Loki's punishment for attacking Midgard involves him staying in the Avengers Tower, helping to fix the city he tried to break, no magic allowed. With hateful stares directed at him everywhere he goes, Loki spirals downwards into a battle with himsel...
A/N: it is 5:30am and we're here! The last step, the last chapter. And then...well I don't even know. I don't want to know. My heart sort of feels heavy because gods I don't want this to end. I adore you guys. Honestly more than I could possibly express. ❤️❤️
But without further ado...
Spring to summer blossoms fell like content confetti, urged to flutter by the gentle breeze. Loki stood at the balcony, basking in the sun's calming warmth, the raucously melodious tune of New York traffic prompting a small smile.
The straying blossom petals couldn't reach him here, and for a moment he remembered his desire to be a king, to look down on his kingdom with pride, for he would be an emperor commanding an empire—his empire. The idea now had never felt more repulsive.
How could he have wanted to destroy this planet?
How could a year have changed so much? Where had all that poisonous acrimony gone- when had it dissolved into love, respect, compassion? Admiration for the race he once tried so hard to conquer?
When had he fallen in love with one?
Soft footsteps alerted him to another presence on the balcony, but he already knew who it was.
Red hair blazing like a bonfire. Blazing and alive and enrapturing. The sun casting a divine halo about her. An angel in disguise. Eyes filled with summer.
And a wicked little smile.
"What are you thinking about?"
"I think I shall keep Naeva in the bag. This time at least."
Midgardian adages were so enchantingly peculiar.
A soft laugh, blown away hastily by the wind.
Well, perhaps he could spill some beans.
"I feel I am undeserving, of all I have received here."
Underserving of you, an angel, for how could a trickster be worthy of someone so empyrean?
He knew now that he was not a monster.
He was not foul, just because Jotun blood ran through his veins instead of the golden Aesir. His actions from before did not define him now.
He was not unworthy because the taste of a honey glazed doughnut kissing his tongue left him craving for more. He knew that.
It was acceptance of that which he found difficult.
Because sometimes he would still remember words dripping in poison, scorching the frigid air of a rocky plain. And sometimes he could see the lurking blue beneath his skin and feel disgusting and unworthy, because he should be slain for being a Frost Giant, and fuelling the life of a monster with food. And sometimes he could remember the stab of pain at his heart at two words, and feel worthless and contemptible.
But it would take time, as all things did, to learn and accept. In both heart and mind.
"Loki," Natasha said, turning to face him fully. "You deserve all of this. You've always deserved all this."
"And once upon a time I felt I deserved a kingdom. To fulfill my birthright to rule."
Your birthright, was to die!
But here was life.
"And would you rather have a kingdom or this?"
Somewhere, deep within him, the voices clamoured for power. A fragment of the tortured downcast hungry to rule. Starving, wanting, craving. To feel the golden weight of the sceptre, the full majesty of his horned helmet as his victims quivered in fear.
But that was not what he wanted now.
"This. This, more than anything." And the way those forest green eyes lit up into a sunlit Eden reassured him more than anything.
I love you.
The words were there, balancing precariously on his tongue. Rattling the bars for released. To spill out in a colourful avalanche.
A hand softly clasped her waist, another cupping her cheek. His breath caught in his throat as he drew her closer, those enchanting verdant eyes reflecting his own. Eyes fastened to hers as if she was the entire world.
Was she not?
Leaning in so close to her— their lips were just breaths away.
Two ravens cawed in harmonious approval, and flew up and beyond the clouds to the Golden Realm.
And several floors down in a semi- glass walled communal room, a midnight black kitten purred contently, and one Tony Stark scowled as he was forced to hand over a hefty cheque to a smirking Clint Barton.
A/N: Just to outline, Loki is definitely not fully recovered from everything. I felt that was too impractical and idealistic. As Laurie Halse Anderson said:
"There is no magic cure, no making it all go away forever. There are only small steps upward; an easier day, an unexpected laugh, a mirror that doesn't matter anymore."
I hope you all at least enjoyed the little ending! I thought about leaving it all nice and emotional but nah. I am beyond thankful to everyone that has been with me from start to finish for this story, and to all the future people that will read this book, I love you all.
I'm going to edit this a bit, introducing chapter names (because it was a pain in my peach to keep scrolling through past chapters for details) and correcting mistakes (why and how are there so many) , before deeming it officially complete 💗❤️
A picture's worth a thousand words, so hopefully this says it all:
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