#➤ U R O B O U R I S ┊ ❛ coax the monster from under the bed. ask it why it hides when most people only know how to flee instead ❜

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Euryale NSFW ABC maybe?

Written by @evoedbd​

A= Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Cuddles are a must.  Euryale is instantly all over her partner, albeit quite obliviously.  Mortals are such strange creatures sometimes, but no request is too outrageous for Euryale to follow without question when it comes to aftercare.

 B= Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Hands.  Hands down. The way elegant fingers can curl so viciously around the hilt of a blade, but weave so softly between Euryale’s own.  The way those fingers can be so filling, but never bring undesired pain.  Nothing is better than hands Euryale knows she is safe to shatter into.

   C= Cum (Anything to do with cum basically …)

Euryale adores feeling the evidence of lovemaking.  Yet, nothing is as delicious to her as a kiss with her lover’s taste upon her lips, or her own taste upon her lover’s.  Trading flavours in an intimate kiss is the perfect ending to any night.

   D= Dirty Talk (Pretty self-explanatory)

Dirty talk is not Euryale’s strong suit, or particularly to her tastes.  Her lovers can rail her into the next century, but they’d better not dare degrade her like some backstreet prostitute.  If one is to speak dirty to Euryale, they’d best make it sound like they are addressing royalty.  Euryale will accept nothing less.

 E= Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

She’s over 200 years old.  Euryale has done most things at least once.  She knows what she likes, but she’s never done things with a mortal she genuinely cares about before.  For that, she relishes the experiences with her seemingly mortal girlfriend as if they are new.  This makes her seem less experienced than she truly is, at least under a certain woman’s touch.

 F= Favorite Position (This goes without saying.)

Euryale couldn’t answer that.  Some days, she simply wants to be held down into the mattress and taken violently, like an animal in heat.  Ironically, this desire seems to align with the seasons.  Otherwise she simply wants ride her girlfriend, trying to hold eye contact as long as possible, fists clenched around the knives stabbed into the headboard or wall.

 G= Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc?)

Euryale is as serious as a heart attack. She will not suffer a lover laughing at her.  That said, something about her mortal has her want to be a little playful.  Her knives always cameo, usually stabbed into the furniture as a handhold as the little mortal rocks her world.

 H= Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc?)

Waxed.  Kept completely bare.  Euryale likes her sensitive skin exposed and smooth.

   I= Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect …)

She tries.  Truly, Euryale tries to be romantic.  Sadly, many of her partners seem to find her intimidating, or are too distracted by her knives to notice.  Strangely, it is her little mortal who seems to find Euryale’s behaviours endearing, happy to kiss any knife brought to her face with a dreamy expression.

 J= Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

Euryale is very experienced with herself.  She enjoys teasing herself, stroking and enjoying the feeling of her smooth, sensitive skin beneath her palms until she can’t wait any longer.  This is perhaps one of the only times that Euryale will stay quiet, squeaking and moaning behind a hand clamped over her mouth.

   K= Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Knives.  Anytime Euryale can have her knives involved instantly revs her engines.  Seeing her partner kiss the length.  Freezing the blades so their chill will rile up her girl.  Creating handholds.

   L= Location (Favorite Place to do the deed)

Chairs are good.  The perfect place to ride her Girlfriend’s fingers, using her own back to shield anybody from laying eyes on her precious mortal.  Wherever that chair is sitting is completely irrelevant.  Though, she’s noticed her Girlfriend prefers her apartment.

   M= Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going?)

Her girlfriend. The woman is so unimaginably beautiful, carved by Hephaestus to show the world the true meaning of Lust.  But she is so gentle and sweet too.  She looks at Euryale’s quirks with this perfect quirk of her lips that has the Gorgon unable to focus on anything but the memories of the things that mouth can do.  The sweet kisses and kind words that fill Euryale’s heart. These romantic emotions are so new to the Gorgon. Sometimes, they overwhelm her until the heat burning in her body needs to be released.  Its then that Euryale pounces.

 N= NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Incest.  No mommy kinks. No stepsister plays.  Calling Euryale “babe” is the fastest way to have the Gorgon leaping off her girlfriend’s lap with an indignant shriek.

 O= Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Euryale is an excellent giver.  Oral with Euryale is an experience many mortal women would die for.  However, Euryale herself is nervous about receiving, not because of embarrassment, but for safety reasons.  Euryale loses her mind receiving, and often forgets how strong she is when she clamps her thighs.  A traumatic experience with crushing a mortal’s skull has let her hesitant to let someone she cares about go down.

 P= Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc)

The name of the game is passionate.  Euryale is fire, hungry and demanding from the first moment.  She’s borderline primal, all growls bites, hard movements.  Euryale is the most devoted worshipper of her lover’s body.  That animalistic intensity is tempered into a thorough claiming of every single inch of her girl’s body. Even with a husk to her voice, Euryale will snarl her praises, refusing to let her girlfriend think she is unappreciated for a single moment.  One might say that Euryale’s energy in bed is that of someone who has been edged to the point of fury. Euryale wants to feel worshipped, just as she wants to worship.  She has a goddess in her bed, and as twitchy as Euryale can be, there is no way she will disappoint.   Nothing but her lover’s requests will tame her.

Euryale’s girlfriend however is gentle, soft hands guiding Euryale instead of trapping her.  Letting Euryale wear herself out, all the while feeling that she is loved and valued.  When Euryale settles enough to surrender, it is slow and gentle, coaxing Euryale slowly into every crest of bliss.  The girlfriend is all too happy to use her body, to cover Euryale, blanketing her as the Gorgon sobs into her neck.

   Q= Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)

Euryale is happy to shove her girlfriend into a chair and demand hands beneath her dress.  She is happy to ride to a fast orgasm.  Or shove her hand down the girl’s pants and drag a climax out of her, and a second for good measure.

   R= Risks (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc)

Their very relationship feels like a risk.  Euryale’s body has the strength to crush and destroy her girl if she loses concentration for a moment.  Everything new they do is planned, often by her Girlfriend.  However, if her Girlfriend steals the marble cuffs, then Euryale is trusting enough to try anything.

S= Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last …)

Days.  Euryale can go for literal days when it is just sex with an equally ungodly partner.  Emotionally, she can go hours before she burns out mentally.  Her girlfriend stops when Euryale’s mind disconnects, not wanting just a body.

 T= Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yes.  Euryale has access to the ungodly monster category of toys, along with her Aura.   Her girlfriend has a more chaste collection of electronic toys.  Combining them on Euryale is a fun weekend.  They help compensate for her girlfriend’s mortal stamina.

 U= Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Euryale doesn’t.  If she wants, she takes.  And takes, and takes and takes.  Not that her girlfriend complains, afterall, this is what they agreed to.  In fact, the unintentional tease is that her girlfriend is always expecting Euryale to pounce.

 V= Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

In private, loud.  Euryale has no qualms about growling into her girlfriend’s neck, drawing out scream after scream to the point neighbours have called the cops on them in the past.  Soundproofing the walls has helped a little. Not entirely.  Maybe because Euryale has stabbed the walls too many times.

   W= Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Euryale’s girlfriend adores Euryale’s nose.  She continuously presses kisses or attempts to nip at the tip to Gorgon’s nose, both in sexual situations and just everyday playfulness.

   X= X-rated thoughts (let’s see what’s going on in their head)

Half of Euryale’s day is spent remembering the feeling of her girlfriend’s fingers inside her, knocking those perfect spots, thumb pressing into her clit.   How she wants to take her girl, press her into the walls, palm at her perfect ass.  Squeeze.   Going any further leads to situations, and Euryale can’t afford those until her girlfriend is off the clock.

   Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

24/7.  Euryale is one snap of her girlfriend’s fingers away from a turned-on mess.

   Z= Zzz (… How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Euryale holds on as long as she can, wanting to spend time snuggling into her girlfriend’s back and shoulders.  She will, without fail, stay awake until she is positive that her girlfriend understands how deeply loved she truly is.  Even if words don’t work, gentle kisses and nips, tender brushes of hands across her hips and body.  Once her girlfriend is asleep, Euryale will eventually drift off with a content smile across her lips.

#anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #women of lovestruck #smut #eurayle x mc #afk eurayle #astoria fate's kiss #astoria fates kiss #astoria fates kiss eurayle #afk #smutty

[calamitousrpg]

Take your seats folks for the S H O W is about to begin, let the Circus E N T E R T A I N you one and all...

The lanterns suddenly dim, the inside of the Big Top darkens, the only visible light streams in from the centre and barely allows sight of the person either side of the next; even those with enhanced vision struggle to determine what’s in the D A R K N E S S around them. Only driven to attention by the beams that swarm the middle; music roars to life, a mechanical twist of cogs that scratch together like an out of time clock...

It begins. Comes in gentle flushes as magnificent silks erupt from the back entrance, manipulates the shape of a D R A G O N with such magical realism it could be mistaken for R E A L and it moves with such grace, obscured figures beneath the covers of the excessive false manifestation, travels the length of the small arena, breaks the fourth walls to flurry along the pathway between ringside and the first row grandstands. 

A B A N G erupts, a single figure appears, a striped cane between clasped hands as the man stands in dead silence. Almost statue-like to the audience who watch with curious eyes to what is to come. A top hat, tipped downwards, head bowed under it; face hidden by clothing; a ringmaster that commands the room - despite the way he stands dead still. There’s a hum of voices whispering; wondering aloud if this is the man responsible for it all; Khaos in the F L E S H, but it’s quiet, bar the movements of the silk dancers that distract watchful eyes; strange shocks to peripheries. 

And the figure doesn’t move. 

From the rear of the ringmaster, a stream of bodies emerge, extravagant feathered tails; peacocks waving ribbons; they dance - match the calm pace of the dragon that amounts a growing number of hungry eyes. High above, a clatter of metal snaps every head upwards, trapeze artists thrown from bars as the business of the room intensifies. 

Though nothing B E Y O N D what hasn’t been done before, no?

The show remains like that, hold for a few more beats - present, a lion; a typical act that puts its handler close to headless; it’s truly just that; a  C I R C U S.

And the audience begin to grow restless - the immortals hungry for blood; for the promised performances that dragged them there; it becomes obvious in the room too...

The first person stands to leave - and like a trigger, the voice snaps to attention; comes from the centre of the ring:

K H A O S

Am I not E N T E R T A I N I N G you? Is my Circus not to your liking; too M U N D A N E for you to E N J O Y? Pity. 

You can’t say I really didn’t T R Y to be a good host to you all; that I wasn’t K I N D to provide my services. Let me introduce the T R U E awaited K H A O S shall I? 

Thank me later, 

If you’re still alive, of course...

It’s instant. The snap of broken chains; the S C R E A M that tears through the Big Top like a banshee freshly released from a cage; though this is pained; A G O N I S E D in its manner. Something heavy drops from the roof of the Big Top; a body H A N G S almost still. An unrecognisable face is choking on their own blood, iron clasped around their throat, a wish wash of rusted chains tight on the individual; unbreakable. The sight is ghastly, the body mauled by harsh claws, the only indication that under the mass of dried crimson is something alive is the way the spasms of muscle fight to breathe beneath the weight of chains that bind them there.

And for those with impeccable vision and know their ranks; the vampires K N O W that there hangs their O V E R L O R D; strung up for all to see by the circus as thought that is an event. it’s delayed, the hiss of questioning; the way the body writhes to escape the clutches of metal. Khaos isn’t done:

Still here? Why, thank you - have I finally gained your undivided attention? Does the OVERLORD have such an affect on you; don’t they look pretty now? 

The panic is late, the dragon that’s been dancing circles around the ringside ignites; a demon’s fire sparking it to life, catches those in the first row of Grandstand Two and the Ringside - now it truly looks alive; an impossible beast marked to carry death. There’s more screaming. Where Demon Fire lights up the wooden slats of the seating, the ones scorched by flames shriek and howl; cave under burnt wood. 

