#thor and loki: original sin

[magpie-murder]

Loki + Family

thor and loki: original sin #5.3 // thor and loki: original sin #5.5 // journey into mystery #626 // loki: agent of asgard #1 // journey into mystery #632 // journey into mystery #633 // loki:agent of asgard #11 // journey into mystery #656

#can you tell i'm having thoughts and feelings today #loki #loki agent of asgard #loki journey into mystery #the magpie who whispers #the echo of a scream #odin allfather #the allmother #thor odinson #thor and loki: original sin #616 loki #brodinsons #kid loki #ikol loki #king loki #genderfluid loki #loki deserves better

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

I wanna talk about this today.

Mostly I want to talk about objective truth versus subjective truth. But let me start with what's happening in this scene. (Spoilers for Original Sin and Loki: Agent of Asgard)

So in this moment from Original Sin: Thor and Loki in the Tenth Realm, Loki is talking to the queen of the Angels about what happened in the previous issue of Agent of Asgard. Loki has been working for the All-Mothers in an attempt to erase his past crimes and start anew, but discovered that they were taking cues from Old Loki in order to ensure the future he said would come about, a future in which there was (mostly) peace in Asgard, Thor was king and All-Father, but Loki was still the villain. It was a price they were willing to pay for peace. So Loki's grappling with this in this issue, along with having to deal with Thor's reckless attempts at recovering their long-lost sister (not Hela).

So then the queen says, "[The Asgardians will] never understand you, god of what works. Go ahead, use your truth-sword. Tell me you don't know I'm right."

The sword she is referring to is Gram, the sword that Loki stole from Asgard's most famous hero, Sigurd, which was forged at Old Loki's bidding when he went further back in time to ensure it would exist for the current Loki to claim (the timeline gets confusing in AoA). The sword forces those it wounds to face the truth of themselves and their actions.

But truth comes in different forms, objective truth and subjective truth. Objective truth is indisputable fact, and if you say something otherwise it would simply not be true. "Earth orbits the sun" is an objective truth. We can and have proven it. Subjective truth is something that may be true for you but is not necessarily objectively true. This is why the testimony of innocent bystanders is sometimes not permitted in court. For whatever reason, you may be completely convinced that the person you saw stealing a tv from Best Buy at 2:16PM three weeks ago was wearing a blue shirt, so convinced you'd be willing to say so under oath. They could attach you to a lie detector, and the results would say you were telling the truth. However, when they get the CCTV footage, the person was wearing a red shirt. You weren't lying; your memory had you convinced it was a blue shirt. You believed it was the truth, so you believed you were telling the truth. This is how lie detectors work (theoretically; there's also the part that it only detects physical changes that only sometimes mean someone's lying anyway), and how truth serums (in various media or CIA conspiracy theories your subjective truth may or may not have you believe) are supposed to function.

Now, it could be argued that Gram functions as a detector of objective truth. Previously in AoA, it forced Thor to come to terms with the influence an infection of evil had on him (I don't remember exactly what happened, but essentially Old Loki more or less invaded Thor like a virus and forced him to act rather nastily). He didn't seem to realize what was happening until Loki stabbed him with Gram. This is a valid argument, and honestly I don't understand this scene enough (I think a lot of background for it came from other comics if I remember correctly) to make an authentic counterargument.

However Gram acts with Thor, though, I do believe in the above panel, Gram functions like a lie detector or truth serum. The "truth" Loki speaks is subjective truth. He believes it's true, so Gram is essentially like, "Sure, yep, sounds about right."

But because Gram doesn't do whatever it does when someone lies (or maybe because it functions like Wonder Woman's lasso, and you simply can't lie when you're wounded by it), it just further convinces Loki that his beliefs about his inability to be loved are true. Or he's aware that this may merely be a subjective truth, but because he knows how the sword works and he's banking on the queen not understanding the difference between types of truth, he's using it to gain her trust. He still can't lie while holding Gram, so either what he says is 100% indisputably true in an absolute sense, or he wholeheartedly believes it to be true with such certainty that it doesn't matter that it isn't objective. He may be saying it to gain her trust, but he also still believes it.

And I'm in pain.

#loki #loki comics #loki theories #loki spoilers #loki agent of asgard #loki: agent of asgard spoilers #original sin: thor and loki in the tenth realm #original sin: thor and loki in the tenth realm spoilers

[thorarms]

I just know that some argardians had to be eroticising idunns apples the way people eroticise catholicism, you cant put the fountain of youth into a fruit without a few people getting weird with it

#post inspired by me thinking about thor and loki sneaking into idunns orchard and feeding each other fruit. original sin indeed #thorki

[lokiemovillianlover]

Gotta be one of my favorite pieces of all time. Thanks to the gel pens for finally behaving.

