sacrifice, which is why she never ate any human.

Appearance + Physical Stuff

She has short, poorly cut black hair. It’s clearly self-cut with broken glass. 

She has disgustingly heavy bags beneath her eyes to the point where it looks like she’s been punched in both eyes, several times, at all times. Mostly due to her starvation and her lack of sleep. She is one of only three chefs who cook for hundreds of people a day.

Her skin is bruised all over. She constantly looks sickly. Her body is numb in several places, so sometimes her nose could be dripping or should could be crying or drooling without knowing. 

She has a number along her neck that she covers, but proves she was indeed a child of The Daycare. Born to die. 

She wears a bloodied and battered apron over a white button up. She has a black and silver belt that holds up brown pants that are way to big for her. She wears black boots.

She’s insanely twiggy and thin. She’s scrawny. And once again, looks sickly. She has been starving herself and living off of nothing but radiation for years.

Her arms are covered with bandages.

Relationships

She has two co-workers, being The Twins. Unlike her, The Twins do eat some of the human flesh they cook. 

She is a suck up to ULTIMATE WEAPON, but hates her a lot. However, she blames herself more than anyone that she cannot stand up to ULTIMATE WEAPON. But she’ll never admit that.

She turns a blind eye to The Rebel. She knows damn well they’re living in the vents, but can get away with pretending she doesn't know. The Rebel has spoken to her once or twice. Famine says “It’ll be too much work to turn you in. I don’t have enough time to cook you.” when in reality she wants to make up for how she failed The Runaway Kid, and at least try to save someone. And she does care for The Rebel, seeing them as a nice kid. But she thinks admitting that would make her weak.

The Residents hate her. Mostly because she cusses them out. All the time.

Character Development:

Eventually she comes to think “Why is my life worth so much more than others?” and begins to regret her decisions of never sticking up for the mortals she has, being the ones against cannibalism. And she realizes that no matter how scared she is, she does have a choice in her fate.

She also realizes that she needs to actually fight for what she believes in if she ever wants for there to be a change. And that may put her in danger, but someone needs to do it.

When she hunts down the second runaway child, she corners them. And it’s right then she realizes she was exactly like that once, and she still is, as she realizes she is rather weak due to her cowardice. Everything hits her at once. She realizes her life is worth more than anyone elses, she needs to stand up for what she believes in, sometimes risks need to be taken, ect ect. She was going to say something to the second runaway kid, but all she gets out is “hey–” before a piano is dropped on her from above by the third runaway kid. 

She doesn’t die but her spine is shattered. Skill issue.

Eventually learns sympathy and empathy after that.

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Comfort- Jay Faldren

Pairing: Jay Faldren x Reader

Characters: Jay Faldren

Warnings: N/A

Request: N/A

Word Count: 409

Author: Charlotte

Losing patients was something you had to come to terms with when working in an Accident and Emergency Department, but it never became easier. You took great pleasure in building a rapport with your patients but that only made it harder if things went south. You had to try and separate yourself from your work but whilst you were in the walls of the hospital, every ounce of pain that losing a patient caused was on top of your like a tonne of bricks, surrounding you as you tried to wade through with your next patients.

Keeping a brave face and hoping that your next patient would have a happier story. Optimism didn’t come easy, especially not after the time of death had been called on a patient you had been working closely with for the majority of the day. Although every colleague had been there, you didn’t want anyone to see you break. You excused yourself from the patient’s room and rushed off to a supply closet that you hoped no one would access for a couple of minutes.

You clutched onto the shelving unit, to steady yourself as your tears silently fell down your cheeks. You had barely had a moment to lose yourself to the grief and pain before the door opened.

“Y/N,” You heard the familiar voice.

Turning around, you saw Jay, a sympathetic smile upon his face as he looked down upon you.

“I saw you come in here,” Jay added.

You knew that he’d follow you to whatever hiding place you picked if he knew something would have upset you, and maybe it would have been easier to have just gone to him straight away, but you couldn’t help but feel like a burden by seeking him out at work to comfort you. Jay opened his arms and you instantly fell into them, welcoming his warm embrace.

“It’s okay to be upset,” he stated, something that he had said to you several times.

“Why does it hurt so much?” You cried against his chest.

Jay let out a soft sigh, leaning in to press his lips to the top off your head. Rarely did he ever show you affection at work, mainly down to your insistence for professionalism but you were willing to let things slide this once.

“Because you’re a good person,” he explained. “You did everything you could.”

You fell back into silence as he held you until the tears seized.

[thoughtsatnightwhenyoulayalone]

It’s over

These past couple of months have been so hard. Trying to figure out what I wanted from life after I had forsaken it and given up on it was so fucking hard. It was hard to come to terms with not being able to reach my goals. To not be able to fully let go and be myself and to accept that the majority of the people I called friends probably didn’t feel that way about me. And the one person I’ve been crying about, venting about and wanting for so long? I think I’ve given up on them. It’s over between us. The conversations are dead. And with the conversation we had, it was clear to me that it was probably the last time we were going to talk. And when I got home, I wondered for a moment if I was alright with that. And the truth is, I’m not alright with that. The fact that I’m finally losing this friendship is so fucking hard. I’ve been mentally preparing myself for this day for so long, and even then I wasn’t fully prepared. I wasn’t prepared for the tightness in my chest or the shakiness of my hands or just the pain that overwhelmed me. I was scared to start the conversation in the first place but I knew that they wouldn’t. I knew that I had to take that leap and begin the end of us. And of course I’m glad that I chose to, but it’s tearing me up inside cause I don’t know what the future looks like for us. I don’t know how I feel about a lot of the things that were said. I don’t know if I came across in the way that I wanted to. But I know I faced this head on. I looked at them straight in the eye. Stared at them even; willing them to take control of the situation and break the ice first. But they didn’t. It honestly made me disappointed because for a minute, it didn’t seem like anything had changed. They still said what they wanted to say, and I said what I wanted to say. And it reminded me a lot of why I had cared about them in the first place but it also made me wonder whether anything I was saying was getting through to them. At all. All I know is that they might have seemed like they were listening but I don’t know for certain that they were. I can never confirm or deny my suspicions either because I’ve decided to not really reach out unless I have to. I know I’ve said and done all I can and I am now too tired to keep fighting for this friendship. I thought this conversation would idk show them that I still cared or maybe give me some insight into whether they cared about me at all. But there was nothing that I could see.