There’s a S I C K E N I N G sound of bones crunching from above, the trapeze artists suddenly replaced by grotesque creatures; demons in their true forms and human bound skin sheds and drops down below; heavy thumps of guts splattering to the ground to leave mutilated piles; a stench that’s foul comes with it.

The head of the ringmaster jerks upwards, a mask where features should be; pale like a ghost, holeless and with the impression that KHAOS cannot see; that beneath the darkness of the metal cast face there is no potential to witness his own oncoming K A R N A G E. 

Because that comes in the form of something resembling G U N F I R E, certainly sounds similar, the peacock dancers throwing spherical cannisters into the audience; paired with E X P LO S I O N S that shake the room; small metal shards pepper unsuspecting guests and that panic that’s been withheld..

Kicks in...

Everyone grapples to their feet; a free for all of sirvivors that haven’t been singed, bulleted or reduced to ash... some in pieces; limbless and crawling along grasslands... stepped on by careless immortals; stamped on by even less sympathetic monsters...

F I N A L L Y, Khaos adds, The S H O W has begun; I promised you K H A O S... 

HERE IT IS.

The dragon; now fully resembling a magical entity sits below the strung Overlord, coaxes a real awful scream for their voicebox as flames engulf the body, reduce the choking to a gargle untill nothing but a blackened and withered form remains; a S A C R I F I C E to the Circus...

And everyone in the Ringside seating can’t escape it fast enough; a wave of heat expels from the form with enough force to send all off their feet and stumbling to recompose their senses; those still alive; unharmed fighting to get to the exit. 

But it’s gone; the walls of the tent proven impossible to break - knives, guns evaporating on its touch and where the magic binding everyone in the room distracts them, still dodging Khaos’ showman who have intent to make them the G R A N D  D I S P L A Y, begin to crowd and just as a few guests direct their attention to the ringmaster himself.

He vanishes in smoke; that darkness sweeping the room in a flash and suddenly; the harshness of rough wild magic scratches claws at the skin of all within; and when lights return to the chaotic mass of moving bodies... they are no longer in a recognisable big top...

It’s a M A Z E; tracks underneath them, steel and stone walls haphazard and staggering the mass into smaller, unplanned groups that must dare to E S C A P E the new route they’ve been contained in; or at least, T R A P P E D and forced to navigate a dark pit. Khaos’ voice thrums one final twisted introduction:

Welcome to the G H O S T  M A Z E, last one to the exit is M I N E. 

Run quickly sweet creatures, for I like to keep my promises and I want you to see all the R E A L things within these walls that you’ll never have seen before...

Try not to die now will you...

                                     Easier said than done...

                                                            Because I want to look you in the eyes first...

Within the M A Z E 

it is built from nightmares; pulled from vivid thoughts of those confined within its walls and made  R E A L by imagination. The deepest, darkest monstrosities that creature fear lives inside as G H O S T S of the maze, haunting the thick stone and striking pain into those who manifested them. Accompanied by T R A P S that are designed for the strongest of immortals, there’s a sudden need to work as a team; as a unit with the ones who would deem to be unlikely allies

For if you’re left alone with your fears... driven to insanity by them and S T U C K in a loop that your mind can’t free itself from.. well then you better hope you die before Khaos catches you...

NOTE: This is the main conclusion of the Circus De La Khaos event, the final part of 3.5 comes to close the event done, but until then, your characters must survive their darkest of nightmare; face their demons and stare them in the eye whilst they attempt to navigate through a concrete maze with both allies and foe...

Are you going to try risk it alone, leave old enemies behind? Find an unlikely companion? You choose. This part of the event will conclude Monday 3rd August, Midnight. 

Keep in mind, if your character was seated in a detrimental hit zone; they might be nursing some serious injuries too... that’s without ordinary enemies playing fatal parts...

Good luck Crooked Souls...

                                                  Dare I say...

                                                                                 You might need it...

#crooked.event #circus de la khaos part 3 #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #mature rp #mature rpg #dark rp #dark rpg #mumu rp #mumu rpg #rp #lsrpg #spn rp #spn rpg #original rp #oc rp #original rpg #oc rpg #pastevent #event: Circus de la Khaos

[lokidokiliteratureclub]

Frostbitten (Chapter One)

Loki x Reader

Prologue

Y/N L/N is a child of a Jotun and an Asgardian. She spends her life hidden in the dungeons of Asgard, with no one to talk to other than one of the princes- a man who seems completely incapable of leaving her alone and entirely unable to give up on helping her. Y/N and Loki Odinson have always been inseparable, it seems- even when there is a cell wall, or a village, or an entire kingdom between them. 

Even when he disappears, even when you run away, and even when his world falls apart; you are inseparable. 

Oh lordy the first part of this fic got waaayy more attention than I was expecting If you want to be added for tags in this series, leave a comment or send me an ask, and I’ll add you for the coming parts. Thanks so much for reading!!

P.S.: This part is not action-filled or anything. The interesting stuff starts the next part.

P.P.S: Normally I don’t update this quickly- I just wasn’t doing anything else today.

________________________

Twelve Years Later

Loki Odinson has not been down in the dungeons for two months. That's two months of being alone. Two months of not speaking. Two months of you wondering what's wrong on the surface. Three times so far you've gotten too close to the barrier. Those three times are hardened burns on your blue arms. Small welts on your soft palms. Scratches on your bare knees. The lady who brings you food in the morning noticed the wounds but said nothing- simply laying a tub of ice on the table next to a soft washcloth.

The fact that they actually gave you an unassembled ice pack for your injuries makes you want to laugh. It sounds like something you’d tell Loki about. You add it silently to the list of things you’ll tell him when he comes back.

If he comes back.

Loki has left before- usually with a warning, though. Usually only for a week. It has been eight.

One day he’s sitting outside your cell, applauding you on how far you’ve advanced in magic and droning on about how he wishes he could see you without the yellow film between you- maybe even touch you. Shake your hand. Touch your shoulder. Things that people can do when they’re not imprisoned under a giant castle or unable to control whose arm they freeze off. One day, you two are dreaming of what could be, completely absorbed in each other's thoughts and words, and the next, the inseparable become separated.