#lady loki #ahhhh I love her so much #upload schedule? who’s that? not a big internet buzzer so #colors are so nice everything turned out perfect a sketch coloring gone right ahhh #marvel #loki #agent of Asgard #thor: original sin #green queen #lokiemovillianlover #levl #my art

[daffodil--lament]

im hyperventilating

#my son and my daughter and my child who is both..... i cant do this #thor and loki original sin run i love you #loki #genderfluid #gets me every time

[diejager]

Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Previous

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse. 

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs. 

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse. 

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped -  different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved. 

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well. 

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay. 

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades. 

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms? 

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times. 

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater. 

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed. 

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage. 

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh. 

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him. 

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home? 

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father. 

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake. 

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had. 

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat. 

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in. 

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word. 

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt. 

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it. 

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container. 

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed. 

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge. 

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial. 

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes. 

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes. 

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart. 

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you. 

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway. 

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped? 

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier. 

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you. 

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something. 

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you. 

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him. 

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence. 

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him. 

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving. 

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten. 

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon. 

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking. 

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it. 

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man. 

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him. 

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency. 

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there. 

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more. 

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply. 

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything. 

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves. 

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were. 

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic -  he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place. 

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him. 

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive. 

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern. 

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights. 

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you. 

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly. 

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else. 

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making. 

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.” 

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance. 

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed. 

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love. 

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness. 

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara angst #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv #atvs spoilers #spiderman 2099 x reader #accross the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x you #x reader #angst

[childrenofthesun77]

Okay, this is like a continuation of two of my theories and I'm wondering if I'm onto something.

So I wondered if the count could have originally been a werewolf based on the fact that he seems to have always been immortal, gear saying that his kind has a technique to seperate a part of their spirit from them while pointing at his earing, that earing looking pretty similar to the pendants the count had on his necklace that seemed to contain the demons (probably sins he seperated from himself) and werewolves apparently being able to create descendants by sharing their life force with humans which apparently gives them and their human descendants special powers, just like the count letting humans drink his blood turned them into mages.

Now the only werewolf we've met so far is (neu)gear hatiwelt, a reference to the wolf hati in norse mythology who swallows the moon during ragnarok (doom of the gods). We even see gear use a technique that allowed him to temporarily swallow the red moon the antagonist have created to aid in the ritual:

In norse mythology hati also has a twin brother though, skalli, who swallows the sun during ragnarok. Could the count play the role of skalli? The preparations for the ritual to bring back the count did kind of block out the sun in tokyo, causing temperatures to drop and snow to fall in summer. Ragnarok too is preceded by a cruel winter:

The C3 tokyo branch uses characters from norse mythology for codenames, which makes it interesting to speculate if some characters in servamp will have a similar fate to their counterparts in ragnarok.

Ragnarok starts with the death of balder, a son of odin, caused by the deception of loki, the trickster.

Shuhei is called loki as a nickname by izuna, but shuhei is more like heimdall, the god of foreknowledge who has excellent eyes. Shuhei's ability to prepare for even unlikely situations is a recurring joke and his hawkeye ability allows him to see far and even through walls.

I think we can all agree that in reality the role of loki the trickster falls on mikuni. He lies, he cheats and tricks to get what he wants, he's charismatic and clever. Before he starts the ritual/ragnarok he kills tsurugi/balder:

This has already happened so the question is if the other characters will suffer a similar fate to their norse counterparts as well.

In ragnarok loki and heimdall end up killing each other, but while shuhei's and mikuni's relationship is complicated and at times antagonistic I don't really see them killing each other, but maybe shuhei will fight a mikuni clone and kill him and be injured by him.

Other important figures in ragnarok are odin and his son thor. We have no official character with the codename odin, but I think odin and touma might be linked.

Touma is currently wearing an eyepatch, meaning he's one-eyed like the wise allfather odin, who sacrificed one of his eyes for knowledge. Say what you want about touma, but he is smart and came close to figuring out how the ritual to create a servamp worked. Balder is odin's son and while they refer to each other as brothers touma and tsurugi's dynamic is somewhere between being father and son and brothers. Odin is also the father of thor and with both jun and tooru too injured to fight and mjölnir now in mahiru's hands I think mahiru can be counted as the new thor and unlike jun or tooru he is touma's/odin's son.