We are nothing anymore. We’re literally strangers now. Strangers with history. Strangers that have hurt each other. They are now a stranger who has friends that hate me. I’m tired. I feel empty. The weight lifted but at what cost? I wished we could go back to what we had before but even I know that’s stupid to even consider. There’s no going back. Too much has happened. Me saying I wanted to start over was dumb as hell. How could either of us forget anything? And to the person this whole thing is about, I know you don’t actually care about me. I know that you have convinced yourself that you do but you don’t. And that’s fine. Just tell me you don’t care. Just be honest with me cause there’s still so many things you are filtering. It feels condescending in a way cause it’s like you don’t trust me to be able to handle it. Trust me. I’m not the person I was a couple of months ago. Things have changed a lot because guess what? I wrote it out. I talked about it. I kept it in a place where it would remind me over and over how dumb it was to be stuck in a one-sided friendship. I care about you a lot more than you ever cared about me. It probably validated you. To have someone care about you regardless of anything that happened. Now that I’m of no use to you or to anyone really, you can leave. And if you have to think so hard about whether you want to stay or not, just go. I’m not going to stop you. I’m not going to beg you to stay. And I’m definitely not going to fight for this anymore. If you want to leave, just leave. I’ll even open the fucking door for you. I know that I fought for this hard enough. That’s not going to suddenly to make any negative thoughts you had about me go away. It’s not going to suddenly make your friend like me. I understand that. It’s not like I can sit here and say that I don’t feel negative emotions or think negative thoughts when it comes to you. But honestly, it’s more sadness than anything else. Cause we could have saved this y’know? We could have saved us. But now? I doubt we have anything all.

[blackradandmad]

my experience with lupron/”puberty blockers”

i have severe endometriosis. i was diagnosed at 16 and had three major surgeries for it before i turned 19. i started birth control for my six weeks long, heavy, debilitating periods when i started having them at 12. by 19, i had tried every birth control under the sun (with no success) -- except lupron. lupron, a gnrh agonist commonly used on males as a treatment for prostate cancer, on women in fertility treatments, on women with endometriosis, aaaaand yup, this is the exact same drug parents let be injected into girls with the euphemistic title of a “puberty blocker.” (i promise we’ll circle back to this hold on) 

luckily, i live two hours away from one of the most accomplished endometriosis specialists/surgeon in the world, and he is so passionate about finding a cure or at least better treatments for women with endometriosis. he’s an obgyn but he literally doesn’t do the obstetrics part, he purely focuses on helping each woman find their best treatment for this disease. he has such a vast amount of knowledge on surgery techniques and surgical robots and different treatment options, and he is incredibly thorough when it comes to informed consent. if something could happen or has happened-- positive, negative, or neutral-- he will tell you about it. in detail. now this is important, because after decades of observing treatment effects and listening to women and researching side effects, his personal philosophy is that the lupron injection should be a last resort. like, after major surgery last resort. if a woman wants to try it first thing, he won’t stop her, buuuut after he gives her all the possible short and long term side effects, she usually is eager to explore other options. 

(enter me) 19, three surgeries, dependent on opioid painkillers just to be able to get out of bed in the morning, and now, a fun new symptom! every time i begin to bleed, my heart develops an arrhythmia and i experience constant, burning chest pain. i begin to violently cough up blood. so, my endometriosis has spread to my lungs, may randomly cause my lungs to collapse at literally any moment, and i’ve exhausted all treatment options. except! lupron. the devil drug. the horror stories i heard from other women were insane, and that was just the short-term side effects. my doctor had to go through the process of explaining both short and long term side effects as i cried in the office chair because i knew that i had to take this drug. there was nothing else left for me, and things were getting worse. so i did. i was on it for a year. you want to know what that year was like? 

i was suicidal, homicidal, and fell headfirst into the most severe and detrimental manic episode of my life. i experienced psychotic symptoms, and that along with the aforementioned symptoms led me to a week long stay at the psych ward. i did not have one day without severe joint and bone pain. i broke three bones, all while running or walking, when i had never broken a bone before. i’m already epileptic, but i had two hospital stays for uncontrollable tonic-clonic seizures while i was on it. i couldn’t sleep. i got night sweats and night terrors. i either couldn’t eat a thing or felt absolutely insatiable. regardless, i was always nauseous and got sick a lot. now, six years later, i still deal with worsening osteopenia, making me at high risk to develop osteoporosis. at 25. and the kicker is, it did shit-all for my endometriosis. it made me sick on top of sick on top of sick etc etc. and i’m not a rarity. men and women from all ages and all walks of life have experienced this and worse, and many people, like me, are still dealing with the fallout of it, years or even decades later. i do not believe this drug should be on the market for literally anything at all.

i was an adult and lupron gave me the worst fucking year of my life. and there are parents letting their HEALTHY children be injected with this at age 12, instead of realizing that if their child is so deeply afraid of puberty that they would rather take a decidedly harmful drug that essentially chemically castrates men and puts women in pseudo-menopause for years, let’s maybe try to work out the cause of that fear in some therapy sessions and group art classes and getting involved in sports or something. i can imagine that it’s pushed at gender clinics without touching on the negative effects too much because, well, lupron drugmakers and salespeople have a history of bribing prescribing doctors with trips, fancy dinners, resorts, or straight up telling a doctor they could earn $100K extra a year just by prescribing lupron to their patients. they went to court and were fined $875,000,000 for it, although i’m sure that’s pocket change for a company who profited $826,000,000 off the drug in 2015 alone, and i doubt they cleaned up their act. if a doctor is willing to give a female child lupron simply because she doesn’t “feel like a girl,” while being completely or even just half-way aware of all the negative side effects of it and backlash it’s received in the medical community, they might as well smear their own shit on the hippocratic oath they swore on, and they should probably give up their license while they’re at it.

[deripmaver]

laurent is a good person - book 1 meta

one of the most amazing things about captive prince is how the reveals in book 3 recontextualize all of the scenes leading up to them, including about laurent himself. in book one, all we see is damen pov as he’s being abused and humiliated by this supposedly spoiled, vile ice prince. when the regent comes to damen and subtly (and not so subtly) insults laurent, calling him unfit to rule - well, why would he think anything different? laurent has insulted him, had him whipped within an inch of his life, and even attempted to (and later successfully lmfao) have him raped while drugged out of his mind. 

after book 3 we can reread most if not all of book 1 as a very traumatized boy who has finally been confronted with the man who killed his brother, leaving him alone with his abusive uncle, and who he clearly has made into a complete monster in his own mind. damen of course sees him as a complete bitch, but there’s textual/subtextual evidence that laurent is well liked, and that his behavior during book 1 was actually pretty out of character for him. i’d like to provide some examples of that now!!!!

