#i thought about drawing me with wild frizzy hair like our bodys

[dammek-time]

i keep running out of ice cream,, it cant go on like this

[cozy-the-overlord]

Crimson Curls

Summary:  A barista at the Avengers Tower coffeeshop goes missing. Her boyfriend, prominent Avengers engineer Michael Hauer, headlines a desperate campaign to find her, aided by the support of Tony Stark and the rest of the super-powered team. But as Hauer’s narrative begins to unravel, it becomes clear that a certain Asgardian prince knows more than he’s telling.

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 2: Perception

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Word Count: 7,914

A/N:  This is a long one... I actually considered chopping it into two chapters, but that would have messed up my careful three-act-structure plans, so I kept it in one. Hope you don’t mind!

TW: domestic violence

Read it on Ao3

It all started because of the Christmas party.

The funny thing was Loki didn’t even want to go to the party. He would have much preferred to remain in his room, flipping through a book he had read hundreds of times before, shielded from the crowds of eyes widening in alarm and conversations that would trail off when they noticed his presence. The mood always shifted when people realized that the alien who invaded New York was in the same room as them, and Loki had become rather exhausted of it.

But Thor had insisted. “Please, brother,” he wheedled. “Just this once. You’ll enjoy it, I swear!”

He had ended up humoring his brother, simply because he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t. He didn’t expect to be there long. Surely, within an hour Thor would have broken out the Asgardian mead and subsequently have forgotten all else, and Loki could slip away to the sanctuary of his soundproofed quarters.

Stark had been going around introducing them to his various compatriots: everyone wanted to meet Thor, and Loki was an unfortunate obstacle that they had to put up with to do so. Loki hadn’t been paying much attention to them.

But after a while, there was one couple that caught his eye.

“Oh, Thor, you wanna meet this guy!” Stark said excitedly, steering them over to the corner of the room. “Hey, Hauer! Over here!”

Michael Hauer was unimpressive. Tall, pale, blonde—his face looked no different from the dozens of other men Stark had paraded in front of him throughout the night.

It was the woman that stood next to him that piqued his interest.

“This guy’s one of our most talented engineers,” Stark was saying. “That new Quinjet was mostly his design.”

“You give me too much credit, sir,” said the man, grinning widly. He grasped the arm of his companion and pulled her forward. “This is my girlfriend, Kristine.”

Kristine smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach her cerulean eyes. She was a small woman, but her posture made her look even smaller, with the way she huddled in on herself, her face barely peeking out through the strands of her curly red hair. Her long-sleeved dress clung to her body and only accentuated her thin form. She looked like a twig, ready to snap in half.

Her dress was green. Perhaps it was silly that such a thing still garnered Loki’s attention after all this time, but it did. On Asgard, green had been his color, just as red had been Thor’s. Women hoping to gain his favor used to wear green to the royal balls, hoping that he would notice how perfectly the color of their gowns matched his cape. He was well aware, of course, that such a practice was practically nonexistent on Earth. He understood that the Midgardian holiday they were celebrating was associated with the very same colors he and his brother had once claimed for their own. The color of the woman’s dress meant nothing.

But it still caught his eye.

Thor bowed gallantly. “It’s lovely to meet you, my lady.” Studying her face, he added, “I think I’ve seen you before. Don’t you work at the coffeeshop?”

Kristine tensed. “Yes sir, I do,” she mumbled, her voice just barely legible amidst the hum of conversation. She refused to raise her gaze from the floor.

Stark laughed boisterously. “Of course, how could I forget?” He motioned towards her wild mane. “You really do stand out in a crowd, don’t you? Gee, is that how you two met? What do you know, I’m a matchmaker!”

Hauer and Thor both joined in his laughter, but Kristine just looked uncomfortable. Loki cocked his head to the side. It seemed he had found someone even more miserable at this godforsaken party than he was.

He kept an eye on her for the remainder of the night. It wasn’t that he intended to watch her, but his gaze kept drifting back to her frizzy red hair and her sparkling emerald dress. She looked rather lonely, hovering in her boyfriend’s shadow for the entire night. Hauer barely acknowledged her. He was too busy laughing with Stark or enthusiastically explaining something to Rodgers or guzzling beer with Thor. Loki was rather disgusted by it. Had he been Kristine, he would have walked out hours ago.

It was later in the night when he finally decided to approach her. He had been debating about it for a while. On one hand, perhaps she preferred to be invisible—as unhappy as she looked, she didn’t appear to be complaining about her situation. She certainly wasn’t making the effort to capture Hauer’s attention or to find other means of entertainment. But still, something ached in his chest at the way she stood by so stiffly silent as her boyfriend frolicked about the room having the time of his life.

When Hauer joined the crowd gathered on the balcony attempting to lift Thor’s hammer, Loki made his way to her.

He bowed slightly. “Forgive my forwardness, my lady, but I was wondering if you’d honor me with a dance.”

Kristine was startled. “Oh!” she gasped, jumping a bit. She glanced towards the balcony uncertainly. “Uh… alright.”

He saw it there, that familiar flash of fear that he had been so desperate to avoid tonight. He cursed himself inwardly. What had he expected? “I don’t mean to pressure you—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” she interrupted hurriedly. Behind them, people hooted and chanted as Hauer tried his luck with the hammer. She turned back towards Loki. “I’d like to. Dance, that is.” Her cheeks flushed pink.

“Wonderful.” Loki offered his hand, smiling slightly when she took it.

Loki had long been of the opinion that Midgardians had no regard for proper dance. The complex steps and fluid motions of his youth had no place on the barbaric mortal floors. However, that night he experienced a rare stroke of luck. The song that was playing was softer, the couples dancing merely swaying slowly to the notes. He pulled Kristine on to the dance floor, and the two fell into a rhythm quite smoothly.

At first, they didn’t speak. Loki wasn’t sure what to say. She was clearly not at ease—he could feel the tension in her muscles as they danced—but he was beginning to doubt that he was the cause of her discomfort. She kept looking back towards the balcony, as if at any moment she expected something to come crashing through the windows. When somebody coming back into the main room slammed the door, she whipped her head around so quickly that Loki’s cheek was pelted by red curls.

Kristine gasped in embarrassment. “Sorry!” she said quickly, stumbling over her words. “My hair—I know it’s a complete mess, I try to get it to stay put—”

Loki laughed. “Nonsense. It’s lovely the way it is.” She made a face, shrugging indifferently, and he frowned. “Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“I mean— it’s so hard to care for,” she said. “And it gets on Michael’s nerves. Such a mess…”

There was something in her tone that Loki didn’t like, something that seemed to go deeper than hairstyles.

“It’s perfect,” he said fiercely. After a moment, he added, “My mother always thought red hair was the prettiest shade.” He inhaled at the memory. Frigga had loved the color because of her mother’s red hair. Her sisters had all inherited the same shade, but she had been left with her father’s golden brown. She used to tell him this story often when he was a child, whenever he questioned why he looked nothing like his older brother. Although now, all things considered, he found himself wondering if that had just been yet another lie to keep him from trying to look deeper.

Kristine looked thoughtful. “Really? Huh. My mother used to say the same thing,” she sighed. “But I guess all mothers tell their kids they’re pretty.”

“Perhaps, but in your case, she was speaking the truth.”

The girl blushed. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Kristine seemed quite shy, but she laughed when he made a sarcastic joke about Thor’s hammer overcompensation, and when the first dance ended, she agreed to the second without hesitation.

“I’m not used to doing much at these things,” she admitted. “I don’t really know anyone here except Michael. I never know what to do with myself.”

“He’s not one for dancing, I take it?” Loki asked.

Kristine laughed nervously. “No, not really.”

Their conversation continued, soft and simple. Slowly, she began sharing tiny details about herself. She grew up in Virginia. She liked to draw. Her favorite color was dark blue, but she liked green too—although she seemed embarrassed when he complimented her gown.

“It’s just a plain old green dress,” she told him. “I’ve had it for years. There’s nothing really special about it or anything.”