Odin and thor both die during ragnarok. Odin is swallowed by fenrir (a giant wolf and son of loki) while thor battles with jormungandre, a giant serpent, slaying the snake, but dying from the snake's poison only a few moments later.

So we don't know who fenrir could be. If he's not skalli maybe the count is fenrir? In some versions it's fenrir who swallows the sun, so I guess he could simply be both.

But maybe whatever I assume mikuni wants to do with tsurugi's corpse will turn him into fenrir? He did seem to want the corpse to be left as intact as possible:

and the corpse was gone when mikado woke up again, leaving only the blood behind. Tsurugi's character is also strongly linked to wolves, so turning him into fenris and having him fight/kill odin/touma would make narrative sense.

Mahiru on the other hand might end up fighting jeje/mikuni. Jeje is currently captured and mikuni was literally called a snake by higan in the most recent chapter so I guess mikuni counts as a snake alone too, but of course mikuni could go and free jeje and fight together with him against mahiru.

Mahiru is against killing, so I doubt he would slay mikuni on purpose, but there are also a bunch of mikuni clones running around right now that NEED to be killed so he could end up using lethal methods on the real mikuni by mistake I guess. Or he simply defeats him and/or jeje through other means. What I'm more worried about is that despite his victory thor dies from the snake's poison only a few moments later.

Thor is also not the only character mahiru has been linked to that dies at the end of the story from the poison of a snake. It's subtle, but both when mahiru was in kuro's mind the first time and later when mahiru and tsurugi's spirits talked with each after touma had shot mahiru he spent some time in a desert with a crashed airplane:

Which is a reference to "the little prince" by antoine de saint-exupéry, a novella that ends with the little prince getting bitten by a snake after the snake promised him it would bring him back to his home planet.

So...will mahiru win the fight, but still die? Hopefully he can be saved from that fate.

#servamp #mahiru shirota #taishi touma #shuhei tsuyuki #mikuni alicein #neugear hatiwelt

[stupidrant]

Yes, thank you for bringing up the Atreus matter and him not being responsible for Kratos's past sins. I may be critical of some of Thrud's behaviors and her personal choice to perpetuate Odin's toxicity when it suited her, both in terms of Aesir vs Jotunn history and even more so on domestic matters. Such as Thrud willfully ignoring Odin's abusive behaviors towards her own family or shaming a victim of his domestic violence - Freya - just because she wanted to get into Odin's good graces and get his approval to become a Valkyrie.

However, it'd be problematic to hold her accountable for Odin and Thor's actions while not holding Atreus to the same standard (and we know Kratos committed war crimes in the past and innocent people died because of him, if the information I have about the original saga is correct). Like you say, Atreus is not to blame for anything done by someone else, including his father, but he might be forced to face the wrath of some of his father's past enemies.

Same challenge might come Thrud's way which might prompt her to delve into Aesir and Jotnar history more thoroughly and thoughtfully (as opposed to just going with the flow and doing what benefited her at the current moment).

Regarding Angrboda, she generally had a limited experience with social interaction and admitted just that during her first meeting with Atreus. She instigated communication with other people mainly - if not entirely - for their benefit, without asking for help or support (be it physical or emotional) for herself (she only asked Atreus to help her with the hard labor she was engaging daily in Ironwood to take HIS mind off of the stress of the prophesy and teach him about their heritage because that was what HE wanted/needed at the moment).

We know from Skjoldr that Angrboda turned to Midgardians post Ragnarok to offer HER assistance to help them hunt for food, providing her wolves.

Likewise, Angrboda's first conversation with Kratos was when she wanted to soften the pain of impending father and son separation and revealed a vital piece of history about Faye. Notably, Angrboda spoke of Faye and her love for Atreus with utmost respect even when she noted that Faye "went up against their people" to protect him. Therefore Angrboda doesn't appear the type of person to consider anyone who doesn't tow the metaphorical "party line" a traitor.

She herself valued Atreus's free will and free choice above the prophesies or her own late mother's words because she respected him as an individual. Despite what her mother had said about Loki needing time to ready himself for giant magic and soul whispering Angrboda went along with putting a soul in the giant Serpent when Atreus himself was terrified of what he was doing (and guided him through the process, remaining calm even when he believed it didn't work).

Likewise, Angrboda shared HIS responsibility when he gave her the marbles even though, again, it contradicted the prophesies or the story of the Jotunn Champion Loki that she grew up knowing. When he asked to call him Atreus she didn't argue and later did just that (after a very traumatic encounter with Gryla).