“Laurent had stopped dead the moment he had seen Damen, his face turning white as though in reaction to a slap, or an insult. Damen’s view, half-truncated by the short chain at this neck, had been enough to see that. But Laurent’s expression had shuttered quickly.” Captive Prince, Chapter One

i couldn’t resist adding this one in hehe. laurent recognizes damen!! he’s come down, knowing his uncle has devised another truly horrendous and triggering “gift” and that he’ll lose support if he calls it our for what it truly is, only to find out that it’s fucking damianos of akielos sent to him as a sex slave. a jab at laurent’s trauma about auguste and also a jab at laurent’s frigid sexuality - which ofc is completely the regent’s fault. fuck that guy so much lmfao 

“‘It’s so rare to see you at these entertainments, Your Highness,’ said Vannes.” Captive Prince, Chapter Two.

this is right before the fight between govart and damen in the ring, of course. damen sees laurent as depraved and vile as the sexual sadism on display by the veretian court, and considers him to be a willing purveyor of it. this is wrong, of course, as said by vannes here. laurent has only shown up because he wants to humiliate damen lmfao.

“He did remember being supported by two of the guards, here, in this room, while Radel stared athis back in horror. ‘The Prince really . . . did this.’ ‘Who else?’ Damen said. Radel had stepped forward, and slapped Damen across the face; it was a hard slap, and the man wore three rings on each finger. ‘What did you do to him?’ Radel demanded.” Captive Prince, Chapter Four

this scene, to me, was the most telling lmfao. it’s right after damen is whipped. you could argue that radel is just a servant in the employ of the royal household, so is of course going to be loyal to the prince, but he seems genuinely surprised of the prince’s cruelty towards damen. not only that, but he slaps him and immediately assumes damen must have done something. which - i mean, technically he did lmao. not necessarily enough to deserve having the skin flayed from his back, but you know. if laurent was in the habit of torturing pets and slaves, why would the overseer react this way?

“The men guarding him were the Prince’s Guard, and had no affiliation with the Regent whatsoever. It surprised Damen how loyal they were to their Prince, and how diligent in his service, airing none of the grudges and complaints that he might have expected, considering Laurent’s noxious personality. Laurent’s feud with his uncle they took up wholeheartedly; there were deep schisms and rivalries between the Prince’s Guard and the Regent’s Guard, apparently.” Captive Prince, Chapter Four

laurents relationships with his guards are also some of the biggest indicators that he isn’t just a spoiled brat, but can insire a deep loyalty in his men. even if they do all want to fuck him. ah, sexual harassment. it’s also hilarious that damen immediately assumes they’re loyal to him because they want to fuck him - nice projection there, dude. we know a bit more about laurent and his guards thanks to green but for a season, but this little bit here is interesting.

“Laurent was indeed good at talking. He accepted sympathy gracefully. He put his position rationally. He stopped the flow of talk when it became dangerously critical of his uncle. He said nothing that could be taken as an open slight on the Regency. Yet no one who talked to him could have any doubt that his uncle was behaving at best misguidedly and at worst treasonously.”  Captive Prince, Chapter Five

idek what to say here. laurent my beloved <3333

“‘When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something,’ said Laurent. Damen felt himself turn ashen, as the threat sank in. ‘Would it hurt worse than a lashing for me to cut down someone you care for?’ said Laurent.” Captive Prince, Chapter Seven

this isn’t really relevant to my thesis lmfao i just love this exchange bc it gives SO MUCH information about laurent and his uncle in just three lines of dialogue. what has the regent done, who did he cut down just to hurt laurent? when and how did laurent learn that? p a i n 

“Laurent’s fussy horse began acting out again, and he leaned forward in the saddle, murmuring something as he stroked her neck in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture to quiet her.” Captive Prince, Chapter Nine. 

HORSEY NO- lmfao this scene just hurts so badly on the reread. especially later on, in book 3 i think, where laurent says something like “i provoked my uncle.” he’s really blaming himself for his uncle KILLING HIS HORSE, his horse that his murdered brother trained, one of the only living connections to auguste... all because his uncle could not let a single miniscule plan laurent had set go through without some kind of repercussion. literally all laurent did was do something to stop an innocent group of people from being abused, nothing to undermine his uncle’s rule, but because the regent is VILE he could not let laurent have even this. he’s so good with her, too. he must have known by this point and also known that there was no way to stop this. P A I N

“‘I know that you have somehow arranged this,’ said Erasmus. He was incapable of hiding what he felt, and just seemed to radiate embarrassed happiness. ‘You kept your promise. You and your master. I told you he was kind,’ Erasmus said. ‘You did,’ said Damen. He was pleased to see Erasmus happy. Whatever Erasmus believed about Laurent, Damen wasn’t going to dissuade him. ‘He’s even nicer in person. Did you know he came and talked to me?’ said Erasmus. ‘—He did?’ said Damen. It was something he couldn’t imagine. ‘He asked about . . . what happened in the gardens. Then he warned me. About last night.’ ‘He warned you,’ said Damen. ‘He said that Nicaise would make me perform before the court and it would be awful, but that if I was brave, something good might come at the end of it.’ Erasmus looked up at Damen curiously. ‘Why do you look surprised?’ ‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t be. He likes to plan things in advance,’ said Damen.” Captive Prince, Chapter 9.

this is the first in-text confirmation we have that laurent has a good heart beneath his layers and layers of trauma-induced lashing out. book one often skeeves people out because of its graphic and, honestly, yes, kind of sexualized depiction of rape, slavery, and depravity, but beneath it all you meet these two protagonists who are going to have all of their most deeply held views about each other challenged. laurent from very early on is shaken to his core when damen refuses to rape nicaise in the ring - it cracks the very foundations of the person he’d built up in his head as this horrible monster who killed his brother in cold blood. and damen keeps defying laurents expectations by being a good person through and through. on the other hand, laurent spends the first part of the book taking out years of anger on damen, but here for the first time we see him do something just because its the kind thing to do. yes, torveld is an ally against his uncle, but laurent has clearly been scheming with him for a while now, and he’s now overlooking his hatred of damen and working with him just because none of the slaves deserve whats happened to them. it’s such a sweet moment.

“One of the other men, eyeing them, approached a moment later. ‘Don’t mind Jean. He’s in a foul mood. He was the one had to stick a sword through the mare’s throat and put her down. The Prince tore strips off him for not doing it fast enough.’” Captive Prince, Chapter Nine.

HORSEY NO- pt 2. this is just another really sweet and sad detail - laurent being so upset that the horse’s death could have been more painless. it must have hurt so much to see her in pain, and to know that the only way for that pain to end was being put down as quickly as possible. i wuv him. im sad

that’s it, though there are still a few more chapters left in the book. this isn’t providing any new information, of course, the path of the three books is to show that laurent isnt the man we meet in book one, that he’s actually sweet, and earnest, and he’s been fighting his own battle practically alone against his abuser since he was fifteen years old. also, the reveal that laurent knew who damianos was from the start makes it clear imo that all of his violence in book 1 was supposed vengence, not... him being evil. he apologizes explicitly in-text, and also, all of the acts of violence he commits cause serious problems for him in terms of his future alliance which he then needs to fix. i just love how layered these books are, how there’s so much information in them that makes rereading almost more fun than reading them for the very first time!

