#Sif: it's OBVIOUS he's like this for *you* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

percheduphere · 5 months

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LET’S TALK ABOUT EXPLORING LOKI & MOBIUS THROUGH THE LENS OF QUEER EXPERIENCE

Thank you for this request, @nabananab

Before I dig into this juicy ask, I think it’s important to note (however obvious the fact maybe) that an individual’s unique engagement with art is an inherent and integral part of art. The intention of the artist and the sociopolitical influence of culture, while important in our interpretation of a work, are not the sole source of drawing the work’s meaning. We are all artists in one form or another. I consider myself one of the pen, and nothing is more important to me than art giving someone a sense of emotional connection. I should hope other artists would agree, and for this reason I am an ardent believer in art taking on a life of its own once it has been created. The creator’s word, while it matters to some degree, does not supersede an individual’s relationship with the creation. Our histories, our desires, our fears, our likes, our dislikes, indeed our infiniteness as fragile human beings, allow us to create an elevated, spiritual interpretation beyond the confines of original intent. With art, there is no such thing as “reaching” or “reading too deeply”.

I leave this message with all of you as we look at these beloved characters through the lens of queer experience.

LOKI

Culture influences what we see and hear, which in turn influences artistic portrayal. Setting aside Norse myth, Marvel’s Loki is a classic example of a queer-coded villain (later canonized as a queer antihero). Deception, daggers, sexual temptation, transformation, and magic are all culturally tied to the “immoral” facets of femininity. Just as a strong, independent woman untethered to the control of man is deemed a “wicked woman”, a man demonstrating gender ambiguity and like qualities is similarly judged. Only masculinity is viewed as pure and good, and this no doubt was—and continues to be—a key force in white, western colonization’s destructiveness. It all but crushed our rich global history of divine femininity, gender diversity, and romantic and sexual expression.

Asgard, as Marvel portrays it, is without a doubt a masculine-dominant warrior society. Only two women feature prominently: Queen Frigga and Lady Sif. Whereas Sif embraces her masculine qualities and fits in easily with Thor and the Warriors Three, Queen Frigga embraces her feminine powers, though her authority is submissive to the All-Father, Odin. Her influence is most heavily seen in her adopted son, Loki, with whom she shared and taught magic in hopes that Loki might “feel some sun on himself” despite the “long shadows [Thor] and [Odin]” cast. The magic that Frigga gifts Loki, however, attracts scorn. The subtext here is that Loki’s specialness, his individuality, comes from feminine powers despite presenting as a man, and a gender ambiguous one at that. Unlike Thor and Odin, he is not masculine. While strong, he does not exhibit Thor’s brute strength. He is cautious, thoughtful, another feminine quality, whereas Thor’s courageousness often veers toward foolhardy and brash.

Thus, if Loki cannot be loved and accepted as he is (a queer person of another race), he will force love and acceptance through the power of the throne. Kings oft inspire fear, coercing subjects to love them whether they wish to or not. But we know Loki never truly wanted the throne. The throne is a mere distraction from, perhaps even a poor replacement for, what he truly wants: genuine love and acceptance that cannot be bought. Unfortunately, Loki believes he will never get these things, which is why, when Mobius questions him, Loki’s desire for control (Loki, King of the Midgard; Loki, King of the Nine Realms; Loki, King of Space) can never be satiated. Mobius challenges Loki for the exact purpose of revealing this to him. What do you really want? At this point, Loki does not have the words to form an answer. In S2E5, Syvlie raises the question Mobius originally asked in S1E1. It is then, after experiencing Mobius’s friendship and the other relationships that come to being as a result (including Sylvie’s), that Loki can articulate his answer.

Loki’s othering, even before the discovery of his true identity as a Jotun (an allegory for a villainized foreign race), creates a lonely environment in which Loki’s potential for goodness is quashed by centuries of resentment, bitterness, and jealousy. His attempts at masculinity take the form of violence, all of which are, as Loki admits in S1E1, “part of the illusion; the cruel elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear.”

Loneliness and the desire for love and acceptance are a universal human experience, but they are felt far more acutely within our intersectional queer communities.

MOBIUS

His fascination with Loki is compelling because there are many things we can infer about its reasons. The first, most obvious explanation is Mobius’s “soft spot for broken things”, which is in some ways tied to his qualities as a compassionate, forgiving, and supportive father. A secondary explanation is a wish for partnership. We know from S1 that Mobius’s friendship with Ravonna spanned eons. We later learn in S2E6 that he and Ravonna started out as peers, hunters. They were partners on the field, but where Mobius “failed” because of his humanity, Ravonna “advanced” because of her ruthlessness. This change in relational dynamics left him partner-less. Finally, a third, less obvious reason is Mobius’s desire to express himself in ways Loki does so effortlessly. That desire may come from the suppression and repression of his own softspoken queerness in order to survive the fascist culture of the TVA.