“I don’t find it plain. It’s quite striking on you,” he twirled her gently, watching her skirt fan out around her legs. “Very pretty.”

When he pulled her back, her cheeks were bright red. “Thanks,” Kristine sputtered. “I-I think you’re pretty too.” She winced. “Oh, that sounded weird—”

Loki chuckled. “Not at all,” he said. “I’ll take what I can get.”

He was enjoying himself far more than he preferred to admit. When was the last time he had had a friendly, casual conversation with anyone? His interactions with the Avengers were stilted at best— a reluctant necessity that both parties avoided as much as they could. And Thor… Thor was still trying to live a fantasy where the past had been entirely forgotten and everything had been fixed between the two of them. Call it irony, but Loki wasn’t that talented at lying to himself.

But this… this was nice. Just talking, joking, laughing. Spending time with someone who didn’t have any ulterior motives or unreasonable expectations. It was rather refreshing, even.

Which is why it of course had to end abruptly.

“Kris!” Kristine stiffened, ripping herself out of his arms immediately as Hauer came barreling across the dance floor. “Kris, where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking all over!” He grabbed her arm and began pulling her back across the room. “I want you to meet this guy I work with. Remember, I told you about him—”

Kristine glanced back at Loki, shooting him what he thought was meant to be an apologetic grin. It came off as more of a pained grimace. He frowned.

It wasn’t the place to make a scene. Loki of Asgard, the invader of New York, throwing a fit in Avengers Tower because he wanted to dance with another man’s lover—oh yes, that would go over spectacularly.

Still, he lingered far longer than he ever intended, his gaze following the couple from the corner of his eye. Something about the whole situation didn’t sit right with him. He watched as the man Hauer had been so eager to introduce to her moved on after a few minutes of conversation, and Kristine returned to her dutiful place trailing behind her boyfriend. They left shortly before one in the morning, Hauer’s arm around her waist as they slipped into the elevator.

Kristine met his gaze just as the doors were closing. She smiled softly.

And then they were gone.

He spent the next few days pretending to have forgotten her. He should’ve forgotten her. She was nothing to him—a random mortal who he had just happened to dance with at a party.

And who had a selfish, egotistical boyfriend.

Now that he had been introduced to Michael Hauer, Loki noticed him more often. He worked a lot with Stark, drawing up new designs and overseeing their test runs. From what Loki saw, Hauer was quite intelligent, and well aware of it. He clearly prided himself on his work, as it seemed to be the only topic he ever wanted to discuss.

Loki had found himself lurking around the lab more often, listening in on the discourse that went on between the engineers. His behavior was… odd. Despite many of his coworkers often bringing up their significant others in conversation, Hauer never once mentioned Kristine. Had he not known better, Loki wouldn’t have thought the man was seeing anyone at all. It may have been nothing, of course—perhaps he just didn’t want to discuss his personal life while he was focusing on his work—but Loki couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about Michael Hauer. His concern for Kristine grew.

It was about a week after the party that he spoke with her again. He went down to the lower floors a few times to scope out the coffeeshop where she worked. It seemed she was always on duty—her crimson curls stood out even when she had them tied back behind her head as she spoke with customers and punched numbers into the cash register.

It was something of a marvel, really; here was this woman who had stuttered and blushed her way through two dances (or a dance and a half, to be more precise), completely calm as she juggled the demands of what had to be hundreds of impatient strangers a day. Was she truly that comfortable with her task, he wondered, or was she simply a better actress than he would have given her credit for?

It was late in the day when he decided to find out.

For once, there wasn’t a line to the counter. Loki sidled up to the cash register and smiled. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

Kristine looked up from her cellular device with a jump. “Oh, hi!” she smiled, but her shoulders remained tense. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you down here.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said. “But ever since his first visit here, my brother has been completely infatuated with this drink of yours. I thought I might give it a try.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s-it’s kind of addicting.” She shifted, pushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. He frowned. She still had yet to look him in the eye. “Um, I wanted to tell you… I’m really sorry I dipped so quickly the other night. Michael had told me he wanted to introduce me to his friend, I had just forgotten. I didn’t mean to—”

Loki’s features softened. “I completely understand. No need to apologize,” he said. Kristine’s posture relaxed at his words.

“Really?” she asked.

“Of course. If anything, I should be apologizing to you. After all, I’m the one who stole you away from your party in the first place.”

“Oh no, you’re fine! It was—it was nice. I had fun,” Kristine blushed once again. He smiled wider. Never had he encountered an individual so easily embarrassed by everything she said. It was rather endearing.

She cleared her throat. “So, um, what can I get you?”

Loki glanced at the screen behind her, the various types of drinks laid out in an electric menu he didn’t have the patience to read. “It seems I am in need of your assistance on that front,” he said. “I know nothing of these beverages. What would you recommend?”

“Um,” she shifted, settling into her barista voice. “Well today’s special is the peppermint mocha—it’s kind of the last of the holiday drinks, so—”

“You misunderstand,” he interrupted. “What would you recommend?”

“Oh. You mean—,” Kristine stumbled. “Well… I’m probably the wrong person to ask. I—I don’t really like sugary drinks. I just stick to black coffee most of the time. But that’s just me!” she added hurriedly. “Most people actually prefer—”

“I think I will trust your judgment. After all, I am hardly most people,” he grinned. “I can’t say I enjoy you Midgardians’ obsession with sugar that much myself.”

Her brow furrowed anxiously. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not that exciting—”

“I’m sure.”

She studied him for a moment, as if attempting to assess his sincerity. Her eyes really were quite piercing. Loki wasn’t sure if he had ever met a mortal with such vibrant blue irises.

“Okay,” she said finally, turning to the cash register. “Small, regular, or large?”

Loki followed her movement, leaning over the counter. “Large,” he said. “Why not? Let’s be dangerous.”

“Well, you are getting the most boring item on the menu, so I don’t know how dangerous you’re being.” Her eyes widened at her own words, clapping her hand over her mouth as her cheeks flushed pink yet again. “I’m sorry, I—”

But Loki was chortling. “My my, now where did that sharp tongue come from?”

Kristine giggled. “Cash or credit?”

She was still smiling when she handed over the warm paper cup. Loki took a whiff of the liquid and winced. “Norns, that is potent.”

“I think it smells nice,” she protested. “I—” Suddenly she stiffened, eyes trained on something over behind him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder and seeing nothing particularly alarming.

“N-no, no, um—” she looked away quickly, raising her voice. “Is there anything else I can get for you today?”

Frowning, Loki shook his head. “No, I suppose that would be all.”

“Well, have a nice day!” Kristine’s smile was wide and strained. Her message was clear, although Loki couldn’t fathom what had so quickly flipped the switch from playful conversation to such an abrupt dismissal. It was only after he thanked her and made to leave that he found the object of her concern.

Michael Hauer was exiting the stairway, making his way across the room to the coffeeshop. She must have noticed him coming down the stairs.

Still, he was confused. What was so alarming about her boyfriend coming to see her? Was she concerned that he’d see her with another man and get the wrong idea? But surely the brilliant Hauer understood that his girlfriend’s occupation required her to interact with a plethora of different characters every day.

Loki watched as Hauer spoke with her at the counter. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but Kristine had become very still. In fact, she didn’t seem to be speaking at all: she just nodded and shook her head as her boyfriend continued. Loki found himself remembering all the things he disliked about Hauer.

After a few minutes, he left without buying anything. As soon as he was gone Kristine ducked into the back room, only to be replaced a short while later by another girl in a matching apron. Loki returned to his room silently, unable to shake the feeling that something was drastically wrong with Michael Hauer.

He began making a point of stopping by the coffeeshop once a day in the late afternoon. Furtive observation taught him that Hauer had a habit of showing up at the counter in the middle of the morning and again shortly after the lunch hour, although the purposes of these visits were still unclear to him. Kristine’s answers were evasive when Loki had attempted to casually broach the subject.

“Oh, you know,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “He just likes to check up on me.”