[emeraldiis]

Falling for a God

A/N: Forgot to properly post/format this fic, so here ya go ya filthy animals (ok but i wrote it so I’m filthier)

AO3 Link

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Summary: “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”You have a huge crush on Loki, there's lots of sexual tension, y'all fuck. That's the plot.

“Nat,” you whine. “I feel like you’re not even listening.” You prance to the front of her, spinning around to walk backwards.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Wow, are you sure you aren’t pyschic?” She keeps up her brisk pace, and you nearly trip over yourself trying to keep up.

“That’s so rude!” You exclaim, but can’t hold back a giggle. Despite her cold demeanor, you know that Nat is just messing with you. Shooting a quick glance backwards, you decide that your path is clear, and return your gaze to your friend. “You’ll tell me if I’m about to run into something, right?”

With a wry grin, Natasha gives you a thumbs up. You beam at her. “Anyway,”  you continue. “I started watching this new TV show last night, and it is so, totally awesome. There’s this guy, and he has these badass powers, and he’s fighting this girl, and she has-”

Thump.

A small oof escapes from your mouth as your back collides with something solid. You pitch forward in surprise, and yelp as you try to stabilize yourself before you fall. Large, warm hands grab your waist, tightening around you to keep you from toppling over. You sigh in relief as your frantic heart slows to a normal rhythm. “Wow, thanks,” you say, and spin around to reveal the identity of your saviour.

Piercing blue eyes meet yours, and your breath catches in your throat. “Careful, pet,” Loki murmurs softly, a sly grin spreading across his lips. His hands slide off of your waist, making contact with the sliver of skin between your shorts and your top on the way. An involuntary shiver creeps up your spine, and you bite your lip.

The reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the ever-perceptive trickster, and his eyes flash with surprise. “Are my hands really that cold?” Loki teases. “Perhaps you could help me warm them up.” His tone is playful, but there’s something deeper underneath his banter that makes you think he’s actually flirting.

You can tell that your cheeks are red, and you choose not to respond to Loki’s question in fear of making an even bigger fool of yourself. A stammered apology tumbles from your lips, and you look back towards Natasha with a look of betrayal. She grins and shrugs. “I forgot to warn you. Oops.” Your mouth drops open. That scheming little devil. She knows about your crush on Loki, and she still allows you to make a fool out of yourself?

Your interactions with Loki were sparse, to say the least. Aside from a few casual conversations in a group, you had barely even talked to him. Still, he captivated you from the very first day he arrived at the compound. He was exactly your type; tall, dark, and brooding. Aside from Thor, most everyone gave Loki a wide berth, hesitant to forget the battle for New York. You, however, didn’t see a villain. You saw pain behind those blue eyes, and could empathize with Loki’s behavior. You knew all too well that it hurt to live in someone’s shadow, and sometimes acting out was a cry for help. Granted, Loki’s outbursts were far more drastic than yours had ever been, but it was more or less the same on a base level. And, the fact that he constantly had a witty remark on the tip of his tongue never ceased to entertain you. The man liked to hear himself talk, and damn, so did you.

It takes you a second to realize that you’ve been staring. You clear your throat awkwardly and look to the floor, eager to hide your discomfort. “Um, thank you for catching me,” you manage. When you look back up, Loki is wearing an odd expression. His pretty eyes are narrowed, searching your face. The scrutiny only embarasses you further. “Well, see you around!” WIth that, you dart around Loki and scurry off. Natasha follows you, snickering softly.

When you reach the common area, you plop yourself down on the couch and groan, throwing an arm over your face. Natasha sits down beside you. “Smooth,” she says, drawing out the word obnoxiously.

You remove your arm from over your eyes and give Natasha a withering look. “So not funny.”

Nat positively cackles at that. “Oh, come on,” she says. “He’d be an idiot to not at least have a thing for you, I mean, you’re smoking! ” She looks you up and down. “Nice rack, too.”

A giggle bursts from your lips. “Nat. Oh, my god. Stop objectifying me.”

Shaking her head, Natasha replies, “Me, objectify? I would never.”

That earns her an eye roll from you. “Sure. Anyway, can we please change the subject? I’m sick of talking about my embarrassing Loki crush.”

“What does ‘crush’ mean?”

You freeze. Now that was a distinct voice. “Thor,” you choke out. “When did you get here?”

Thor walks up behind the couch and swings himself over the back, making the poor piece of furniture creak in protest. He settles next to you, effectively sandwiching you between him and Natasha. “Just long enough to hear you discussing my brother. Now, will you please enlighten me on this strange Midgardian term?”

Before you can shut him down, Nat pipes up from the other end of the sofa. “It means she likes him. Romantically. Sexually. ”

The temptation to throw yourself onto the floor wailing is high. Instead, you opt to beg for your life. Still embarrassing, but slightly more productive than throwing a tantrum. “Nat!” You screech. You turn to Thor with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t say anything to him.”

Thor furrows his eyebrows. “What an odd expression. You’d think that the word “crush’ would be associated with something negative.” He places a big hand on your thigh. “If what Lady Natahsa says is true, then why would you not tell my brother? He is quite vain, you know. I’m sure he would be delighted to know that a beautiful woman is attracted to him!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. These Asgardians will be the death of you. “It’s not that simple, Thor. What if he rejects me? I’d never be able to show my face around him again!”

There’s a pause, and then Thor asks you in a much gentler tone, “It seems as though you care for Loki a great deal more than you are letting on. Are you really afraid of embarrassment, or is it the heartbreak you fear?”

You’re glad that your hands are covering your face, because the way the color drains out of it at Thor’s question would have given you away. “No,” you mumble through your fingers. But he’s right, you do care for Loki more than you’d ever admit. His image ran through your head at night when you were trying to sleep, and his voice was what came to mind when your fingers were between your legs and you were pretending they were-

You rub at your eyes, then look up at Thor in desperation. “Please, if you really care about me as a friend, you’ll keep this secret.” You shoot a look at Natasha. “You, too. I may not be able to take Thor in a fight, but I could kick your ass.” You know you sound like a pathetic teenager, but you’re past the point of caring. You were perfectly happy admiring Loki from afar, and didn’t want to get your hopes up just to be met with shame.

Natasha scoffs. “As if.” Before she can continue. Thor holds up his hand.