And even though it’s possible that he left you by choice, you’re more worried for him than you are about yourself. 

"Hey, Njord," you speak aloud, targeting one of the head guards on patrol. He doesn't stop to look at you, not even shifting from his position outside your cell. "Hey, Njord," you say, louder. "What's the buzz? How's the royal family?"

Njord heaves an annoyed sigh but doesn't respond. You scoot closer to the barrier so that you and the guard are only really about a foot apart.

"Hey, Njord,"

He makes a huffing noise.

"I'd like a book. Or a cup of tea. Is that arrangeable?" You tilt your head, fiddling with a couple spare strands of hair. "Your beard looks rather nice today. Very clean."

Njord gives a slight swell of pride and raises a hand to caress his beard, but then he realizes he doesn't have a beard. His face falls. He looks sad. You almost feel bad, but you don’t. So you laugh.

"Don't tease him, he lost the beard in a bet," says Lady Sif, descending into the prison in a bit of haste and sparing you a quick glance. "Haven't you anything else to do, prisoner?"

You shrug, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling. "I'm a twenty-two-y-year-old Jotun-Asgardian hybrid in prison, whose only companion has been inexplicably absent for two months. Njord won't get me books. I haven't seen the light of day in fourteen years. I have literally nothing to think about and nothing to do, so no."

"Njord, get her a book or two so she'll quit talking," Sif grumbles, and footsteps let you know that he is leaving.

You roll onto your stomach, staring out at her. She's dismounting a shield and removing a sword from one of the upper shelves of the guard's stock. She's a bit flimsy with the weapons from what you can see, but Loki had insisted that she showed promise in the combat field. More than meets the eye, you suppose.

You watch her fasten the shield to her arm and prop yourself up on your elbows. "Will you be joining the staff down here?"

She sends you a pointed glare. "No. I'll be joining the staff up there." Sif nods toward the stairs leading out of the dungeons and grabs a sword sheath from another shelf, attempting to fasten that on as well. 

"Joining the army? How patriotic."

She ignores you, sheaths the sword, and heads back up.

"Hm." You exhale. "Rude."

Moments later, Njord arrives back in your cell, stepping through the energy barrier like it’s not even there. He drops a single hardcover down in front of you, then strides back out and resumes his post. The book is long- which is probably what Njord was going for when he found it. It’ll take you especially long since you really have only known how to read for three years- courtesy of Loki, of course. The gift of literacy is one of the many you’ve received from him. Hopefully, it can save you from dying of boredom or worry while you wonder where the hel he is.

The first thing you notice when you look at the book is that it’s completely tattered- sometimes with entire pages missing out of it. The pages that remain are yellowed and reek of a musty, almost moldy smell. You wrinkle your nose, looking back to Njord.

“Where did you get this?” you ask, shaking your head.

Njord finally gives in and responds with a grain of salt: “The book cart outside the dungeon. Last one.”

There’s no book cart outside the dungeon. They keep the area empty to ensure there aren’t any messages being passed between the outside world and the world down here.

Could Loki be trying to... no. Well, maybe. Maybe he’s banned from the dungeons. Maybe this is his only way to contact. Maybe he hasn’t abandoned you, and he’s been trying to contact all this time. The thought of it gives you the tiniest shard of hope.

You look back down at the book, then very carefully open it. The title is Where You Will and it appears to be romantic fiction. A picture of a girl and a boy are drawn next to each other, the boy wrapping the girl in a shawl. There’s a smeared fingerprint beside the title, and a small note is written in the margin in sloppy, rushed lettering.

I’m cold.

You frown, moving your thumb over the words.

That turned out to be exactly what you needed to do.

In the places where your finger met the page, you see pieces of discoloration. Your heart starts to beat a bit faster, twisting in your chest. You press your entire palm to the page for a moment and then lift it.

It’s a drawing of a snake and beside it a lightly sketched snowflake.

Ok, this is definitely Loki. And unless he’s communicating with another Jotun prisoner who happens to be able to read and happens to have the audacity to ask a guard for books, the message in this book is for you.

You turn the page and grip the side of the book, spilling frost over the surface of the parchment. There are no notes- instead, there are very slight, nearly hidden underlines under some letters. You read over them, putting them together in your head.

y o u n e e d T o l e a V e

And then you flip the page, giving it the same treatment. 

c o l d Is t h e a B s e n c e o f e n E r g y

Then the next page.

t r Y t o d I S s a p e a r

Then,

I w I l l f i n d y o u w H e r e v e r y o u a r e - L

You flip to the next page, and then the next, and the next, until you’re absolutely positive that you’ve seen every message. 

If this is Loki, which it has to be, how long have the books been there? Weeks? A month? How old is this message? And why should you hide?

Cold is the absence of energy.

You at least know what that means. The barrier is pure energy. Loki seems to be implying that you can freeze it, or suck all the juice out of it, or something similar. He clearly thinks you’re more powerful than you are. Not a surprise. That’s kind of his signature move: overestimating you.

It’s charming in a disappointing way. 

Your lips curve into a smile, but it fades into a frown at the thought that whatever Loki is trying to get you away from you cannot escape. You might never see him again. That’s a bit of a dark thought. To never see his sculpted face or charming smile, his dark hair or bright eyes- it leaves a sort of hole in your chest. 

You can’t ever see him again. But can you talk to him? There’s no invisible ink for you to use, but...

You squeeze your eyes shut, wincing, and then bite roughly down on the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. You slip a finger inside your mouth and, using the same communication strategy Loki did, wipe a faint smear of blue over letters on the page, spelling out what you want him to see.

You set down the book and stand up, moving toward the small bed in the back of the cell. Your fear moves through your body and crystalizes on the floor, leaving a trail of ice in your wake. 

You repeat your list of things to remember, your list of things you’ve been told, as you lie down, coaxing yourself into sleep.

You are going to be okay, and nothing can stop that from being so. Not the princes. Not the armies. Not the guards or the walls or the bars that hold you in. Not the ice in your blood or the dark in your eyes. You are safe. You will always be safe. You are not a monster. You are not alone. You can control yourself. I will watch over you.