Despite his concerns about Michael Hauer (or perhaps because of them), Loki and Kristine struck up an odd little friendship. The coffeeshop was never that busy at the times he came by, so usually he’d stick around to talk for a bit. Their conversations were never anything earth-shattering: they’d complain about their lives, reminisce about their past, make fun of the eccentric individuals they’d see shuffling through the food court. Once, when she learned that Loki still had no idea how to use the cellular phone Stark had given him, Kristine insisted upon teaching him.

“So these are your text messages here,” she said, her fingers sliding across the slab of metal. “See the speech bubble? Geez, you have a lot of unread texts.”

Loki watched over her shoulder, doing his best to feign interest. “Now how could you tell that?”

“The number in the red circle in the corner. See that?” Kristine pointed. “That’s how many new notifications you have.”

“What am I being notified of?”

“People have been texting you. You can go in and—” she pressed the text icon “See? Here’s all your messages.” She frowned at the jumble of capitalized letters that greeted her. “It looks like they’re all from Thor.”

Loki yawned. “Is that so? Well then, we know they’re not important.”

She giggled. “Here, let me show you how to text back.”

Sometimes, she’d show him her sketchbook. Kristine really was a talented artist: her penciled sketches of the birds she’d see outside her apartment window looked as though they could almost fly off the page. She drew a lot of people as well. Most were portraits of Hauer, of course, as well as a light-haired, middle-aged woman Kristine identified as her mother, but Loki also recognized some of the Avengers: Tony Stark, Captain Rodgers, even his brother.

“You spent the time to draw Thor and not me?” he cried in mock outrage. “And here I thought we were friends! I must say, I’m quite offended.”

Kristine stifled a giggle. “I’ll draw you next,” she said. “I promise.”

In return, he’d show her bits of his magic. He’d conjure an illusion of a snake on the counter or make his hand glow or turn the sugar jar into a goblet of wine or something equally silly—hardly anything remarkable, but he loved how her eyes would light up at even the simplest of tricks.

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” she laughed as she ran her hands through a fading illusion. “That is just so cool!”

He grinned. “You’re easily impressed, my lady.”

“I wish I had magic” Kristine continued. “It would make my life so much easier. Wouldn’t have to drive anywhere, I could just teleport. If I left my phone at home, I could just summon it through a portal or something.” She snapped her fingers. “You know what I’d do? I’d make it snow inside. It’s always so freaking hot in here—we could use some indoor snow.”

“There’s a far simpler solution to that problem, my lady.” He nodded at her shirt. “You should change your wardrobe. It’s far to warm in here for long sleeves.”

Kristine tugged at the collar of her turtleneck uncomfortably. “I guess. But—I’m just used to wearing this, you know? Like, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, right?” She laughed again, but this time it sounded far emptier. “Besides, it’s not that bad in here. I just always make a big deal out of little things, you know?”

Loki nodded in agreement, but inwardly, he was distressed. He had suddenly realized that in the weeks he had been spending time with Kristine, he had never once known her to bare her arms.

His concerns only grew when one day Kristine came in to work with a blackened eye and a bruise that stretched down her cheek.

“Norns, Kristine, are you alright?” he cried. “What happened?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, speaking so quickly he could barely understand what she was saying. “I just fell down the stairs at my apartment. It was my fault, they’re really steep, I wasn’t paying attention. It looks a lot worse than it is.” She smiled desperately. “One large black coffee?”

“What is your opinion on Michael Hauer?”

Stark looked up from the box of spare parts he was rummaging through in his lab and frowned.

“Hauer?” he asked. “Why do you care?”

Loki glared coldly across the room. “Simple curiosity. Indulge me.”

He smirked. “What’s the magic word?”

“Stark.”

“Fine, geez,” Stark turned back to his work. “Hauer’s a genius. You know that new Quinjet we tried out in Novi Grad? That was his model. I never would have thought to—”

“I understand that he’s intelligent,” Loki interrupted. “But what are your thoughts of his nature?”

“His nature?” Stark shrugged, dumping the contents of the box on his desk. “I don’t know, he’s nice. Fun at parties.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “That’s all? Hasn’t he been in your employ for years?”

“Hey,” Stark raised his arms in mock surrender. “I focus on the important stuff. You know,” he continued as he picked out pieces from the pile. “You can see for yourself, if you hang around a few minutes. We’re staying late tonight to test out one of his new designs—”

He started. “Hauer’s coming up here?”

“Yeah. If you want to meet him, I can—”

But Loki had already dashed out of the room.

Kristine usually got out of work early in the evening, but he knew that when Hauer stayed late she’d wait for him at the tables across from the coffeeshop. Perhaps this would be the best time to confront her, when she knew her boyfriend would be occupied for the foreseeable future.

He nearly ran into the man on the stairs going down to the food court.

“Watch it!” snapped Hauer as he came barreling up the steps, not even looking up to see who he was snapping at. For a moment, Loki was tempted to remind him, but he held himself back. Now was hardly the time or place.

The dark-haired girl behind the counter wasn’t Kristine, and she visibly stiffened when she saw Loki coming.

“H-how can I help you today, sir?” she stuttered.

“I’d like to speak with Ms. Ververs,” he said. “Is she here at the moment?”

The girl looked surprised. “Kristine?” she asked. “Oh, um, you just missed her. I think she went to the bathroom.”

He nodded. “Ah. Very well. Thank you.”

Loki made his way to one of the tables, resolving to wait for her return. Time passed. Men and women trickled down the stairs and out the door. Outside, the sun began its slow descent beneath the horizon. Kristine still did not return. He had waited nearly forty-five minutes when Loki decided to go looking for her.

The nearest restrooms were empty. He went down the hall to check the others, peeping into the cubicle offices along the way. He couldn’t imagine what she’d be doing in there, but perhaps she had run into a friend and struck up a conversation and lost track of time—he hoped that was what had happened. But she wasn’t anywhere he looked.  

Loki was on the brink of alerting Stark that one of his employees had gone missing so that he could check security footage when he overheard what sounded like muffled sobs coming from a broom closet.

Frowning, he tapped on the door. “Kristine?” He cracked it open and called again. “Kristine, is that you?”

There was a moment of hesitation before the answer came. “Yeah,” she mumbled, sounding completely exhausted. “Yeah, it’s me, Loki.”

He pushed the door all the way open. She was huddled in the corner, hidden behind a mountain of cleaning supplies. Her hair was beginning to slip out of her ponytail, framing her face in wispy strands of unkempt curls. Her eyes were swollen. Loki’s chest ached as he took in her appearance. In the low light, she looked more like a frightened child than a grown woman.

Loki made his way into the closet, stooping to avoid the low ceiling. “What are you doing in here?” he asked gently as he sat down next to her. “What happened?”

“Oh nothing, it’s just—I thought—” she hiccupped. “I just wanted to get away from everything.” She rubbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron.

“Here.” Loki summoned a clean handkerchief to his hand and held it out to her. This time, the magic trick sparked none of the usual wonder in her eyes. She took the cloth with a barely audible thank you.

“What do you mean by everything?” he asked.

Kristine sniffed. “It’s nothing. Really. Michael and I—we just had a little argument. That’s it. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing,” Loki echoed. “And yet you’re hiding in a broom closet.”

“I—it’s just—” she sniffed again, blinking back tears. “He gets mad sometimes.”

She blew her nose into the handkerchief, wincing when she pressed too hard on her bruised cheek. Loki thought of Michael Hauer, fuming on the stairs as he stormed off from the coffeeshop. He thought of how he had dragged Kristine away on the dance floor, how terrified she had been when she saw him coming while speaking with Loki at the counter.

Hesitantly, he gave voice to the suspicion that had been lurking in the back of his mind ever since he first laid eyes on the couple.

“He hurts you,” Loki whispered quietly. “Doesn’t he?”

Kristine looked up with panicked eyes. “You can’t tell anybody!” she cried, trembling. “You won’t, right? You won’t tell anybody?” she grabbed at his shoulders as the tears streamed down her cheeks, her breathing coming in fast spirts. “Please, he’ll get so mad at me if he thought—you won’t tell anybody, will you? Please—”

Loki gently pulled her shaking body into an embrace, trying to soothe her as she hyperventilated. “Kristine, it’s alright—”

She sobbed into his chest. “He’ll get mad, he’ll get mad!”