“Lady Natasha, I believe we should stay out of this. I have done a great deal of meddling in my brother’s life, and I’ve learned that even the best intentions can cause disaster when Loki is involved.

“Thank you, Thor,” you say gratefully, relief evident in your voice. With a tired sigh, you hoist yourself up from the couch and turn to face your friends. “Well, I think I’ve had enough excitement for today. I’m going to hibernate, see you next spring.”

Natasha giggles and blows you a kiss goodbye while Thor scrunches up his face in confusion at your joke. Oh, well. Maybe he’d understand Midgardian humor one day.

*

Thunder rages outside your window while you toss and turn. You roll over to glance at your clock, and scowl when it flashes “3AM.” Giving up on the prospect of sleep, you opt for creeping to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your bare feet pad down the carpet, and you shiver slightly at the cold air of the hall. Goosebumps rise on your bare legs and you start to regret your decision not to put on pants.

To get to the kitchen, you have to walk through the common area, and for a moment you linger just outside the entryway. There’s a soft glow coming from the corner of the room, and you mentally groan, hoping it’s one of the female inhabitants of the compound. You weren’t too excited at the idea of walking past one of the guys in just a sleep shirt and underwear. Still, your mission for food is not one you’re willing to give up on. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the hallway and into the room. And nearly pass out.

Across the room, perched in one of the loveseats, is Loki. He’s sitting with his legs curled underneath him, thumbing through a book. You consider darting back into the safety of the hall, but you’re too late. Loki has already noticed you, and is now staring far too intently for your liking. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you tug on the hem of your shirt, trying to pull it further down your legs. “Sorry to disturb you,” you whisper, afraid to break the deafening silence. Loki raises an eyebrow at you, then turns back to his book. You aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed when his gaze leaves you.

Not wanting to linger in the entryway any longer, you make your way across the room, keeping your eyes down. As you pass Loki, a loud clap of thunder booms outside, and already being on edge, you yelp. Startled from the deafening sound in an otherwise quiet room, you stagger, falling backwards onto the loveseat. Right next to Loki. The sofa is small, and in your splayed out position, you’re almost half on top of the god.

Loki flinches away, and you immediately begin to apologize. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I guess I just lost my footing. Did I hurt you?” As you talk, you push yourself off of Loki and cower into the other side of the loveseat. Some more rational part of your brain urges you to get up, give him some more space, but you don’t listen. As embarrassed as you are, you’re not quite ready to give up this closeness to the object of your affection.

With a huff, Loki straightens himself and gives you a cool look. “You did not hurt me, mortal. I was simply surprised.” Then, having composed himself, he smirks and sets his book on the end table beside him. “I suppose it is only natural to have weak knees in the presence of a god.”

The comment lightens the mood, and you find yourself relaxing next to him. “You’re right, Thor’s thunder does make me a tad unsteady.”

At that, Loki stiffens, obviously having not expected you to return his teasing. For a brief moment, you feel proud. Then, something changes in his expression, and he scoots closer to you. His hand finds your bare thigh, and the contact sends butterflies through your stomach. Loki senses your restlessness and gives you a predatory grin. “Is that so? Are you telling me that this,” he squeezes your thigh, and you gasp. “Doesn’t make you feel...faint?” His voice is low, and he almost purrs the last few words.

You fight hard to keep your breathing even, not wanting to give away just how flustered you are. The heavy weight of his hand feels heavenly, and you can feel your panties grow damp. God, you hope he can’t smell it.

This predatory tone is so much different than the playful teasing that you usually receive from Loki. You’ve never seen his blue eyes so dark, and the unfamiliarity of it all tightens your stomach.

Taking your silence as a challenge, Loki presses himself even closer to you. His fingers creep up your leg, closer to your underwear. “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”

Fuck. A full body shiver skates across your skin, and despite your best efforts, a small moan breaks free from your throat. Loki’s hand feels like a brand on your thigh, sending waves of heat up your body. The warmth pools between your legs, and you can’t help but shift a bit. Knowing that your panties are the only barrier between your soaking heat and the sofa, you arch your hips ever so slightly to keep from soiling the cushion.

Of course, your small movements don’t go unnoticed. Loki’s eyes are hooded as they rake across your bare legs, and you can hear his breathing get a bit heavier. He looks up at you, pupils dilated. “Oh, pet, look at you. Barely even touched, and already-”

He’s cut off by the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall, headed in your direction. Loki curses softly and reluctantly draws his hand away, then moves as far away as the small sofa allows. Your skin aches at the loss of contact.

The interrupting stranger’s footsteps approach the entrance to the common room, then carry on past. You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, thankful that you wouldn’t have to explain anything. Something tells you that, while there’s nothing going on now, sitting with Loki in the middle of the night might raise a few eyebrows.

You and Loki are alone again, but the moment has passed. Whatever spell that had overcome the two of you is gone, and all that’s left is a quiet room and a dim light. “I apologize, I believe I have overstepped,” Loki says, and for the first time, he sounds...unsure. His voice has lost that arrogant confidence that it normally carries, and he sounds like a child that has just been caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You bite your lip and risk a glance at Loki. He’s still pressed against the opposite arm of the loveseat, and is avoiding your eyes. Without the atmosphere of desire from before, now you just feel...awkward. Sighing softly, you rise to your feet and make your way to the hallway. You pause briefly in the entryway, and breathe out a “goodnight, Loki.” You don’t wait for a response, instead turning and trudging back towards your room.

As you flop back down in bed, you replay the night’s events over in your mind. It almost feels like a dream, and you’re having trouble believing that Loki, the God of Mischief, had actually come on to you. It didn’t seem plausible. You’re just a plain mortal, nothing special, no powers. Sure, your combat skills could rival Natasha’s, but besides that, you can’t find anything about yourself that would attract a god.

Eventually, you decide that maybe Loki was just horny, and you were in the right place at the right time. You did walk out without pants on, after all. No matter the reasoning, you know not to expect a repeat occurrence, given how regretful he had seemed afterwards. Tears brim in your eyes as the reality of the situation hits you; Loki regrets touching you. It seems that your crush was one-sided, and even though you weren’t surprised, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

*

Things are tense around the compound. You creep around corners, terrified of accidentally finding yourself in the same room as Loki. And it seems that Loki is taking the same precautions, because you haven’t even seen a glimpse of him since that night. The ache in your heart from his rejection still keeps you up at night, and you still find yourself pining over him like a lovesick idiot.

Ever the observer, Natasha catches on quickly. “Are you really still embarrassed about bumping into Loki?” She asks after cornering you in the kitchen. “You’re not acting like yourself, and it is beyond obvious something is bothering you.”