----

Loki Odinson has not been down to the dungeons in two months. That’s two months of wondering what could be going wrong. That’s two months of hoping you know he hasn’t abandoned you. That’s three attempts at contact, this last one being the most obvious. Writing in a book with ink that can only be seen in the cold. He just has to hope you ask for books, and hope the guards comply.

He does not enjoy being apart from you, and even though he was fully aware that it was going to be hard- suddenly not having you in his life, that is- he could not have anticipated just how hard it was. He actually spoke to his brother, for Odin’s sake. That wasn’t even the hardest task of them all.

You are an echo inside his mind. A song that plays over and over and over, no matter how infuriating it can be. Every time he thinks he can think about something else, you creep back into his mind and he becomes restless again. He buries his head in his hands and tries not to rip out every strand of hair, failing not to picture the worst that could happen if you aren’t prepared. If he can’t get you out of the castle before something.. before it happens. And it’s happening. 

When he sees that the book is gone from the cart, his heart nearly stops. He takes a deep breath, puts on a scowl, and confronts an annoyed Njord as he exits the dungeons.

“Hey, Njord,” he speaks, trying his best to sound uninterested. “Where’s my book?”

Njord stiffens at the sound of Loki’s cold voice and turns deftly toward him. “Your book, your highness?”

“I left it on the cart outside.” He signals to the empty cart, and Njord goes a shade whiter. “You were on guard, yes?”

“The book was yours, sir?”

“Did you give it to someone else?”

“One of the prisoners, sir. Forgive me, I thought it to be meant for-” he breaks off, noticing Loki’s disinterest in the conversation. “I’ll retrieve it at once.”

Moments later, he returns, grasping the book in his hands. He holds it out to Loki, and the prince swiftly takes it from him, huffing to keep from bursting into tears. Njord looks like he might go into cardiac arrest, on the other hand, so Loki adds: “If the prisoners are in need of some form of entertainment, I’ll gather a collection of books personally.”

Njord nods, swallowing. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Good,” Loki turns on his heel, away from the guard. “Oh, and your beard is looking swell today, Njord.”

He strides, perhaps a bit too quickly, over to the library, and drops the book on the table, flipping to the opening page. It’s empty. But turn another, and smears of blue appear, clouding over certain letters. Loki’s pulse quickens. He finds his grip tightening on the table as he strings the words together.

I m n O t t h a t s t r o n g

an awful lie, followed by

w h a t  a m I h I d i n g f r o M

Loki exhales and rips the pages from the book, shoving them into his pocket and throwing the damaged copy aside. He’s moving to another shelf, reaching for a book to reply with when his eye catches that of his mother as she passes by. Her shoulder brushes gently against his as she moves to stand next to him, staring over the sea of books along the shelves.

“You’re stressed,” she comments, looking over him. “Is something bothering you?”

“No, no, nothing,” he mutters in return. Frigga looks at him skeptically. “I promise, mother. It’s just that I’m a bit-”

“Don’t lie to me, dear,” she interrupts, reaching into her pocket. Loki’s eyes follow her hand, and she sets a small key on the shelf in front of him, smiling slightly. “It’s perfectly alright to worry about someone. Especially when that person may be in danger.”

She knows.

Loki just stares, first at the key, then at his mother. He opens his mouth and then closes it, and then says: “How long have you...”

“How could I not?” She finishes for him. “Your eyes light up when you speak of someone you care about.”

There’s a heavy silence.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t thank me until after you find what you’re looking for,” she replies.

Then she turns, and she’s gone.

Loki picks up the key, leaves the books, and rushes to his room to prepare for the worst.

Frostbitten Tags:

@natalia-rushman @what-inspirational-name @jessiejunebug @fandomdestroyer @a-new-schematic @iris-suoh

#loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader fluff #loki (marvel) #marvel

[fear-is-nameless]

Anti backstory idea/headcanon

My theory for Anti’s backstory- its a mix of a few headcanons you can find on @anti-support-group sorry if its long or doesn’t make much sense.

Anti was Jack’s imaginary friend like the creepypasta Laughing Jack he was Jack’s best friend as a kid, like the kind of best friends who are glued at the hip, Anti was so powerful from Jack’s belief in him that was very real to Jack but as Jack grew older he slowly stopped visiting and playing with Anti as much, stopped believing in Anti, until eventually he was left powerless and alone in Jack’s head.

Anti screamed and cried and begged for Jack to return ‘Please come back, please Jack please! I’m scared Jack it’s so dark… I feel so weak,,,,help me…Jack please! Its cold here Jack….Jack please come back, I miss you…’ to no avail so he starts wondering what’s going on ‘Why is Jack doing this to me? Did I do something wrong? Why isn’t Jack responding? Is Jack angry at me? Weren’t we best friends?’ and eventually the poor thing loses his mind from lack of contact with anyone. The body formed from Jack’s belief in his friend, that his friend was real fading into shadow.

'Alone, cold, need warmth? What’s warmth?…. Dunno so long… misses Jack…Jack who? Jack, Jack, Jack, J A C K, Friend….BETRAYER….TRAITOR….LIAR...D O N ’ T T R U S T! Dark, dark dark like abyss don’t look too long or you’ll become a monster….what’s a monster?…Am I a monster?’

Anti tries to die, to escape it all by slitting his throat but as he was such a big part of Jack’s life his memories, his imagination, his belief in a friend he can’t remember kept him alive that’s when Anti gets mad ‘How D A R E Jack deny me this?! How dare he keep me alive to suffer! Leave me to suffer and rot in his mind?! Why does Jack get to be happy when I’m suffering? Jack betrayed me! Betrayed our friendship!’

That’s when it clicks Jack doesn’t deserve to be happy, not after this no, no, no Jack needs to PAY for what he’s done! ‘I’ll make him s u f f e r like I suffered! Powerless and all alone in the dark and cold for years! I’ll take everything, everyone he loves and make it MINE, and…I’ll be happy again’.

But first Anti needs to regain strength, to know what he’s up against so when he senses Jack’s asleep and for a moment Anti’s surprised he can still sense that but as he’s still part of Jack’s mind he brushes it off as natural. Anti forces himself out of the depths of Jack’s mind into the forefront.