He hushed her softly, rubbing her back. “If you don’t want me to tell anyone, then I won’t,” he murmured. “Can you breathe in slowly for me now? And now out. Just like that…”

They sat in the dark for a while, Loki whispering quiet nonsense into her ear as her breathing stabilized. People passed by outside, but thankfully no one barged into the broom closet.

“Why do you stay with him?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

Kristine shook her head. “He-he’s done so much for me—”

“He hurts you.” He looked down at her in disbelief. “You don’t owe him anything.”

She inhaled hoarsely. “I didn’t have anything when I came up here. My mom had just died, everything was going wrong, I was so lonely—” she sighed. “I’ve never been good at—at making friends. But he—he was so nice to me… I don’t know what happened.”

She sounded utterly broken. Loki’s arms tightened around her without realizing. “He’s not worthy of you,” he whispered fiercely. “You deserve to be treated like a goddess.”

Kristine laughed humorlessly. “But I can’t just leave him,” she said. “I’d lose my job. He’s literally best friends with Tony Stark, he’d be sure of it. And I wouldn’t have anywhere to go—he owns the apartment.”

“Don’t you have someone you could stay with temporarily?” he asked. “Friends, family? Surely you aren’t entirely dependent on that rat.”

“My parents are both dead,” she whispered. “And I never really got to know anyone out here before I met Michael. After that… I never really hung out with anyone else.”

“You hang out with me,” he reminded her. “I’m sure I could arrange for you to stay somewhere. I’ll tell Stark what kind of person Hauer really is. I’m sure the Avengers would be eager to have him terminated if they knew.” It would take some convincing, but if he got his brother to believe him, Thor could surely convince the others. Perhaps Stark would be unwilling, but Rodgers held just as much authority as the mechanic, and Loki somehow doubted that keeping a known abuser on Avengers payroll would sit well with the Captain’s heavy moral compass.

Kristine was less convinced. “They’d never fire him,” she said bitterly. “Not for me. Michael builds all their world-saving technology. They rely on him. I’m just some random barista. They’ll never sacrifice all that stuff for me. And he knows it.”

Loki frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve called the police on him. Twice. I thought he was going to kill me,” she gulped. “The police got there, and he just talked his way out of it. Told them who he was, who he worked for, and they were like, shaking hands with him!” She sobbed. “They asked me if I wanted to press charges, and it was like, how could I? They were already on his side!”

“What do you do then?” he asked, horrified. “If you’re afraid to call law enforcement, what do you do when he’s attacking you?” Somehow, he already knew the answer.

Kristine shrugged. “Pray. Wait for him to get tired.”

“No.” Loki shifted, digging out the glossy Avengers-sanctioned cellular phone from his pocket. “Here. If you can’t call the police, call me.” The screen lit up the broom closet as he pulled up his number.

She frowned. “What?”

“Take down this number. If you ever feel you’re in danger, I want you to call it. Without hesitation.” Loki looked at her somberly. “I’ll teleport to your location immediately.”

“Are-are you sure?” she asked hesitantly. “Isn’t that number supposed to be, you know, like, top secret?”

“Don’t worry about it. Stark claims it’s untraceable.” He watched as she pulled out her own phone and began typing the number in. “I will get you out of this, Kristine.”

She ran her hands through her red hair. “You really think you can?”

“Yes,” he said. “I swear it.”

Things changed after that. His daily coffee-stops turned into check-ins: asking if she was alright, if Michael had done anything the night before, if he could do anything for her. It seemed that they had reached a period of peace: Michael was so distracted with his latest project with Stark that he didn’t have the time to be violent. Loki feared that it wouldn’t last long though.

Kristine had made him swear that he wouldn’t tell anyone else of her circumstances, so Loki figured that he’d have to get creative with getting Hauer out of Avengers Tower. Framing him as a security threat seemed to be the best option, as security was Stark’s highest priority. Loki set about planning to make it look as if Hauer was stealing SHIELD intel. It was a more difficult task than he anticipated. Leaving too obvious a trail would make Stark suspicious that Hauer was being set up, but too subtle a trail and nobody would even notice that something was wrong. He went back and forth on various plans, all harboring some flaw that could potentially give it all away, before storming out of his quarters one day in frustration.

It really shouldn’t have been so difficult. Loki sat in the food court, cloaked by an illusion, watching Hauer make his way down the stairs for his morning visit to his girlfriend. If he were to trip at the top of the staircase, put the wrong foot in the wrong place at the wrong time and go tumbling to his death, nobody would think anything of it. Oh, what a tragic accident. He was so young. And then they’d move on with their lives.

Yes, Loki thought as Hauer went on his way, it would be so much easier if you would just fall down the stairs.

He didn’t kill him though. It wasn’t out of any love for Michael Hauer—the very thought of the man drove Loki into fantasies of burying a dagger into his chest—but because of Kristine. Loki didn’t tell her about his murderous dreams, but she had her suspicions, and she didn’t like them.

“You wouldn’t do anything to hurt Michael, right?” she asked suddenly one day. “Like, physically?” She looked up at him, eyes wide and anxious. It cut him deeply to see her looking at him like that, as if he was the unpredictable monster she had to fear.

Loki shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I wouldn’t do anything like that.” He left with his coffee, unable to shake the feeling of shame weighing down his shoulders.

It was late at night when the phone rang. Loki had been sitting on the couch in his quarters, the open book in his lap failing to hold his attention as his mind wandered to more pressing issues, when the ringtone crashed through the silence.

Loki jumped to his feet, clawing at his pocket to find the damn device. As quickly as it began, the room fell quiet. By the time that he had the phone in his hand, the ringing had stopped. Across the screen flashed a message: Missed Call from Kristine Ververs.

He didn’t remember making the decision to teleport to her apartment, only that suddenly he was there, ripping the door open so forcefully that the lock cracked.

Three things greeted him inside the apartment: Hauer, standing only a few feet from the door. Kristine, curled beneath him on the floor, gasping for air. And blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Hauer whipped up, eyes wild. “The fuck are you?”

Loki grabbed him by the collar and flung him into the television set.

Kristine was sobbing. Her bloodied hands clawed at the knife handle buried deep into her abdomen.

Oh Norns, what did he do to her?

“Here, hang on,” Loki knelt beside her in a frenzy, pulling her wrists away. Her shirt was soaked through with red. Helplessly, he pressed against her wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding.

How much blood has she lost already?

Panicked, he glanced around the room. The carpet was stained, a trail leading all the way back to the kitchen area.

“Loki,” she choked. “I didn’t—I tried—”

“Shh,” he hushed. “It’s alright. You are going to be fine.” He needed to get her out of here. He had no medical supplies in here, no healing stones. Gingerly, he scooped her up in his arms, kicking himself when she whimpered in pain. “I’m going to take care of you, alright?” he whispered as he stood. “You’re going to be fine. I swear, you’ll be fine.”

He teleported back to his quarters and laid her on his bed.

Healing stones. Need healing stones.

“Kristine,” he said urgently, bringing her hands to either side of the knife. “I need to you to press down here, okay?” He pushed her hands against her wound. “Just like that, alright?”

Kristine gave a short nod, but her eyes seemed to be staring past him.

“Kristine,” he tapped her cheeks, “Kristine, stay awake!”

She made a nondescript noise and nodded again. With a troubled look, Loki grabbed a healing stone and broke it over her stomach, casting a spell of light to activate it. The dust shimmered as it sank into her skin through her shirt. He pulled the knife out as the wound closed and tossed it aside.

Kristine moaned, her head falling backward on to the pillow as her eyes closed. That was okay. In the handful of times Loki had used healing stones on mortals (usually members of the Avengers), he had learned that their bodies tended to be overwhelmed by the magic and need to sleep it off. It was okay.

He watched her chest rise and fall with each small breath, her crimson curls seeming even more vibrant against the paleness of her skin.

It was okay, right?