Another interesting and adorable detail is that when Angrboda realized Atreus wasn't ready for the Champion title she tried to lighten the situation and ease the weight of it for him by teasingly calling him "Champ" numerous times. Thus turning a mantle frightening and burdening for him into a personal playful joke rather than a grand responsibility to their people he wasn't yet ready to assume.

Post game it's Kratos, Freya and Mimir who come to visit Angrboda and Fen in Ironwood - once again, THEY seek her out, not the other way round. Angrboda, as we see, is keeping herself busy with her daily chores, to which recently departed Atreus once again added Fen (and Angrboda agreed to take "good care" of him twice, no questions asked).

When Kratos asks about other giants, Angrboda evasively mentions her grandmother and their strained relationship (and only because Mimir presses the issue) but doesn't delve into just how bad the situation is for her. Thus, once again, preparing to deal with this problem on her own.

Therefore, while it's important that Angrboda gain a support system in the form of other people who would reach out to her and offer their help (because she's too emotionally independent to ask for it), it's unlikely Thrud becomes one of those people. They differ fundamentally in terms of values and attitude towards life. Thrud has a consumerist/personal convenience approach whereas Angrboda values responsibility and respect for others above all else.

The possible scenario you mention about Thrud using her training as a form of addiction, thus sliding into her late father's unhealthy habit of avoidance instead of tackling problems at hand, is not out of the realm of possibility. But I personally wouldn't mind that scenario if it is addressed as an unhealthy way of dealing with issues and if she works through it eventually.

Once again, I believe that Thrud could benefit from Freya's influence who already went through the process of facing past pain and trauma and moving on from that ("[the sword] no longer holds his [Odin's] legacy but it will serve as mine" could work as a parallel to Thrud and Mjölnir).

Thrud was selfish but im sure she'll get better with time despite all of that. while she heavily derives from her father, im sure after all of the events plus with sif around to help guide her as much as she can maybe freya and sigrun as well. with them around, surely she will be more selfless. as for Angrboda, i agree i would appreciate it if she had a bigger support system ready for her and i think outside of atreus, i would love it to be gryla and i'd hope to see some off-screen progress between her and angrboda so that way by the time next game comes, its more light. also would love kratos offering himself more towards her which i anticipate the most lol

#i love that parallel at the end btw it definitely could be for her as well! #thrud #thor #sif #god of war ragnarok #god of war #asks #kratos

[waterhorseyblues-ao3]

WHB’S Guide To The Loki (616) Comic Canon So You Don’t Have To Slog Through It Like I Did

The chaos, mischief and hijinks Loki gets up to in the Marvel comics run as long and complex as the Thor comics ever did, so for simplicity this starts at the Loki “rebirth” which is where Loki became more of an independent character with his own role to play in the ongoing 616 canon. I will make a separate post for “non-canon” and oneshots and generally good comic Loki content that isn’t part of this arc.

diclaimer: i am Very opinionated and also prone to hyperbolic language so i may insult a comic/arc that you like. it is important that you Deal With It and move on because i cannot and will not be swayed.

“Classic Loki” dies during the Siege (2009) arc, specifically Siege #4. I don’t recommend it as reading personally and if you’re not already reading Marvel, it’ll be confusing and boring to follow. Things to know: Loki cut a deal with Hela to have his name taken from the book of Hel. He caused some Issues and Problems that went way overboard and is killed in the battle.

BEGIN THE KID LOKI STORY:

Thor #617-#619 (2010) - Thor finds the reborn child-aged Loki in Paris using the name “Serrure” (”Lock” in Fench.). Generally recommend this for context reading and understanding Loki’s character “rebranding”

Journey into Mystery #622-645 (2011) - Sometimes referred to as Loki: Journey Into Mystery, this is the bulk of the Kid Loki storyline and spans several story arcs in the Marvel comics at the time. Heavily recommend for understanding of the rest of Loki’s character arc, as well as adorable Thor & Loki sibling stuff and Loki’s goofy little way of talking. The final issues of this storyline are necessary reading for every major Loki storyline after.

 The Mighty Thor vol.2 (2011) - some of this happens in tandem to Journey into Mystery. If you’re not super into the Thor comics, this isn’t that important, but it helps inform the events of JiM while you’re reading it. There’s some good sibling stuff and Loki generally being a bit of a scamp, but there’s a lot going on that ties to other major Marvel story arcs at the time that can make this a bit confusing to read.

Fuck Exiled (2012) it doesn’t fucking matter.