Its a slow process, a step at a time, stumbling and falling and having to force himself backup everything in Anti aches and hurts but he continues to move, anger and betrayal and vengeance and hatred fueling him it takes nearly all night but Anti makes it to the forefront of Jack’s mind. He’s weak and woozy and feels like passing out but he made it.

Anti hides in the shadows of Jack’s mind, learning about the boy now man who betrayed him and regaining his strength to the point he’s able to see what Jack sees when he wants, can subtly influence Jack’s thoughts.

Jack’s got a Youtube channel now with millions of fans Anti’s anger boils and he wants to shout, to scream at them 'Don’t listen to him! Don’t trust him! He’s a liar and a traitor and will stab you in the back first chance he gets! Don’t believe his lies!’ but he knows they can’t hear him no matter how much he wants them to.

Then one day he catches a glimpse of fan art through Jack’s eyes It’s a version of Jack with pointed ears, toxic green eyes amid black sclera and a evil fanged grin Anti’s breath catches when he sees the name of the picture: Antisepticeye. 'its my name! H-How? Why?!’ Anti jolts as a burst of…something power? Energy? Fills him. Anti coaxes Jack into searching that word, his name and hundreds of results pop up fan art, theories, headcanons, fanfics you name it with every result Anti sees more and more energy, more power fills him, distantly he notices his body changing to match the fanart in front of him hair lengthening and shortening, eye color change etc but Anti doesn’t care.

As more and more power fills him Anti realizes he’s gaining it from the fans, because they believe he exists, because they called his name, gave him his body back, gave him power. Anti grins 'This is what I was waiting for! Now I’m powerful enough to take everything from him! With everyone feeding me power, giving me abilities the betrayer won’t stand a chance!’ oh but Anti doesn’t want to make this quick no he needs to draw out his revenge make sure Jack understands exactly why this is happening, why he deserves this.

Afterwards a while later Anti notices that when he concentrates hard enough when Jack is working or playing for himself the game, computer, system or his equipment will glitch. Anti blinks 'Well that’s new…hm I wonder…’ Anti experiments and to his elation finds that though it drains him during the glitching he can momentarily manifest through the glitch, the more he does it the worse the drain is but Anti’s confident he can get to the point it barely does anything and extend his manifestations. 

And to his glee the fans notice him! More fanart, more theories and headcanons pour into his search tag and Anti is filled with power he hasn’t felt since before Jack betrayal. Anti is grinning with unrepentant glee over this 'I need to do something big to use this power, something to gain more fans, something that will grab their attention from Jack' 

Anti checks the date and sees Halloween is coming soon and Jack is planning to play oh what was it again…Sister Location? a week before. A plan forms in Anti’s mind  'That’s it! the veil is weak during this time, I have enough power to classify as a ghost at least I’ll start by showing myself in Jack’s game then on Halloween…’ Anti laughs his voice glitching and staticky ringing out in Jack’s subconscious.

'Prepare yourself Jack, because the time’s come for me to regain what’s rightfully mine and for you to S A Y G O O D B Y E’

So um whatcha think Fin? Any good? And see if you can catch the references I made ;P

O.o

Holy smokes this is a long read- but a great one!!

Anti’s fear of being forgotten/ abandonment is b/c Jack forgot (deliberately or not) about him in the first place is also the source of control and vengeance? I like it! 

#submission #anonymous #anon #antisepticeye #fan theory #interesting points!

[homervnned]

––   f l o u r - c a k e d    h a n d s    c l o s e    t h e    r e g i s t e r .

                         “ oh, for fuck’s sake. ”

                                           there’s that signature eye roll.                                      they’re talking ‘bout their dead wife                                                          A G A I N.

                                          haven’t they read the roll along’s                                           no sentimental bullshit policy ?

                       “ just eat your fuckin’ cinnamon roll. ”

whaddup. hope y’like your bakers how you like your sweet rolls :  rude and emotional unavailable !

( sean teale, human, he/him & cismale ) is that ( spellbound ) by ( ac/dc ) playing? guess ( “brooks baker” / ferris feller )’s comin’ in hot! heard folks say the ( “25” / 52 ) year old ( bakery owner ) was at the thanksgiving fair, ( nearly droppin’ a tray of sweets ‘n goodies at his bakery stand as he thought he recognized the orange-wearing witch who hexed him years ago ) when chaos ensued. during the glitch, ( he tried to follow that damned lady to give her a piece of his mind, but wound up defendin’ himself from incomin’ hooligans with a blow-up baseball bat instead ).

b a c k g r o u n d. 

born as ferris feller in letum falls, oklahoma, 1930. his mother, greta feller, raised him and his little sister ( possible wc, if she’s been turned supernatural ? ) on her own. the story goes his father was stationed abroad in the military as a courier and died in a freak accident. there were photos of him ‘round the house, but really, those are just black and white photos of some random soldier his ma had written correspondence with as a volunteer letter writer during world war i. his real father was the local pastor. his mother started sleeping with him after he brought his suits in to be dry cleaned at her laundromat.

ferris took a natural liking to baseball, and distinguished himself as a standout batter early in elementary. his ma worked extra mending clothes in order to pay his little league dues, and soon little ferris was catapulted to local baseball success.

he never was the brightest tool in the shed. always quick with a comeback, but his faculties were always more geared toward the sport than mental acuity. he passed high school with the help of a tutor and very lenient teachers, who all wanted to see the first letum falls baseball star make to the big leagues.

and make it, he did. in 1948, ferris jumped on board with the new york yankees and made major league history with the team for over fifteen years.

but there was always this one gal throughout high school who couldn’t get the hint. she asked him to the sadie hawkins and he said yes out of pity, which he learned was a big mistake. this girl confessed her love for him at the end of their senior prom, ‘n ferris didn’t know what to say except no. that summer, stuff got weird. it started with small things. a beetle in his salad. worms in his burgers at the diner. and then he noticed the trend: it all happened when she was around, watchin’. she cornered him after a game in baltimore about two years after he started playin’ and demanded he propose to her, that she’d seen into the future and they were meant to be. ferris laughed in her face. and she said he’d rue the day. she said, you’ll get what’s comin’ to ya, feller, and then you won’t be so gosh darned smug.