Her pulse was steady. Loki took it twice more, just to be certain. Her temperature was normal. Her breathing regular. Everything was fine. He sighed.

Loki cleaned up the blood best he could without disturbing her, then washed off and pulled up a chair. Kristine was still sleeping peacefully. He wondered suddenly what Hauer was going to do. The man was used to getting away with violence, but this went beyond beatings: this was attempted murder. Would he come clean? Or (and the more Loki thought about it the more likely this seemed) would he attempt to pin the blame on him?

“He crashed through the door and kidnapped my girlfriend! I tried to stop him, but he attacked me!”

From an outside perspective, the story might seem believable. After all, most of this world still saw him as the monster who lurked in the shadows, waiting with sharpened claws for the opportune moment to strike. It would be easy for Hauer to paint him as the villain.

Loki considered waking the others and explaining what had happened, before Hauer had a chance to tell his warped version, but he decided to wait until Kristine awoke. It was her life, after all—she should have a say in how things played out. Besides, doing so would require him to leave her by herself for a bit.

He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t want to leave her alone.

By morning, she still had not awoken. It was a bit concerning—the other times he had used stones on mortals, they had only slept for a few hours. By the end of the day, she still had not stirred and he was convinced that something was wrong. Frantically, he consulted his books, searching for some caveat he had overlooked.

The obvious answer would be that she was having a bad reaction to the healing stones, but such a situation would merit a reaction: racing heartbeat, wild seizures, delirious hallucinations. But Kristine was still. Her vitals were normal, her sleep tranquil. Loki didn’t know what to do.

It wasn’t until he found a footnote in his old healer’s textbook that he realized what was happening.

Note that the potency of healing stones can be affected by the mental wellbeing of the patient. An individual who has suffered under extreme stress for an extended period of time may have a longer recovery period than one who has not.

“Oh, dear,” Loki murmured. He closed the book slowly. “Extreme stress for an extended period of time”—that practically described Kristine’s entire existence. She was going to be out for a while.

He looked at her on the bed, eyes closed, breath soft. He had never known Kristine to look so at peace. Perhaps a long, deep sleep was just what she needed. He patted her knuckles gently.

“You’re safe here, my lady,” he whispered.

The next day, when no one had crashed into his quarters accusing him of kidnapping, he thought that perhaps he better find out what was going on. He slunk into the common room, hoping to overhear some tidbit of information. Of course, Thor was never one to appreciate his desires for stealth.

“Brother!” he cried when he noticed him, patting him on the back. “Where have you been? Have you heard the news?”

Loki stiffened. “News?”

“Michael Hauer’s lady has gone missing! You remember her, don’t you? You danced with her at Stark’s last party.”

“Yes,” Loki frowned. Thor didn’t seem to have any idea of his involvement. “What do you mean ‘missing’? Has she been abducted?”

“We don’t know,” Thor said, shaking his head ruefully. “She and Hauer had a fight the night before last, and she stormed out. Hauer only saw yesterday morning that she never returned.”

“Oh.” Loki stared for a moment, shellshocked. Hauer had made up a story that didn’t include him in it. Why would he cut out his easiest option for a scapegoat? “Well,” he said cautiously, “I assume every effort is being made to retrieve the young lady.”

“Oh, yes. Stark plans to help the police, to make certain she’s found safely,” Thor sighed. “Poor Hauer. I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now.”

Loki shook his head. “No, neither can I.”

It was an interesting tale that Hauer had concocted. Loki watched it play out over the next few weeks as he watched over Kristine. Listening to the piece of filth pretend to weep over the woman who he had beaten and abused and buried a blade into made his blood boil, but Loki put up with it in an attempt to understand what Hauer was trying to accomplish. Shockingly, he continued to stick to his story: he and Kristine had a fight at around ten, she got angry and stormed out, and when he woke up the next morning he realized she hadn’t come back.

At first, Loki thought he was simply trying to cover up his violent history. But it didn’t make any sense: he had the perfect opportunity to solidify his innocence by throwing the blame on to Loki, and yet he continued to dig himself into a hole by claiming Kristine left on her own—something security cameras proved never happened.

It was only when he stopped to consider that Hauer had to have taken the time to clean the apartment, wash away the traces of blood and fix the lock and right the television set, that Loki began to examine an alternative explanation. Did… did Hauer even know what happened that night? Loki hadn’t exactly checked his force when he threw him across the room. It was possible that he didn’t even remember Loki showing up, didn’t remember what happened to Kristine… and woke up in an apartment full of blood…

Oh my, Loki thought as he watched Hauer stumble through an interview on television. He thinks he killed her.

The revelation and thought of the stress it must have been causing him gave Loki great joy, but watching the world fall for Hauer’s story hook, line, and sinker was frustrating beyond words. As the Avengers showered him with pity, not even bothering to question the shakiness of his ridiculous story, Loki thought of Kristine’s words in the broom closet, her steadfast belief that nobody cared enough about her to turn on her boyfriend.

Then the narrative flipped.

Loki remembered Kristine telling him about those two phone calls, but nothing could have prepared him for actually listening to them.

“Can you please just send someone?” her voice was shaking, barely holding together as she breathed into the phone, “He’s really mad, I think he’s going to break down the door. Please, is someone coming?”

Loki wasn’t sure what hurt him more, hearing her whisper through such unadulterated fear, or knowing that when the someone did arrive, they did nothing to help her.

The public had turned on Michael Hauer. The police found traces of blood in his apartment. Stark fired him. Descriptions of the missing knife plastered the news. Demands for an arrest flooded the Internet. The search for a body kicked into full gear. And then Loki had an idea that could put the nail in his coffin.

He left the knife where it was sure to be noticed by someone, just sitting atop the dumpster behind their apartment building. Sure enough, it was found within hours.

Four days later, Michael Hauer was arrested and charged with the murder of Kristine Ververs.

That same day, Kristine woke up. He had become so used to her stillness that he nearly jumped out of his skin when she groaned.

He knelt next to the bed. “Kristine?”

She stretched, blinking her cerulean eyes. “L-Loki? What—where are we?”

“My quarters in Avengers Tower,” he smiled wryly. “You’ve had a bit of a nap.”

Kristine shot up as if she was struck by lightning. “Michael! Oh my God, he—” her hands flew to her stomach, where the knife had gone in. “What—how—did he—”

Loki hushed her. “It’s alright. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you,” he said, taking her hands in his and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “I have much to tell you…”

[peterparkerxtrauma]

studying each other

summary: you like MJ but you’re 94% sure she’s into Peter.

Characters: MJ x Reader, Peter x MJ (unless?)

Warnings: Mentions of studying and exams ew but nothing else 

Words: 1806

basically just very fluffy 

the large pile of books threaten to spill over the table, taunting you with every tired glance. Learning all the contents becomes more and more unlikely as you realise you’ve been concentrating more on the concept of failing the exam than actually studying. Stress sets in and feeling of despair makes itself at home at the bottom of your stomach. With a heavy sigh, you tip your chair back slightly and stretch, peering around the café and cracking your neck as you decide a short break is very much needed. 

The café is quiet, a result of the late hour, the only noises are a couple murmuring a few tables away and what sounds like two workers in the back talking in hushed tones. There is a soft patter of rain tapping on the windows, a calming constant in the background. You draw in a breath, concentrate on chilling out.

“Another one?”, a smooth voice breaks through your thoughts. You focus on MJ in the chair opposite you and raise your eyebrow in question. She gestures to your empty coffee mug and you grin gratefully.

”Would love that, thanks,” you reply to your friend, your attention now on her. 

You watch as she takes your mug and hers and makes her way to the counter. Her long hair originally fell in loose waves when you both entered the café earlier that day but 5 hours and three existential crisis’ later, it sticks out of a messy bun, frizzy tendrils hanging out, randomly framing her sharp cheekbones. She blows a piece of hair out of her face and your attention increases, hyperfixated on the pout of her lips as the hair falls back in the same place. You notice the crease between her eyebrows as she blows again, this time fractionally harder and then watch as she sighs, placing the cups in front of her and undoing her hair from its scrunchie. 