You groan at her around a mouthful of a granola bar. “Are you really still thinking about it?” You counter.

Nat rolls her eyes. “Please, it’s hard to pretend it didn’t happen when you’re playing this stupid cat and mouse game. I see you check every room for him, I can’t believe you even care that much. He barely even touched you!”

A piece of your snack shoots down your throat with your gasp. You double over, wheezing and coughing. Natasha slaps a hand on your back, sighing. When you finally catch your breath, you glare at Nat. “Yeah, maybe that’s the issue.”

You immediately regret your words as a fire lights itself in Natasha’s eyes. “Want me to help?”

“Nat, hold on. No thanks-”

“Shush, trust me!” To your dismay, Natasha is already on her way out of the kitchen when she finishes hushing you. You whimper out a half-baked protest, but your friend is long gone by the time the words leave your mouth. Fuck, you’re so screwed.

LIfe  was very quickly becoming a stressful game of hide and seek. You’d resorted to spending most of the day in your room, hoping to avoid Loki, and more importantly, Natasha. You’re not sure what she has planned, but it can’t be anything good. As weeks pass by with no incident, however, you begin to drop your guard. Maybe she’s taking pity on you.

It’s around noon when you get the text. It’s an all caps message from Nat, pleading with you to at least hear her out before saying no.

That’s a terrifying text. I’m listening.

Nat: I may have bragged my way into a drinking contest with Thor, and I need a teammate to make it fair.

You want to try and outdrink Thor????

Nat: I want US to outdrink him. I convinced him that it’d be more balanced if it was 2 to 1.

You owe me.

Nat: :)

It was a terrible idea, but maybe a nice night of getting hammered is just what you need to break you out of your funk. Despite your initial reluctance, you find yourself getting excited. You hadn’t really relaxed in ages, this would be a good thing.

As the hours pass, you start to get nervous. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten properly drunk, and you seriously doubt you’ll be able to keep up with even Natasha. Still, a promise is a promise, and you have far too much pride to chicken out now.

The clock reaches nine o’clock, and you sigh. Showtime. Before leaving your suite, you set several glasses of water and a bottle of Advil on your nightstand. If you’re going to fuck over your future self, you might as well try to ease her pain. You take a deep breath and spare a glance over at the mirror against your bedroom wall. You had opted for something comfy, but cute; an emerald green dress that stopped just above your mid-thigh, and fell off of one shoulder effortlessly.

Okay, so maybe you had wanted to get a tiny bit dressed up. You’re sure Nat will tease you for it, but sometimes a girl just wants to feel pretty.

A bit breathless from those pre-competition nerves--yes, a drinking contest was that serious--you make your way to the kitchen. As you round the corner, you stop dead in your tracks. Sitting at the bar Tony had insisted on installing, is Nat and Thor, of course. But next to them, perched delicately on one of the stools, is Loki. He wears a look of disdain, as if this entire competition is beneath him. You hope he can’t tell how badly you want to be beneath him.

Natasha gives you a wicked grin as Thor waves you over, his smile far more innocent-looking than Nat’s, though you’re sure he had a part in this. Cursing your terrible friends under your breath, and yourself for falling for it, you trudge over. Naturally, the only stool left is the one on the end, directly next to Loki. You gingerly hoist yourself up and slide onto the seat.

You stubbornly keep your eyes on the counter, not daring to even glance up at Loki. It’s obvious from the way he’s angling himself away from you and towards his brother that he’s regretting that night, and doesn’t want to be near you. You don’t blame him, humans must seem like animals compared to gods. The reality is that you were a mistake to him, and you just needed to accept that and move past.

Breaking the awkward silence, Thor produces a jug of what looks like beer from god knows where. He grins and gestures to it grandly. As he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off. “Hold up! I thought this was two against one? Loki being here makes it unfair.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at you. “Yeah, I may have bent the truth to get you to come out. It’s teams of two, but we have a handicap. Our drinks and shots count as twice the actual amount, and they’ll be drinking Asgardian mead. So,” She smirks. “No more complaints, let’s do this shit.”

You swallow nervously at the mention of shots. You could hold your liquor fairly well, but you and shots had...history. Nat knew how touchy you got when you were drunk, and how much of an oversharer you tended to be. Though you have to admit that her plan is almost flawless, you’re still unimpressed with her shenanigans. She’s pretty much set you up to embarrass yourself.

You twiddle your thumbs in your seat as Natasha grabs a bottle of Svedka from behind the bar and begins to pour the beginning drinks. Following her lead, Thor pops open his jug and splits it between two large glasses, then passes one to Loki, who sighs in apparent boredom. He shoots you an unreadable look, then grabs one of the shot glasses that Natasha filled and slides it your way.

With a mumbled “thanks,’ you gingerly take the glass, and look at Nat and Thor. Thor raises his glass. “May the better warriors win!” He announces, then tips back his glass. You roll your eyes at the word choice, but bring the shot glass to your lips and throw your head back. The liquor goes down rough, but you manage to keep your poker face and grit your teeth against any retches.

“The lady can drink!” Thor bellows, wiping at his face.

You shrug, wanting the spotlight off of you. “Um, I went to college?”

Before Thor can question you, Natasha cuts in. “Hello? I took it just as well, where’s my applause?”

“Natasha, you are not a lady,” Loki deadpans. Nat glares and pours herself another shot in response, throwing back the second one just as easily as she had the first. She then points at you. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. Despite everything, Loki was still Loki, and he still had your heart. It seems that the tension between you and Loki dissolves after you laugh at his quip, and he relaxes his stiff posture.

You sigh in relief and reach for the bottle to refill your own glass. This time, it goes down easier. That is, until the burns travels past your stomach, right down to between your legs. You squirm in place at the unexpected burst of arousal. Still, you should have been ready for it. Alcohol has always gotten you a little worked up. It was your mistake to believe you could fight it.

Despite the setback, you keep up with your teammate as the night goes on. Shot after shot, broken up by the easy conversation that emerges as the liquor continues to flow.

You’re not sure when the competition was forgotten, but you soon find yourself splayed on the couch next to Loki, laughing hysterically at some story he’s just finished telling about Thor in his youth. You look over at him, hazily trying to center your double vision to properly admire the god. His cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, and he looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him.

Loki glances over, catching you staring, but you’re far too intoxicated to be embarrassed. Instead, you hold your gaze, waiting for a reaction. Loki smirks, then eyes his brother with annoyance.

“Brother,” he says, voice a lazy drawl. “I believe we’ve won this contest, wouldn’t you say?”

Thor cocks his head, then widens his eyes in understanding. “Oh, certainly! In fact, I think it would be necessary for me to walk you back to your quarters, Natasha.”