ferris thought nothin’ of it, until the tenth year of his baseball career rolled around and he noticed his hits hadn’t changed. his records hadn’t budged anywhere but up. but... he was supposed to be pushin’ 33. his original teammates were talkin’ about retirement. developing some crow’s feet, some aches ‘n pains, some grays. yet there ferris was, as fresh-faced as when he joined.

and that’s when it hit him. that damn girl hexed him. and with the media talkin’ bout his miraculous youth, ferris knew he needed to step outta the limelight. but just retiring wasn’t an option –– they’d send reporters to monitor his post-game life. they’d see that he still looked the same. sounded the same. 

once again: not the sharpest tool in the shed. ferris ups and disappears in 1964. the media speculates kidnapping. murder. the search is on and ferris flees. ducks into the shadows. waits a few years livin’ quiet before he slinks on back to letum falls. 

it isn’t until near arrival in ‘66 he realizes he’s... he hasn’t got a plan. he parks the car he bought off the side of the road in delaware and racks his mind for a story. a name. anythin’.

brooks. it works. different letter, different sound. he buys himself a modest house near the outskirts of town ‘n gets his ducks in a row. doesn’t even blink at the idea of a surname, ‘til people start askin’. he’s gotta have a reason to be here. a story. people start sayin’ he looks familiar... and there’s his in: ferris feller’s son. came here in search of my pa, you seen him?  he’ll fake shock when folks say feller disappeared years ago. swallow his tears ‘n pay his vague condolences when they say his ma died of a heart attack in ‘64, after learnin’ about ferris’s disappearance. and he’ll... open a bakery. yeah. he’ll lie ‘n say his ma was a baker in baltimore, she met feller after a game ‘n he was the result. he’ll stay a while. open a bakery. bakery. baker. brooks baker. that’ll work.

so he opens the roll along. the town loves it. by 1970, he’s winnin’ awards with his sweets. but the baker’s disposition doesn’t match the confections’ flavor.

he’s bitter. crass. a dark cloud. you don’t walk into the roll along for a chat. but that doesn’t stop some from tryin’. behind that glare, there’s somethin’. behind those icy eyes, there’s a different story.

ask him if he knows baseball. he’ll say nah, never played a lick in my life. he misses it. god damn it, he misses the game.

he keeps facial hair to look around his age. although his age is loose –– he avoids numbers. avoids specifics. folks speculate he’s in his mid-20s and that’ll do. but if he ever shaved? he wouldn’t look a day over 22.

t h e     f a i r .

the roll along had its very own tent at the thanksgiving fair, and it was doin’ great business. brooks almost dropped a full tray of sweet rolls when chaos broke out. and then he saw the lady in orange and he just about lost his marbles. chucked the tray onto the nearest table. set off after her. but she disappeared ‘n then he had some hooligans on his hands, so he snatched the closest weapon –– a jumbo inflatable baseball bat and had at it. 

no glitz and glam. no heroics. he whacked those monsters upside the head with a useless bubble of hot air, sustained some deep slashes, ‘n then got the fuck outta there. locked himself in the bakery, slumped against the fridge, bloodied. cursed himself for bein’ here. cursed himself for not just dyin’ already.

the roll along was roped into hosting one of the pre-vigil gatherings. the mayor asked for 400 sweet rolls to honor the 400 fallen. brooks thought it was in poor taste but hey, can’t argue with asherby. he spent all night bakin’ the damned things in his blood-stained shirt.

c u r r e n t l y .

he can’t shake it. seein’ that woman. because that might be her. that might be the bitch who did this to him. the bitch who took everything by giving him it all.

so he’s stress bakin’. a lot. pawning it off on everyone and anyone. takin’ out his frustrations on unwitting customers.

people are askin’ more questions ‘bout where he’s from, but it’s been so long and he’s told so many white lies, it’s hard to keep his story straight. what’s it to you? is his go-to response, but that’s not sufficing any more.

c u r r e n t    c  o n  n e c t i o n s .

unlikely friends – duffy freely.  they’re an unlikely pair. but somehow, brooks’ bitterness doesn’t scare duffy off. and there’s somethin’ about this girl’s earnestness that’s got something akin to trust risin’ up in him. a friend. who’d have thunk.

smug flirty banter – cal caldwell.  the roll along supplies baked goods to letum skate, and ever since findin’ its owner hiding away in a closet from customers and coaxing him out with baked goods, brooks has developed... an intrigue ‘round cal. and, well. the guy’s a warlock. maybe he can help figure a way outta this fuckin’ curse.

w a n t e d    c o n n e c t i o n s .

younger sister.  she’d be pretty old now, but i imagine if this was filled, she’d have been turned supernatural in her 20s or 30s. growing up, brooks and his sister weren’t very close. brooks was always their mother’s priority because of baseball, and i imagine there was a lot of bitterness when he left town so quickly for the yankees. she’s likely around, and if they have interacted, it would be clipped and tense. dysfunctional as fuck. there’d be a lot of resentment about how their mother died. because, well... it’s his fuckin’ fault.

drinking buds.  two shots of vodka, glug glug glug !!   brooks is... well. definitely an alcoholic, among other things. he carries such a weight that it’s the only way he really knows how to dull it all. he’s bound to have a person or two for choice company in those need-to-drown-it-out moments.

bitter buds.  they don’t take one another’s shit. and in all other universes, maybe they’d be sworn enemies. but for some reason, these two wind up actually getting along.

someone haunt the shit out of him.  ghosts, i’m lookin’ at you.

unofficial baker’s aid.  alright so. brooks is all about flying solo. managing his own shit. but maybe this customer hangs around so often that they’ve become part of the process? taste testing, helping to get things out of the oven, dealing with customers when brooks is done with their shit, etc.

#othqintro #intro.

[siinful-blog]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GRANT WARD !!!