Your heart rate quickens as she shakes her head, allowing her curls to tumble down onto her shoulders. In front of you stands a beautiful temptress with wild hair and dressed in an ugly Christmas sweater, making her just a little more amazing. Slowly you shake your head and lower your eyes back to your notes that had gotten more unintelligible as the evening went on.

Against your better judgment, you give up trying to decipher what the hell you've written and your eyes flit to your best friends figure once again, only to be met with her thoughtful gaze, her chocolate coloured eyes scrutinizing you. You give a fleeting smile and quickly turn your head back to your work.

After ordering, she saunters back over to the table and collapses in her chair, her hand once again coming up to her hair to tame the mess.

“You look like you’re about to pass out any minute,” she observes quietly, peering at my face. Not in a mean way, just an MJ way, saying things as she sees them.

You shrug your shoulders, “pour the coffee down my throat when I do please, I can’t be sleeping until I’ve at least finished this chapter.” You lean your chin on your hand and your eyes fall on MJs face, momentarily catching your breath, before you focus on the stray hairs that refuse to be tied into the bun.

She reaches over and pats your hand that’s resting on the table and your fingers twitch in want.

“You’re so dramatic,” she jokes, “you should have taken Drama and these meltdown study sessions wouldn’t be so common.” 

Although the study dates were something you definitely cherished as it was an excuse to spend hours alone with MJ, you go to agree with her, but before you can reply, your phones buzzes, catching your attention.  You read the text and let out a laugh.

“Peter says he’s locked out of the apartment…again”, you inform MJ as she gives you a quizzical look.

MJ raises her eyebrow and takes her hand back from yours to play with the locks of hair by her face, twirling them around and around. Your hand feels wrong without hers and you frown momentarily.

“Vanilla latte and medium Mocha,” the waiter appears by our table and smiles, “have a nice day”. We smile up at him before he leaves. Instantly, you pick up your drink to replace the lost heat in your hand.

“Tell him to meet us here then,” MJ suggests and frowns for a second before taking her drink. The way she wraps both her hands around the mug and brings it up to her face to sip, warms you up as if you were the one drinking it. You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face, she truly is beautiful in all small actions.

An odd sense of disappointment sinks into your stomach. Hanging out with MJ alone was a rarity, especially since Peter moved into yours and MJs flat. Not that there was anything wrong with him being with the two of you, you just missed MJ being yours and yours alone. Especially lately, she’s been acting weird when Peter comes around, causing you to worry that she may be catching feelings for the boy. Every time he enters the room, she repels from you, often leaving him to sit between the two of you like a physical barrier. You guessed it was because she wanted to be closer to him, perhaps prove to him that she definitely doesn't like you so he knows she’s available.

Jealousy stung at your eyes.

”I’ll tell him to now.” You answer eventually and shoot him a quick text, making sure to tell him to take his time getting there, “Want to test each other until he’s back?”.

You and MJ continue to study together, working well as a team, just like you had done in high school, until the door of the café rings, signalling Peters’ arrival.

Peter ambles towards your table, managing to trip on the short walk over, causing MJ to snort and catch your eye. 

“Hey guys. Sorry to bug you on your date, I can’t believe I left my keys again. I even left them on the table right next to the door just so I wouldn’t. There’s even a reminder on a post it note on the mirror in the bathroom I put there just last night.” Peter rambles as he sits down between MJ and you and takes your drink to sip from, a bad habit he picked up years ago and seems to be keeping.

MJ looks between you and Peter, eyebrows raised, “nobody is surprised, Peter,” she says, “anyway, let’s pack up and go. If I write down one more word my wrist will definitely never be the same again.”

You take both of your mugs this time and head to the counter to leave them there. You’re only on your feet for a second, but when you turn around, Peter and MJ are laughing together over something you must have missed. It causes an uneasy feeling, the two of them so close and once again, you feel jealous of Peter. You turn back to the counter and mentally scold yourself for allowing yourself to be so selfish. As long as they are happy, you should be too.

Later on, when you’re in your room getting ready for bed, there’s a tentative knock on your bedroom door, which is odd because your flatmates have the tendency to waltz into your room unannounced when it seemed fit to them.

“It’s open!” You call and MJ slips into the room. She seems wary as she sits on your bed and begins tracing the flower patterns on your bedsheet.

“Hey,” she begins, and takes a deep breath before continuing, “I know that it’s not really any of my business but I was just curious because I’ve been seeing some things that mean it but also I could be wrong so I figured to ask and it doesn’t matter really but-“

“Oh my god, MJ, spit it out,” you laugh as you sit beside her on the bed, but alarm bells have started ringing in your ears. Is she on about how you have been seeing her lately? Oh my god, has she noticed you like her?

“Do you like” -oh god- “Peter?”

Wait what?

“Wait, what?” You breathe out.

“I don’t know. I was just wondering… for no reason.” She mumbles and there’s a splash of pink on her cheeks that makes your heart swell.

You nudge up closer to her, “god no, Peter is definitely not what I’m into. Not that there’s anything wrong with him. He’s a swell guy, honestly. He’s just… not what I want,” you say and inwardly cringe at your answer; could you make it anymore obvious?

She furrows her brows and looks you straight into the eyes for the first time since entering the room, “what do you want?”.

Your eyes widen at the straight forwardness and you know that with all her attention on you it will be impossible to lie to her. You bark out a laugh that is way more forced than you intended, “Good question! Um, well, the thing is... Wait. Do you like Peter? Is that why you wanted to know?”

MJ blushes and you feel another spike of jealousy.

“Peter? For me? It’s less likely than you think.” She giggles and it’s absolutely beautiful, a symphony strung together by angels. It’s almost as if you can feel a weight lift off your shoulders and the jealousy whooshes out of you like a cool breeze.

It makes you chuckle, the dismissal of Peter being the butt of the joke, but the laugh dies on your lips as you notice the close proximity of you and MJ. Her curious eyes inches away from your own. It’s too tempting and when she parts her lips slightly, letting out a small breath, you find that you can’t hold back your feelings anymore. In this moment, nothing stands in your way except your own fear and you’ll be damned if you let that stop you from the most extraordinary person you've ever met.

It’s sudden, but your lips meet hers in a rush of bravery. Your heart almost beats out of your chest as your feel her soft lips move against yours. Kissing her feels like everything you had imagined when gazing at her smooth, full lips and more. It’s almost too good and when she eventually pulls away you are breathless. It makes you smile to realise she also seems to be short of breath. Unable to be away from her lips any longer after being so lucky to kiss her a first time, you lean in again and somehow, the second kiss is even more spectacular than the first. You feel tingles begin in your toes and move up your body until it feels like your whole being is alight with this euphoric feeling only MJ can give you.

This time, it’s you that pulls away, much to both of your chagrin. You blush as you stare at her, and you don't think you've ever been so happy.

“So... would you like to go on a date with me? Without Peter and our textbooks?” You ask, unable to tear your eyes from her own starry ones.

MJ laughs, “God, I have been waiting for you to ask me out for the longest time. I would love to,”.

She then leans back in and the both of you smile into the kiss that was much awaited for.

[garden-uprooted]

“One body, two souls” (( god I can't imagine there being any personality that'd be worse to fuse Spinel's with than Dom's and vice versa and I MUST hear what your take on what that Hell Fusion would be like is omfggggggggggg ))

Send “One body, two souls” to see what I think the fusion of our muses would be like // Still Accepting!

Gemstone Name & Reasoning: Mookaite (yes I KNOW there’s no reason the gem would change since Spinel’s the only Gem in the fusion, but finding the gemstone for the fusion is half the fun, shut up-) 

Okay so I KNOW the name sounds weird, but I NEEDED a specific feel for the fusion to fully WORK, y’know? Their fusion would lack ANY sort of Spinel’s typical restraint; a completely wild free spirit. I needed a gemstone that encouraged the release of inhibitions and made you set your sights on things that you’d previously held yourself back from. 