Young Avengers (2013) - THE comic!!!! This is prime Kid Loki into Adult Loki content. This is where we got the contemporary Loki design from. This shits gay as hell, it’s full of friendship and drama and Loki shennanigans and I honestly cannot recommend this comic enough. If you never read another Marvel comic, read Young Avengers.

Loki: Agent of Asgard (2014) - OBVIOUSLY THIS ONE! Lots of people made the mistake of reading this on its own without understanding who Loki is in this comic. So much of Loki’s character development in this story hinges on the last issues of JiM. Read the others first THEN this, and you’ll thank me. This one has GORGEOUS art and completely re-shaped Loki’s character for the future Marvel comics. It also spans several major comic arcs at the time, so prepare for more external reading.

Avengers & X-Men: AXIS (2014) - This is a LOT to cope with if you’re not already into the comics, as it has a HUGE cast and a lot of major plots running at the same time. I honestly skimmed this just for bits of my fav characters. Loki appears on only a few, I believe #6-#8. Only read if you’re really interested in the context of the events in AoA.

Loki & Thor: Original Sin (2014) - I am holding this story arc in my hands. I am kissing it. This is PRIME fem!Loki content. This is ICONIC genderfluid Loki matrial. This is PURE fucked up dysfunctional Asgard-fam content. I love this comic series very much for it’s writing and artwork and beautiful moments and please don’t say a mean thing about it or I will cry.

More Loki content happens in Mighty Thor vol.3 (2016). I personally don’t think it’s relevant or necessary reading.

Fuck Vote Loki. Me and the homies hate Vote Loki. MCU will trick you and make you think Vote Loki might be good. It’s not.

The Infinity Quest arc doesn’t do anything useful for Loki imho. It’s one of the many comics in Loki’s current writing that feels like the writers haven’t read any of his previous arc.

Loki: Sorcerer Supreme (2017) - aka Doctor Strange #381-385. Imho the most wasted potential arc they’ve written so far. There’s like One nugget of very good Loki character content and the rest is just a huge waste of time. Would only recommend if you’re feeling comitted to reading as much of the Loki arc as you can.

Personally I think the entire Final Host arc is a complete misuse of Loki given his character development up until then and it simply doesn’t do anything for him.

Infinity Wars Prime (2018) - this is a bit of a Marmite arc. I think it’s setting up for Loki (2019) but it’s very tedious and bland and once again wastes the potential of the multiverse. Good only for ponytail Loki. It may be relevant in the future.

The War of the Realms (2019) - This has a LOT going on, but Loki’s part of this is very integral to how Loki is currently in the canon. This overlaps a little with Thor vol.5

Loki (2019) - This is.... Probably going to be relevant one day. It’s fun dialogue but honestly I truly do not care for this. It’s very slow paced and adds nothing to Loki’s character arc that AoA hadn’t already done. It’s a bit useful for understanding the way Loki has referred to himself since, but tbh... Meh.

Thor (2020) - This places Loki very much where he is Right Now in the canon and his current role. This is the point from which comics will pick up on his story arc, and also takes us back to the end of AoA.

Defenders (2022) - This picks up IMMEDIATELY after the final page of AoA. This is probably going to patch up a few of the issues I’ve had with previous story arcs, so I’m holding out! So far it is a banger.

#marvel #marvel comics #loki #comic loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #rambling #DM me for any extra info you want #i will talk your ear off about Loki

[magpie-murder]

the magpie who whispers

another birth: selected poems of forugh farrokhzad; "servitude I" | young avengers | portrait of fryderyk in shifting light, richard siken | a comment found on tiktok | loki: agent of asgard | some are always hungry; “the leaving season” by jihyun yun | on love, marina tsvetaeva | thor and loki: original sin | anne carson glass, irony and god: “the glass essay” 

#the magpie who whispers #the echo of a scream #thor and loki #brodinsons #thor and loki: original sin #ikol loki #aoa loki #loki agent of asgard #young avengers loki #web weaving #comic loki #loki comics

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Analyzing Loki's Love Interests (Canon and Foreshadowed and Not-So-Canon)

As always, spoilers for Loki, a multitude of comics, and the MCU. I'm focusing on primarily canon love interests and implied to potentially become canon love interests, with one glaring exception because I think they deserve to be included here.

Women Love Interests

Amora: leads Loki on and then betrays him (Where Mischief Lies)

Lorelei: betrays Loki in Agent of Asgard at least twice (and she's made appearances as Loki's love interest in other comics, too, but none that I've read). It should also probably be noted that Amora and Lorelei are sisters and both have also dated Thor in other comics.

Wanda: brief but a bit of a lead-on in Scarlet Witch 8. I wouldn't say she betrayed him, though.