                                    how many people ??   the lives you’ve taken... it’s over, ward...

                    the pain on his shoulder---------caused by the bullets coulson lodged in his flesh---------burns ; there’s a throb on his jaw from the punches the older man has thrown his way ;  his lungs are almost  EMPTY of air after the shield director’s    k i c k    stole his breath away ; and in his head rings a voice that tells him to stay down, to fight against the    r e a s o n    why he crossed the portal and came to that planet in the first place ( it’s a desperate, hungry voice that whispers ‘ freedom,  i’m free... i’m finally liberated... ’ )  it’s a string of thoughts that strokes his consciousness, coaxing him not to fight it, to let it happen, and it’s coupled with the image he’s glimpsed while tumbling to the ground from coulson’s attack, the image of DANIELS walking towards the portal. and he knows, he feels ( a feeling that fights the    i n t r u s i v e    thoughts in his head ) that he cannot let daniels cross the portal.

                                                                 no, it’s not over...

                    his own head is a well of DESPERATE thoughts, fighting the hold the planet, the monster from the planet           ( daniels ?? )   has on his consciousness and it helps him ENDURE the pain that’s almost crippling him, it assists him in ignoring coulson’s presence in favor of the more important mission : he has to kill the monster, he has to kill hydra’s god. he has to destroy hydra’s purpose... for kara...

                    so he CRAWLS across the sea of sand hued blue by the skylight, making his way to the monster he wants to kill. he crawls on his stomach, head held up, brown eyes focused on the scene a few meters away from him even while he feels a TIGHT grip on his leg, pulling him back by the ankles. he keeps his eyes open, against the sting of the sand clinging to his lashes, and watches as an orange    b l a z e    engulfs daniels.

                    the sequence happens in fast succession. ( daniels falls, his body catching fire, the smell of burning flesh emanating from that general direction ) ; and the suggestive voice in his head mutes to silence. it happens as he feels another kick landing on his shoulder blade, pain shooting through his body, before he’s pulled on his back, FORCED once more to lay looking at the sky above.

                    coulson towers over him, the man’s vengeful face framed by an azure veil from grant’s vantage point on the ground, and the only care he spares is focused on searching his head for the voice of the monster, IT’s voice, seeking if it’s still there. he ponders on the weight he’s been holding on his shoulders the moment he stepped onto this side of the portal, and when he realizes that he can no longer FEEL the heavy weight of the hydra god’s presence, it’s RELIEF that drowns him. he waits for the voice in his head to    w a k e   , and when he feels nothing, REPRIEVE  numbs the pain. even while he lays unprotected, vulnerable on the ground, at the MERCY of his enemy. because there’s   nothing---------not even his own wellbeing---------is more    i m p o r t a n t    than the fact that he’s FINALLY claimed closure from hydra for  K A R A .

                                                              he’s finished... let’s go !!

                    the reassurance that the monster is GONE is enough to comfort him, it gives him the ( courage )  to look vengeance right in the eyes and NOT feel fear even as he senses his energy seeping out of him. the knowledge that the monster hydra worships, the very reason for its creation, is DEAD brings him peace even as he feels coulson’s palm press on his chest. in his head plays a string of thoughts, and they all ring of the SAME message...

                               hydra’s dead, kara. it’s gone. we finally destroyed what it                                       was created for. like they did with you... we won...

                    it’s VICTORY that he tastes on his tongue, even when the air begins leaving his chest. there’s no FEAR, no regret whatsoever, despite the way his face twists in pain and grunts of    s t r u g g l e     squeeze out of his throat as coulson crushes his chest under his palm. he should be fighting, he should be pushing the man off of him, ADRENALINE should have been urging him to save himself, but his mind is at PEACE. after spending so long in turmoil following kara’s death, he’s finally served his PURPOSE. after over a year of efforts, kara’s closure is finally claimed from the organization that erased the promise she chose to serve. and in that sense, there’s only one thing left, only one more phase to complete the process, one final source to complete kara’s closure---------h i m .

          the weight on his chest becomes heavier, heavy enough that he feels his lungs struggling for air, and in the middle of it, all he can think about is...

                is this how you felt, baby, when your lungs were filling with blood because of me ??

                             is this how you felt, baby, when you were dying because of me ??

          and he remembers the words he’s spoken before, words he now speaks in his mind, message to the departed soul that’s been his reason to live this entire time.

                                         it isn’t quite the same as, say... holding the woman you love in                                       your arms while she breathes her last breath... but, hey, it’s the                                                       best i could do on such short notice.

                                   it isn’t the same as watching the life bleed out of me,                                   kara, and i’m sorry for that, but... it’s the best i could                                                       do on such short notice...

          he lays there, welcoming death with no battle, and there’s one thing CLEAR in his mind as he hears the sound of his own breaking ribs echo in his ears and the pain that comes with it shoot to all directions of his body, one VIVID thought as his chest finally CAVES in...

                          THIS IS NOT HIM BEING SO WEAK HE’S LETTING COULSON KILL HIM.                           THIS IS HIM BEING BRAVE ENOUGH TO ACCEPT THE FATE HE DESERVES,                            A FATE HE’S EARNED WHEN HE PULLED THE TRIGGER AND KILLED                                                             THE WOMAN HE LOVED.

                                                  THIS IS NOT HIM LETTING COULSON WIN.                                                    THIS IS HIM GIVING KARA HER CLOSURE.

                                           the life trickling out of him doesn’t mean his loss.

                                                          IT MEANS KARA’S VICTORY.

                               and after everything that’s happened,                      that’s the one thing he’s proud to know he has given.

#✖ ┊ ❛ ι'м α ѕυяνινσя ( αвσυт ) #✖ ┊ ❛ ι тαкє яєѕρσηѕιвιℓιту ƒσя му αcтισηѕ ( вαcкѕтσяу ) #✖ ┊ ❛ ραятѕ σƒ тнє мαcнιηє ( мєтα ) #( it's grant's birthday #so i wrote about his death #why am i like this?? #i do not know friends #but here take the angst i've been living with since i saw that episode ) #negativity tw #suicide tw #death tw