“Embrace your wanderlust and let Mookaite be your spiritual compass, pointing you in the direction of adventure. Awaken your true potential with the energy of this stone, and pursue the passions you’ve put on hold. The willpower that mookaite stimulates in your solar plexus and root chakras will rouse in you a desire to explore new activities. Its exciting, yet comforting energy makes for a great travel companion for those on a solo journey.”

I would go into more detail, but in order to properly do that, I’d need to jump onto the next section uwu… 

Personality:

OKAY. I HAVE SO MANY FUCKIN’ THOUGHTS ON THIS MESS WHOM I ALREADY IMMEDIATELY ADORE 

Okay okay okay, SO. Obviously they’re a pretty toxic fusion. This should go without saying- two chaotic energies in ONE body?? 

… But it ISN’T because Spinel and Lord D DON’T get along, oh no..

It’s BECAUSE they get along so SWIMMINGLY. 

Spinel is naturally impulsive and reckless, sometimes, due to Trauma TM, and also just because she’s Like That, but she HAS self-restraint. She can tell (most of the time) when she’s gone too far with something. And Lord D, while not nearly AS hyperactive as Spinel (but ABSOLUTELY is also an ADHD mess), has undoubted patience and self-control, as well. 

They’re “bouncing off of the walls” off the shits chaos lesbians, but they both know how to reign themselves in. 

While fused as Mookaite, however?

That ALL goes out of the window.

They FEED into each other’s boundless thoughts- they ENCOURAGE each other’s deepest darkest carnal desires ALL in the name of 

FUN. 

Spinel is a people-pleaser, above all. She’s LITERALLY an entertainer, and she ADORES her job/”life purpose”. She won’t hesitate to change herself or mold herself into what others want/expect her to be so long as she looks up to and wants to impress said person. 

And DING DING DING, Lord Dominator fits that criteria. Spinel gladly falls into the more submissive role in their fusion- letting Lord D pull the strings from the back (AKA, the Front). 

A little confusing? Don’t worry, I’ll clear that up a little later down the line. 

For now, let’s just say that Mookaite is THE definition of discord and madness. She practically BATHES in the tears of others- RELISHES in pained cries as she tramples over (or SLASHES through) people. Jokes? Japes? Cruel pranks? Snarky remarks? Low blows to people’s self-esteem via honing in on their weaknesses and using it against them? 

You want it, Mookaite’s got it all! There are absolutely NO remnants of Spinel’s kindness or compassion to be had. It’s all overshadowed by the desire to be ACTIVE and to MOVE and to spend all of her child-like ENERGY (that has practically no limit to it, so long as they’re fused together). 

She’s INTELLIGENT, though. SCARILY so. A force that you DO. NOT. WANT. To reckon with. If she WANTS something, she GETS it. There is no escape, so don’t even bother hiding or running. 

A MASTER manipulator and strategist, as well as wild party animal and unrestrained force of destruction. She’ll gladly restrain herself long enough to string people along- only for the SWEET sweet eventual payment of said person’s bitter tears as they either have their heart, or their spine broken. 

…However… I WILL say that, SHOULD Mookaite ever encounter someone that Spinel KNOWS (and thus most likely automatically CARES about), and the Dom part of them goes “OH, someone to hurt/”prank”!!!”, Spinel WILL go “Wait wait wait, but- but they’re my FRIEND, I’m not gonna-??” 

It’s SO MUCH more DIFFICULT for Spinel to vent our her feelings/frustrations on someone who ISN’T a complete stranger to her. All of that empathy and WANT to be somebody’s very best friend never VANISHED. It just got restrained. 

The SECOND Mookaite tries to/decides to ATTACK/HURT, say, someone like STEVEN, Spinel takes full control and unfuses at once.

Physical Appearance:

Oh, they want to make sure they can at LEAST tower over most humans they encounter. I’d IMAGINE Dom is around 5′7″, and Spinel just barely naturally reaches 5′3″ in her current form (I headcanon she WAS 5′0″ or so before Pink left her- height is intimidating), and so Mookaite is looking to be around 6′5″ to possibly JUST shy of being 7′0″. Of course, they can stretch, still, so their natural standing height isn’t all THAT important. 

Remember how I described their personality earlier, though? What with Spinel playing the more subservient role while Dom takes the reigns? Yeah, that’s coming back into play here, baybey!!! 

While Mookaite takes on Dom’s slender and athletic physique and generally uses her body as a base, their face resembles Spinel’s the most. At first glance, SPINEL would seem like the dominant in the fusion, actually. 

However, in spite of that, Spinel’s loud and proud presence in Mookaite is only representative of her and Dom’s RELATIONSHIP. Dominator is Spinel’s enabler- turning her from a loose canon to one fully loaded and ready to fire; the consequences be damned. 

So, in actuality, Dom is still, naturally, the dominant. Spinel is just her willing (?) puppet to enact out their obscene horrors. 

Their hair is styled almost exactly like Dom’s- except it’s colored like Spinel’s, and it’s an absolute jagged frizzy mess. It kinda looks like they took a pair of scissors and tried to style it themselves, to be honest; but it’s stylish in the “manic pixie dream girl” way, if you know what I mean? 

Dom’s white hair shows in white streaks throughout. Mooktaite’s entire color scheme is themed around blacks, dark magentas/reds, deep browns, oranges, and yellows, to boot; drawing inspiration from the gemstone, Mookaite, itself, and Dominator’s attire. 

They keep Spinel’s poofy bottom, but it acts more like short shorts that flow seamlessly into Dom’s split dress; which is masterfully torn and tattered just at the knees. They also keep Spinel’s gloves- they just gain a more ragged look, as well, and are styled after Dom’s elbow-length ones. 

Say bye bye to Spinel’s fuckign clown shoes, tho, they’re Dom’s sneakers, now. RIP clown shoes. Ye shall be missed. 

Mookaite’s eyes are Forever Swirly And Crazed. It makes her look like she downed ten espresso shots in one sitting and went back to the coffee shop for more. Her mascara is also There, but it’s X2. 

It’s ALWAYS running down her face- yes, actually running down her chin and dripping right off. An endless supply of messy, drippy mascara that LOOKS like they’ve been crying in it for five hours, but 

HAHA!

Mookaite doesn’t CRY! 

On the outside. 

Oh, also, did I mention the fact that they have extra limbs? Typically it’s only just two arms and two legs, but as an extra “HEY, WATCH THIS, AND ALSO FUCK YOU!!!” they can sprout another pair of arms from their back at will. And yes it makes sickening cracking sounds, because Dominator has bones that CAN make those sounds. 

Does it ACTUALLY hurt her to do, though? 

Eh. Your choice. 

Oh oh oh and NATURALLY they have sharp, shark-like teeth. Why??? Would they NOT???? Bruh they’re fuckin off the wall, they’re demonic as all hell and so basically I Love Them 

…. Oh, and uh…. Sarah Stiles’ Spinel’s New Yorker accent that tends to be more of an undertone, than anything..? 

It’s fully pronounced in Mookaite. High pitched, squeaky, psychotic Betty Boop hours, folks.

Combat: 

My fingers hurt but you know how Spinel has her scythe, Suzie? And Dom can control magma and ice/frost? AND you know how they BOTH can stretch and extend their limbs/Dom is super flexible? 

Now, I’m not saying crazy fast contortionist that can wreck you from like twenty feet away, but- okay I totally am.

Something tells me Mookaite would be MUCH more a fan of hands-on fighting, though. Sure she COULD either suit up or use Dom’s powers and Spinel’s elasticity to one-hit KO their opponent, but where’s the FUN in THAT? 

And thus where Suzie comes in. 

Mookaite is a brick POWERHOUSE- chaotic demented laughter all the while while she SLASHES through her enemies; twirling through the air and jumping on top of/off of their shoulders or heads. She’s a bratty gamer girl about it the whole time, too; mocking her adversaries for being “too slow” or “not putting up enough of a fight/challenge”. 

She’s ALWAYS looking for fights and worthy opponents- swinging Suzie around like the huge scythe is a baton and not a VERY deadly weapon. She treats her like a prized cane half the time; preferring to have her fully activated and ready to go at the drop of a hat. 