Leah: they're children, mostly, so there's not explicitly romantic scenes. But Kid Loki is the reincarnation of his previous self, and Leah is a clone of Hela (which makes things weird, since Hela is inconsistently acknowledged to be Loki's daughter in the comics). Leah essentially betrays him, too. (Journey into Mystery)

Sylvie: Of course, she betrays Loki at the end of season one. On the one hand, it may be worse, because unlike all but Lorelei (of the comics I know), she led him on to the point of actually kissing him. Now, I will concede that she doesn't actually lead him on throughout the show (by my definition at least), so in this, she's certainly better than Amora or Leah. I think a few times she tried letting him down gently. But if you only look at the point of betrayal, I believe she and Lorelei are the only ones who kissed him, though Amora may have, too.

Men Love Interests

Theo: The only canon male love interest on the list; trusts Loki, believes he's better than the stories say, sympathizes with him and his feelings of being outcasted. He's courageous and determined and snarky, but with Loki he's ultimately soft.

Mobius: He knows Loki, from an academic standpoint, probably better than anyone. And then he gets to know Loki off paper, so to speak, and it rewrites everything he thought he understood, about this specific person, about himself, about reality itself. But his compassion remains, his kindness remains, and he directs it toward Loki when he needs it most. And he discovers he believes in Loki, and his potential, and his ability to dismantle everything everyone expects of him, at a moment when Loki's not even sure he believes in himself. And the trailer for season two means one of two things: One, if the Mobius from the finale is not our Mobius, then Mobius very quickly moves heaven and earth (or rather, alternate timelines) to get to his Loki. Or two, if the Mobius from the finale is a memory-wiped Mobius, then even when he doesn't know Loki, he's still determined to help him. (Or Loki was able to restore his memories, but even in the finale we can still see this care Mobius takes with a frightened stranger.)

Thor: I think the way Thor feels for Loki is clear (whether you interpret it as brotherly alone or romantic). In Ragnarok, you have his line "I thought the world of you." And you have the many times in the comics Thor claims him as his own. "You are my brother, and I love you." In Original Sin, it's so interesting to hear their language very subtly cause a conflict between them. When referring to Angela, Thor always says "our sister" and Loki always says "your sister." To the point that Thor actually calls him out on it once, though I don't think Loki really addresses it. And I think Loki's wording is an attempt more to distance himself from Odin and all the shit he caused, and now Freyja, too, after the betrayal of the All-Mother in securing Old Loki's promised future at the cost of Loki's penance and redemption. And then you have that moment in King Thor, my favorite comic panel, when the Necrosword is swallowing them in darkness and in the very last moment they reach for each other. Because Thor will never give up on Loki. And, try as he might, Loki cannot hate Thor. Not permanently.

I feel like Loki's writers, when they give him these women lovers, almost do it to spite him. They think this is the only type of woman to catch Loki's attention and that haha, Loki's been outmatched by a girl (if misogynist) or diva (if they worship the ground this woman walks on). This idea that the only interesting or believable romantic subplot for Loki is with a woman who will ultimately turn on him. Once again, in all aspects of his narrative, Loki's stuck doing the same thing over and over again. Except this seems like the one thing all writers are willing to let him keep up the cycle, and be seemingly okay with upholding the cycle.

In the case of canon, an argument could be made about this kind of woman (and all of these women are very different except in that they betray him eventually) being Loki's type. There's a rather sick sense of irony in being aware of the narrative, yet being so attracted to a certain quality that he keeps sowing the seeds of his own destruction even in knowing how it's going to end.

Of course, like I've said, this doesn't mean Loki can't love a woman. This doesn't mean I don't want Loki to ever have a girlfriend. I just want Loki to have a love interest for once who isn't going to hurt him before the novel or issue or season ends. I don't even care what gender they are. I just want him to be loved. Because he keeps insisting that he isn't and that he's incapable of it. And I'm tired of that story. And I think he might be, too.

#loki #loki tv show #loki theories #sylvie laufeydottir #loki comics #loki season 1 spoilers #loki season 2 #mobius m mobius #marvel comics #theo/loki #theo bell #thorki #lokius

[enretrogue]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥 / 𝐌𝐂𝐔 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐬

(These are not my works; full credit goes to the original writers. If you'd like your work removed, just shoot me a message and I'll remove it for you!)

✪ ~ BIPOC reader or writer (if this is wrong or you’d like it added, let me know!)