Natasha begins to protest, but it dies on her lips as her gaze flickers between you and Loki. “What a gentleman,” she purrs, only swaying slightly when she rises from her seat. “Lead the way.” Taking his outstretched hand, Natasha stumbles down the hall with Thor, giggling excitedly.

Now that it’s just the two of you, you expect things to get awkward, but find that you’re still just as comfortable. “Well, I guess I have to bow to the drinking champ,” you slur, sitting up to give a half hearted bow.

Loki throws his head back and laughs. “You,” he manages between snorts, “are far more fun to be around than most others on this planet.”

You scoff and wave your hand dismissively. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I bowed to you.” Chewing on your lip, you let your eyes drift back over to Loki. In your drunken haze, he just looks so...comfy. Before you realize what you’re doing, you slide over to lean up against him. Loki’s surprisingly warm, and you sigh contentedly, letting your mind wander back to how his hand felt running up your thigh.

The arousal from earlier that you had forgotten about rears its head, turning your sigh into a shaky exhale that is not at all subtle. The air feels thick, just like it had on that one stormy night, and you press yourself closer to Loki, unable to resist how good his body feels against yours.

Loki freezes for a moment, then seems to force himself to relax into you. His arm snakes around you until he’s holding you comfortably against his side. For one brief moment, you start to wonder if this is a good idea, given how things had ended in the past, but the intoxicated part of your brain tells the sober part to go fuck herself, and then you’re speaking without thinking. “Do you want to walk me to bed?”

Oh, shit. You can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. A wave of sobering panic hits you, and you untangle yourself from Loki and shoot up from the couch. Before you can flee, however, a pale hand grabs hold of your arm, stopping you in place.

Loki gets up, then moves his grip from your wrist to your hand. “I think that is a lovely idea. Allow me?” With the hand that isn’t holding yours, he gestures toward the hall. Well, that was unexpected. You try not to giggle in child-like excitement, and instead nod hurriedly.

Your heart speeds up at the feel of his hand in yours, and you start off down the hall, letting Loki pull you towards your suite. Caught up in trying to navigate the titling floor, you don’t notice that you’re being led the wrong way until the two of you come to a stop at a door that definitely does not belong to you. You look up at Loki in confusion. “This isn’t my room.”

“I know,” Loki growls, then opens the door and whirls you both inside. When you’ve recovered from the swift movement, you manage to pull away from Loki’s grip.

“What-what’s going on?” You say, attempting to sound stern. Loki stalks towards you. Instinctively, you back up, until you’re pressed against the wall with Loki boxing you in.

Loki presses his hands to the wall on either side of your head and sneers at you. “What’s going on?” He mocks. “I’ve craved your body under mine since long before our little nighttime meeting, and I have run out of patience for games.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, grazing you with his teeth. Just like before, his playfulness has given way to a domineering aura, but you’re not complaining one bit.

You barely suppress a full body shiver. “But,” you protest weakly. “I, I thought you regretted it. I mean, you never said anything about it, so I figured...oh…” you trail off into a soft moan as Loki roughly licks up the side of your neck, growling.

“And when would I have gotten the chance?” Loki pulls away from his assault on your skin to look you in the eyes. “You have been avoiding me for nearly a month.” Those blue eyes are staring daggers at you, and you realize that there’s hurt behind all that frustration.

Your mouth goes dry. He’s right, but the eye contact from his smoldering stare is making you forget how to speak. Fumbling with your words, you cast your gaze downwards. “Yeah, I guess I have. But with what you said after we were interrupted....I thought you were uncomfortable with what happened.”

A dark chuckle spills from Loki’s lips. “The only discomfort you have caused me is the nights I have spent spilling over my own hand because I could not have you. ”

You gasp softly as Loki’s words send a wave of heat through your overheated body. Loki takes that as encouragement, and presses himself closer until his lips are grazing yours. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he mumbles, eyes hooded.

Your response is to surge forward, hands flying to the back of his head as you roughly pull him in to kiss you. You both groan at the contact. The kiss is anything but gentle; your fingers are tangled in Loki’s hair, tugging harshly, and you can feel his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. It was far better than you could have imagined, and the dizzying pleasure of it all has you feeling drunker and more sober at the same time.

Before long, the room spins as Loki lifts you and hoists your legs around his waist. He kisses you breathless as he walks slowly down the hall towards what you can only assume is his bedroom. There’s a giddy part inside of you that squeals with excitement at being carried like that, but it’s quickly overshadowed by lust as you and Loki reach his bedroom. He tosses you onto his king sized bed like a doll, then kneels on the floor and yanks your ankles until your bottom is almost hanging off the bed.

Loki slides your dress up and nuzzles the inside of your thigh. “I could smell your arousal the entire night,” he says, nearly purring. “May I taste?”

You sit up on your elbows and stare down at him, face flushed with mild embarrassment at his face so close to your soaked panties. Dumbly, you nod, words failing you. Loki growls his appreciation and hikes up your dress, taking a brief moment to admire the soft fabric. “You look absolutely ravishing in green, I’ve wanted to tear this off of you since the moment I laid eyes on it.” And then he’s sliding your panties down your legs and plunging his tongue into your heat.

A ragged gasp tears its way from your throat and you throw your head back. You feel the grin form on Loki’s lips against your skin, and a fresh gush of arousal flows down your thighs. Loki eats pussy like it’s an art form he’s been perfecting for ages. His lips tug at your pussy, worshipping every fold like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You open your mouth to make some joke about his silvertongue, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper as Loki drags his teeth lightly across your clit.

It isn’t long before the pleasure reaches its peak.You fight hard to keep your legs from clamping around Loki’s head, but you can’t help it when you crest over the edge of orgasm. Your muscles lock up, your back arches, and you scream. White hot euphoria explodes from your core, spreading through your body like venom. Loki’s tongue works you through it, slowing to wide, long strokes as you begin to come down.

You’ve barely recovered when Loki rises from his knees and crawls up your body, coming to a stop when his face is inches from yours. His eyes are hooded, and his glistening lips are parted to allow frantic, heated pants to escape. “Pet,” he hisses, leaning down to nuzzle into your shoulder. “You taste sweeter than the fruits of Asgard.” He bites at your collarbone, making you shudder in your post-orgasmic haze.

Still out of it, you sluggishly fumble at Loki’s belt. “Wanna make you feel good, too,” you mumble and lick your lips. Loki bats your hand away, shushing you.

