other, another, second, next

[the wall had been a shock of pain. the tension on his bruises now is something of a prickle. strange, how some hurts were only hurt and others gave the shuddering sensation of of kinship.]

What frail creatures the well-liked are.

[there had been times, of course, when loki had felt the desperation of being mistrusted, maligned, misliked. there had, perhaps, even been moments where the weight of it had felt dizzyingly close to the verge of killing him. how wonderful to be here instead, arm in arm with a pressing reminder of how much better life could be when draping oneself in oneself instead; making armor of what could not be shed.

how much better, to be the one with hooks. how much better, to be the witch or the knife.

already his weight needs to be less and less on jude's arm, but he doesn't untangle himself. it's easy enough to lift a hand as they approach the door of the nearest tavern, the barest flick of magic brushing the heavy wood back on its hinges.]

I'm not certain about eyelashes, but well-timed tears might be the end of him. At least as long as they can be cured by putting his fist through something or someone. Having to listen gently to woes might break him cleanly free again, if she's inclined to share all the aching of her heart.