Fanfics Rec List

Stephen Strange / Doctor Strange ⎢ #2

Steve Rogers / Captain America

Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier

Tony Stark / Iron Man

Thor Odinson

Frank Castle / The Punisher ⎢ #2

Multi-Character / Misc. Posts

When You Almost Die HCs— @bluebellhairpin Road Trips HCs— @bluebellhairpin The Tim-Tam Slam — @bluebellhairpin Kinktober Masterlist — @ragnarachel What Pet Names the Avengers Use — @marvelousluci Solus ⎢ Part 2 ⎢ Part 3 — @marvelousluci

Loki Laufeyson

Reliable Liars — @scandalous-chaos

Carol Danvers / Captain Marvel

Dating Carol Danvers HCs — @c-nstantine ✪

Peter Parker / Spider-Man (Holland)

Introducing You to the Avengers — @c-nstantine ✪ Sticky Man — @scandalous-chaos Mr. Smiles — @scandalous-chaos Bedrest — @scandalous-chaos

Peter Parker / Spider-Man (Garfield)

Coffee Run — @scandalous-chaos You’re Not Peter Parker — @scandalous-chaos You Love Me, I Love You — @rintsuru Even If My Heart Stops Beating — @rintsuru

Bruce Banner / The Hulk

Freak on the DL — @honeychicana ✪

Eddie Brock / Venom

When You Love Something, You Protect It — @inlovewithquestionablecharacters Den of Sin — @queenofthefaceless Promise — @queenofthefaceless Beyond the Drink, Drop Your Love On Me — @ilovemanypeople Patching Up Eddies After A Random Street Fight — @moonlit-imagines

Matt Murdock / Daredevil

Zip and Rewind — @clints-lucky-arrow Sex w/ Matt HC — @lethological-clara

Stucky

Stucky Masterlist — @navybrat817

#navigation #lala’s fic recs #black!reader fic recs #woc!reader fic recs #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #tony stark x reader #iron man x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor x reader #frank castle x reader #the punisher x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #loki x reader #carol danvers x reader #captain marvel x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm x reader #bruce banner x reader #eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #stucky x reader #marvel #avengers

[lilydvoratrelundar]

do you have thor reading recs/guides/particular run or era to recommmend to get to know and appreciate the characters?

OOOH YES THANK YOU FOR ASKING

some thor fans and loki fans may disagree with what im gonna say here BUT. i think the run which best encapsulates why i love the character and the universe, as well as having essentially a very long guided tour through some of the most significant points of the thor sub-universe within the larger MU, is jason aaron's huge thor run from 2012 to 2019 (along with everything else happening in the thor universe at that time, covered by al ewing, kieron gillen, and marguerite bennett in a few also very good spinoffs).

this is the series where the God Butcher comes from, where Jane Foster becomes Thor, where loki is canon genderfluid in Agent of Asgard, where thor fights capitalism, and much more. it's not perfect, especially in terms of characterisation when some characters get thrown between their own miniseries and the main run, but it really encapsulates what I love about thor in his comics, and it's the run that, over the course of collecting the five huge paperback collections u can get it in, made me fall in love with this sub-section of the MU

proper reading order under the cut, plus brief explanations of crossover tie-ins and so on. it looks complicated but it's basically just cos marvel loves to re-start with a new #1 every so often to keep sales up, and because i think you should read the accompanying spinoffs. if you don't want to read the excess spinoffs (although agent of asgard is VERY good) just stick to things with 'thor' in the name.

Thor: God of Thunder (2012) #1-17

Loki: Agent of Asgard (2014) #1-5

Thor: God of Thunder (2012) #18-24

then the Original Sin event happens, the Watcher dies and a bunch of secrets are revealed...

Original Sin (2014) #5.1-5.5 (essentially a loki & thor miniseries tie-in, relevant to both series)

and THEN when Original Sin continues, Nick Fury (evil now, don't ask) whispers something into Thor's ear, and Thor drops his hammer on the moon and cannot pick it up! oh no.

Thor: God of Thunder (2012) #25

because the marvel universe never stops having big events, an event called AXIS happens immediately after, and results in a bunch of 'heroes' and 'villains' being 'inverted' - the 'villains' becomes 'heroes' and vice versa. both thor and loki are involved in this, covered in:

Loki: Agent of Asgard (2014) #6-11

and if you're wondering what happened to Angela after that Original Sin tie-in:

Angela: Asgard's Assassin #1-6

Thor (2014) #1-8 and Annual #1

THEN Secret Wars happens, basically 8 month timeskip and the multiverse is ending and another earth is about to crash into the main earth. don't worry about it.