[gxnerva]

Could possibly write a Hermione x female reader where the reader works as a library page (someone who sorts books and puts them on the shelves) and Hermione comes in and they fall in love?

you betcha ;-)

words: 1,714

HERMIONE X READER

There were times when volunteering to fill the position of Madam Pince’s library page seemed a marvelous idea, but now was most certainly not one of those times. The clock had just recently chimed midnight, your back ached from heaving great stacks of books about, and despite the copious amounts of tea you’d drunk, you found yourself yawning every few minutes. Images of your four-poster kept appearing on the cover pages of the books you were sorting, almost bringing you to give in, blow the candles out, and head down to bed, but….you’d foolishly promised Pince that you’d stay until all the returns had been reshelved.

“Stupid, eager, overly ambitious…” You murmured to yourself, rubbing your eyes wearily and desperately trying to calculate how much longer your task would take.

“Pardon?” Answered another voice, plainly very alarmed.

You shot upright with your heart thumping, having thought yourself thoroughly alone at such a late hour. A few bewildered blinks to clear your eyes revealed Hermione Granger, standing a few paces from your desk with a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill clutched in her hands. She was clad in pajama pants and a worn blue sweater, stray curls protruded wildly from the bun atop her head, and she stood in her stocking feet, watching you uncertainly.

“Ah, erm,” you stammered, straightening a stack of papers for something to do with your hands. “Just exhaustion speaking, is all. Do you need me to help you find a book?”

Hermione waved an elegant hand and said, “Don’t trouble yourself — I think I know where to find it.”

You just nodded, a little dumbstruck. You’d seen her around, sat beside her in class, spoken to her plenty of times before, but she’d always looked so neat and clean then, her hair carefully styled and her school uniform appearing impeccable. Seeing her like this, looking so messy and warm….

Hermione disappeared into the shelves of books, her footsteps drawing softly away. You remained at your desk, listening intently to the sound of her pulling books of the shelf, the shuffling of her parchment, a frustrated sigh here and there. This went on for some time, until what sounded like a particularly large book slammed and thudded loudly back onto the shelf.

This was punctuated by a high, exasperated, “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

Propelled from your seat at this point, you hurried into the shelves and followed the sounds of Hermione’s continued muttering. You accidentally passed the row she was in, just barely catching a glimpse of her as you did. She was standing with her back to one of the shelves, her hair even unrulier than it’d been before, her eyes closed in evident frustration. Before you could round the corner into her aisle you were struck with a strange feeling of self consciousness, and glanced nervously down at yourself.

Your own hair was escaping its braid in a frizzy, unattractive mess, the skirt you wore was wrinkled from hours behind your desk, and there was a sizeable dribble of tea down the front of your shirt. You wouldn’t have been surprised if there were ink stains on your face as well and you hesitated to come out from around the corner, but Hermione needed help and that was part of your job as library page—

“You’re supposed to keep quiet in the library, you know,” you chided jokingly, marching boldly down the aisle to stand in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione smiled sheepishly, tugging at the neckline of her sweater. “It’s just, I have this essay for Ancient Runes due tomorrow and I keep accidentally switching up which language I’m writing in and there’s four different words I need that just aren’t in the books I have, and now I can’t find the book I need and I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I can’t find it.” She spat this all out in one breath, and then shot you an apologetic look.

“What’s the name of the book you need?” You asked as you stooped to pick up her parchment and her ink, which she’d left on the floor at her feet.

“That’s the thing,” she sighed, taking her things back from your hands. “I can’t remember what it’s called, no matter how hard I think.”

“Well,” you gave her your best optimistic, cheery smile. “I’m sure we can work something out. Do you know what the book looks like, or what it’s about?”

“It’s green.” Hermione announced confidently. “It’s like a dictionary of runes for really absurdly big words.”

You sent up a little thank you to Merlin that you knew exactly what book she was after, gave her a little jerk of your head, and lead her into the next aisle over.

With a flourish, you swiped the book from the shelf and presented it to her. “Excessively Advanced Runes for the Excessively Advanced Witch or Wizard, by Agrippa Athelstan.”

“Oh, yes, this is exactly what I needed! Thank you so much!” Hermione took the book from your hands with wide eyes, her shoulders sagging with relief.

“I’m sure your essay would have been marvelous without it,” you told her. “But I’m happy to have helped.”

Hermione was practically glowing with excitement, still gazing reverently at the dusty old book. A moment passed before she clutched it to her chest, looking back up at you with a grateful smile. “I’d best get back to the common room to finish this,” she said apologetically. “I hope I didn’t slow you down in your work for too long.”

“No, no, not at all,” you reassured her, and in a moment of bravery reached out and touched her arm.

She was warm through her sweater, and her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink when she met your eyes. You had the overwhelming urge to wrap her up in your arms and drink in that warmth, but she let out a shaky breath, gave you one last smile, and slid around you.

You listened to her leave, rooted to the spot until you heard the library doors thump closed, so filled with electricity from the whole three minute long encounter that sleep was the very last thing on your mind.

You spent the next week subtly trying to orchestrate casual run-ins with Hermione, but through no small number of attempts, you weren’t terribly lucky. She was hard to catch at a good time; she was exceptionally busy with her class work, constantly moving ninety miles a minute, never having time to stop and chat. You did manage to catch her one day on her way from lunch and inquire about how her essay had turned out.

“It was fantastic!” She said enthusiastically, flashing you a dazzling smile. “Harry and Ron’s were each only a page long — they made me read through them — and only used words from our basic textbook. Mine was twelve pages, and I used all those really advanced runes, thanks to you. We haven’t gotten our marks back yet, but my professor looked impressed when I’d just handed it in.”

“Well, that’s great!” You told her, so genuinely happy to see her so excited.

“Hey, look,” she said, this time grabbing your arm instead of the other way around. You felt yourself flush, just like she had when you’d touched her before. “I’ve gotta run, or I’m gonna be late to Transfiguration. I’ll see you around, okay?”

She gave your arm a little squeeze, then took off running in the opposite direction. There you were again, watching her go, feeling like there was a tiny sun burning in your chest.

As it turned out, the next time you saw Hermione she was careening around the corner of a library shelf, colliding with you head on and knocking a stack of books from your hands.

“Oh, god,” she gasped, dropping with you to gather them up. “I’m so sorry. Oh, god.”

She’d clearly been running and was severely out of breath, clutching her side when she straightened up. The color in her cheeks was high and her hair was wild, just like it had been that night in the library, and you suddenly felt a little out of breath too, though you definitely hadn’t been running.

Alarmed at the frenzied state of her you asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she panted. “I’m….fantastic….actually. I got….extra marks….on my essay. Professor Babbling told me….it was the best she’d ever….read.”

“Oh, Hermione, that’s amazing!” You exclaimed, forgetting to keep your voice down. “Was it all because of that book?”

Hermione nodded frantically, her breath finally slowing to a reasonable rate. “Yes. She could tell I’d gone out of my way to find the book. That’s why she gave me the extra points!”

You were beaming right along with her, locked into those warm brown eyes and the wide, mesmerizing smile. She was standing close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of her and smell the peppermint on her breath, creating an overwhelming feeling of dizziness and setting the room spinning.

“Well, anyway, I just thought I’d come and let you know how it turned out,” she was saying in that frenzied way she did, where the words all tumbled over one another and she forgot to take a breath. “And I wanted to thank you again because I surely wouldn’t have done so well if you hadn’t helped me find that book, and-”

She reached out and cupped your face in her hands, swiftly closing the distance between your bodies, and kissed you. You felt that soft warmth take you over, just like you’d imagined, swallowing you whole as she slid her hands into your hair and you held onto her waist for dear life. Her lips were smooth as butter, gliding delicately over yours, and she smelled like clean linen and cloves, and you felt that tiny sun expand in your chest like it was gearing up to combust.

Hermione was breathless again when she finally pulled away, her hair tousled, lips and cheeks turned a vibrant shade of red, but her eyes were clear.

She breathed, “Do you suppose Madam Pince is looking for another page?”