“Darling, there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I need to feel you.” He grabs your shoulders and drags you up to the pillows, so that you’re lying comfortably on your back with him hovering above you.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of ‘later.’ So this wasn’t just a one-night stand? You don’t have time to process that, however, as Loki barely gives you a moment to breathe. He sits back on his knees, straddling your waist, and with a wave of his hand, you’re both stark naked. Your hands twitch, wanting to cover yourself. Being naked in front of an attractive man has always intimidated you, but the fact that Loki was a god made it worse. As if sensing your sudden shyness, Loki leans in to kiss at lick at your breasts, and brings his hands up to pin your wrists to the bed. You sigh in pleasure, insecurity fading with every hot swipe of his tongue, not even wanting to struggle against his hold.

Loki lowers himself to grind against you. His hard cock slides against your dripping folds as his narrow hips press into yours. Both of you shiver, and you arch your hips to bring him closer. Loki growls against your skin and sits up. He lets go of your wrists, roughly grabs your waist and angles it to meet his. “Ready, pet? I can’t wait, I need to have you.” he breathes, eyes locked on yours.

Like a deer in the headlights, you’re frozen, anticipation coiling tightly under your skin. Slowly, you nod. Loki wastes no time. He smirks, then slides himself into you, the stretch burning in the loveliest way. Your heated groan mingles with his, and when Loki’s hips come to rest against yours, he falls against your chest, panting. You appreciate the time he gives you to adjust; Loki’s cock is thick, and longer than anything you’ve ever taken, and you can feel it throbbing desperately within you. Now that he’s released your hands, you bring them up to thread through his soft, black hair. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, nearly purring.

“Tell me when, love,” Loki grits out, fighting to keep his voice steady. The shakiness in his usually smooth tone is arousing to no end, and you can feel yourself clench around him in approval. Loki’s hips twitch at the fluttering of your walls, and though you’re more than ready, you decide to torture him a bit longer.

You bring your legs up to wrap around Loki’s  waist, pulling him closer. He shivers, but keeps his composure, remaining almost statue still. His concern for your comfort makes your heart swell, but you want to see him lose control. “You’re so big,” you whimper out, the alcohol in your system quelling the embarrassment you’d usually feel when talking dirty. You press your face into Loki’s neck, grazing your teeth along the pale skin there.

With a deep growl of barely kept composure, Loki rises up to rest on his elbows, desperate eyes searching yours. It seems that being the God of Lies gave Loki the ability to see through your cruel game, and his expression turns dark, though the neediness is still blatant. You shift nervously as he stares you down, already regretting your mischievousness. “Feeling playful, are we?” Loki asks.

Your mouth goes dry at being caught and your core tightens around him again, earning you a flutter of his eyelids. “I…” you trail off, eyes drifting to Loki’s parted lips. Watching you gaze, Loki grins at you.

“Oh, pet. I think you may be confused. You are mine to toy with, not the other way around.” With that, Loki leans down to crush his lips into yours. His tongue forces its way into your mouth and you whine around it. While his tongue’s distracting you, Loki takes his chance to begin pounding into you at a ruthless pace, and you break away from the kiss to throw your head back and shriek out a moan.

You feel utterly wrecked, stomach clenching and nerves alight with pleasure as Loki continues his assault on your body. Your eyes are squeezed shut, so his teeth nipping at your jaw come as a surprise, sending a whole new shockwave of sensation down your neck.

“You feel so fucking good, pet,” Loki moans, his voice quickly losing its characteristic steadyness. He sighs out something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper, and brings one of his hands down to toy with your clit. Your legs tighten around him involuntarily. “A-ah, fuck,” Loki grits out, increasing his pace.

The pleasure is overwhelming, and the unhuman speed at which Loki’s pounding into you leaves you no time to catch your breath. Moans and whines erupt from your mouth in a constant stream, and Loki keeps his mouth hovering above yours to drink them in. “I wanna cum,” you whimper as Loki’s assault on your senses continues.

“Then cum, pet,” Loki groans, hips stuttering. “ Cum for your god.”

You keen, writhing and chasing your high. As you climb up to your orgasm, you are met with a startling realization that Loki has already ruined you for anyone else. No human man could match the fire that he’s set upon your nerves, the blinding pleasure that mounts with every thrust and kiss. With that settling into your mind, you finally reach your second peak of the night.

Your eyes try to flutter shut, tears brimming at the corners as you wail Loki’s name again and again. Through the haze of your climax, you notice Loki’s muscles begin to tense as he nears his orgasm as well, and you force your eyes to stay open in order to watch him come apart.

Watching Loki cum is almost like a second climax. He speeds up impossibly, mouth hanging open and eyes barely able to stay focused on you. “You’re mine,” he growls out. Choked moans fall from his lips as he nears the edge, and you rake your nails down his back to encourage him.

“Cum in me, please, I need it, make me yours” you ramble breathlessly.

“Oh, fuck, I-I’m so close,” Loki manages, voice breaking. You continue to coo pleas and encouragements at him, and the way his eyes roll back at your wrecked voice gives you an intoxicating rush of pride. Finally, with a whimpering moan, Loki stills, cock pulsing within you and hips twitching as he pumps you full of his cum.

Loki slumps against you, still moving in aborted little thrusts, as if he can’t quite stop fucking you just yet. The weight of him on top of you is heavy, but not unwelcome, and you take the time to bask in the euphoria of having just slept with the god you’d pined after for so long.

“That was…” you start, words failing you.

“Divine,” Loki finishes for you. He slides his cock out of your pussy, and with it comes a gush of warm cum that you’re sure will stain the sheets. He rolls off of you, then guides you onto your side so that he can pull you up against him.

You weren’t expecting Loki to be the ‘cuddling after sex,’ type, so having him spoon you was surprising, to say the least. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, and you find yourself wanting to fall asleep like that; comfortable in his bed and safe in his strong arms.

Still, there’s a nagging question that won’t let you fully relax. Not wanting to expect too much, you brace yourself for the worst and open your mouth to speak. “Loki...what does this mean for us?”

Loki tenses behind you, and your heart breaks at the assumed rejection as he begins to pull away. “Are you...are you not mine? I thought this was-I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. Forgive me.”

This time, your heart breaks for a different reason. Loki sounds so hurt, so unsure of everything, and you can hear a scared little boy behind that velvet voice. “No!” You nearly shout, turning around to pull him back to you. “I want to be yours, I promise,” you say as you tug Loki back into your arms, running a soothing hand down his back. “I just wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted.”

The relief in Loki is visible as he relaxes into you. “Love, I am yours as much as you are mine, do not doubt that.”

The pet name brings a smile to your lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you reply happily. Heart full, you roll back over so that Loki can snuggle into you again, and finally let your drowsiness overtake you. You catch a faint, ‘I love you,’ just before you drift off to sleep, and though it could just be your mind playing tricks on you, you know that you love him, too.