Loki: Agent of Asgard (2014) #12-17

Secret Wars continues, the multiverse died and a new 'Battleworld' is created. basically it's a patchwork of all previous universes held together by Doctor Doom (don't worry about it). Marvel cancelled every single book and everything to turned into battleworld tie-ins:

Thors (2015) #1-4

1602 Witch Hunter Angela (2015) #1-4

... and then everything goes back to normal.

Mighty Thor (2015) #1-6

Angela: Queen of Hel (2015) #1-7

Mighty Thor (2015) #7-14

Unworthy Thor (2016) #1-5

Mighty Thor (2015) #15-22

Generations: Unworthhy Thor & Mighty Thor #1

Mighty Thor (2015) #23, #700-706 (they reverted to legacy numbering, don't worry, you didn't miss 677 issues of the series)

Mighty Thor: At the Gates of Valhalla #1

Thor (2018) #1-11

and then The War of the Realms begins, the big thor-centric crossover which ends the run. the issues of that main series and the concurrent thor series should be read in release order which looks like this:

War of the Realms #1

War of the Realms #2

Thor #12

War of the Realms #3

War of the Realms #4

Thor #13

War of the Realms #5

War of the Realms #6

Thor #14-16

and a concluding epilogue miniseries:

King Thor (2019) #1-4

#marvel #thor #lily dot tee ex tee #alternatively: the new 'immortal thor' series that's started is REALLY GOOD and al ewing really understands thor as a character #it's more of an unorthodox look at his universe (as you'd expect from the writer of Immortal Hulk) #but it's phenomenal so far (as you'd expect from the writer of Immortal Hulk)

[simuran]

Original Sin: Thor & Loki: The Tenth Realm (2014) Lady Loki, double triple-crosser and the love of my life 💚💚💚

#I WANT TO STRESS THAT! BABY MURDERS WILL HAPPEN! AT ALMOST TEDIOUS LENGTH! #who's doing it like her 💚 #Lady Loki #Posts by me #satisfaction is not in my nature #comics #The saga of me cleaning out my laptop and sharing all the best screenshots continues #long post

[lokiinmediasideblog]

The lokius shippers t making me hate mobius more and more. Its like how Taika gpt me to hate korg

Understandable, I'd probably block the tag for him or the ship at that point. Sometimes fandom experiences make you unappreciative of characters. For me, I guess I've experienced that with some Thanos stans I've encountered that constantly trash on Loki.

I don't like Korg either. But I liked Ragnarok and enjoyed the movie when I first watched it after a fight with my brother LOL. I keep thinking of how fitting that was (and we learned we have an older sister around the time the Original Sin (Aldrif/Angela) run was written; I have that in common with them).

I liked that it makes Odin being a shitty parent undeniable. I loved Valkyrie and Hela. I liked the introduction of characters way more powerful than Thor and Loki, such as the Grandmaster, that I can totally use for whump. And it was funny at times. And it seemed like it'd be set up to something cool like Revengers + GOTG. I was pleasantly surprised Loki didn't do something particularly evil, because I was expecting something closer to the comics. And T:TDW and AoU framed Loki's rule ominously. I am still curious at what could have been though.

I do have criticisms regarding TW's humor with the TLAT trailer scene where Thor gets stripped and ogled instead of helped by Valkyrie and Jane. It made them seem like uncaring perverted assholes? I was like, "Thanks for ruining their characterizations. This was gratuitous and unnecessary."

And then I learned there was a deleted scene for Thor Ragnarok where Loki is magically trapped in a portable restroom, can't get out, and men keep entering that I highly doubt the very corporate and family friendly Disney/Marvel asked for and felt spiteful towards the character. Unless there's a receipt Marvel/Disney asked for it, I will consider it spiteful on TW's part rather than Marvel/Disney.

I also liked the deleted scene/alternative to Odin's death more? It's more meaningful, and makes Odin more endearing and seem like he cared about them.

#mcu!loki #mcu!thor #anti taika waititi #just in case #anon asks #opinions #thor ragnarok #anti tlat #anti lokius #anti mobius #anti korg

[farsight-the-char]

Rereading Marvel stuff from the late 00s and 10s really has you saying "oh yeah, that happened" with regards to big events, weird pushes, and odd gimmicks.

Like, reading a Hercules story and "oh yeah, Secret Invasion happened".

Or like, does anyone remember "Fear Itself"? Outside the Thor and Loki fandoms, i mean.

Actually Thor and Loki get this a lot. Loki's solo books seemed to hit every damn event. (Agent of Asgard hit Original Sin, AXIS, AND SECRET WARS III)

#Hercules #loki #agent of asgard #marvel critical