Mobius is captivating for many reasons. Whereas Loki is a textbook example of culture viewing “queerness as evil”, “queerness as flamboyance”, “queerness as stylishness”, “queerness as loudness”, “queerness as sexual promiscuity and deviance”, “queerness as chaos”, Mobius very much aligns with the image of a straight-passing, repressed queer individual. This is an identity that does not get as much attention or presence in artistic media as it deserves, for there are many who need this representation to reflect them. He is not stereotypically queer by any means: he is not colorful. He is not stylish, flamboyant, or loud. His sex appeal primarily derives from the viewers’ attraction to his personality, though it certainly helps that Owen Wilson is quite handsome.

Combine these three reasons, and it becomes easy to see how a character (or person!) like Mobius might fall in love with a character (or person!) like Loki.

There is a certain amount of beautiful irony in how Loki and Mobius affect one another and consequently their identities. Mobius, feeling compassion toward an individual who has been brutally othered and oppressed, seeks to free Loki from the confines of his narrative, as determined by the “Time Keepers”. The only feasible way to do this is to bring a variant of Loki out of the timeline and into the TVA. Mobius then provides Loki with the opportunity to change by: acknowledging Loki’s strengths, giving Loki the chance to use his strengths in productive ways, praising Loki when he does well, listening to Loki, believing in Loki, calling out Loki, and accepting Loki as he is, with all his history, without judgement. Mobius does not try to force change like Thor or Odin. Rather, he creates an environment in which change could happen naturally. This kindness and, indeed, what becomes unconditional love by the end of S1E4, allows Loki to embrace his authentic queerness with self-love and use his feminine powers for altruism rather than masking them with self-hatred and masculine rage.

FREEING LOKI

In S1E1, Mobius is enthralled with Loki’s hijinks as the handsome, charming, devil-may-care, D.B. Cooper. This minor escapade in Loki’s life, which was likely only intended for laughs by the writer, reveals something interesting about Mobius: Loki’s mischievousness, his magic, his cunning, are all quite endearing to him when no real harm is being inflicted. That is, Loki, when not under duress, is someone to be admired when he’s being himself. We admire in people what we wish we had in ourselves, and this, at times, may lead to powerful attraction.

Loki, for his part, does much the same for Mobius. The environment (the TVA) which allowed Loki to thrive is also the same environment that has abused and constrained Mobius.

The heat that Ravonna presses upon Mobius, however, changes his tone with Loki himself. When Loki asks Mobius why he “[sticks] his neck out for [him]”, Mobius provides Loki with two options to choose from: “A. He sees a scared little boy shivering in the cold, or B. He will say whatever he needs to say to get the job done”. Option A, while insulting, has compassion layered beneath the barb. Loki, an expert at cloaking truth with meanness, sees through this and indirectly chooses what he believes to be true in the cafeteria scene: that Mobius feels sympathy for Loki’s painful childhood. The subtext of this acknowledgement is that the true means to the end is reversed: Mobius doesn’t need Loki to catch the Variant on the timelines. Mobius needs the Variant to free Loki from the timelines. The Variant is an excuse and another agent of poetic irony: when Sylvie unleashes the multiverse, she literally frees Loki of his predetermined narrative.

The conceit of S1E1 is that Mobius intends to use Loki for the “good” of the Sacred Timeline. It is important to remember that characters, while not real, are meant to mirror human complexity. Multiple, seemingly conflicting things may be true concurrently. In S1E2, we see in Mobius’s conversations with Ravonna that he deeply believes in Loki’a capacity to be a wonderful person and wants him to have the opportunity to change. His enthusiasm for these things outshines his desire to catch Sylvie.

And, because the Variant is Loki, because Sylvie is Loki, because, as she says, “[they] are the same”, Mobius’s own freeing of Loki, his unconditional love for him, cascades from Loki to Sylvie. Sylvie would not be free to live as she pleases if not for Mobius’s compassion for Loki in the first place.

In S1E4, Loki reveals the TVA’s sham. Mobius’s sense of self becomes fragile alongside his sense of partnership with Loki. But because of our sociopolitical culture’s influence on capitalism, the creative voices of the Loki series self-censures what could be (what is) a queer romance. This self-censureship makes itself known in Mobius’s own self-censureship. His jealousy and heartbreak cannot be spoken directly. It must be spoken through the words of a woman, someone who presents as the opposite sex. Through a looping memory of a scornful Sif telling Loki, “You are alone and always will be”, Mobius makes known the nature of his feelings for him.

BUT WHO WILL FREE MOBIUS?

In the same cafeteria scene in S1E2, Loki asks Mobius if he’s ever ridden a jet ski. Mobius’s response is demure, saying him riding one would “cause a branch for sure”. The jet ski gives the audience another clue as to what Mobius seeks in life: something fun, thrilling, and reckless. Yet Mobius sets aside his desires for what he believes is for the good of the TVA, and thus humanity. This suppression and repression of authentic selfhood mirrors the queer experience of living within a heteronormative culture, especially one with religious doctrines that equate pleasure with sinfulness.

Because Mobius extended his heart, his partnership, his love (symbolized by twin daggers hidden in his locker [a closet]; notably a male phallic symbol of which there are a pair [partners]) and was soundly rejected, Mobius retaliates with the loneliness he himself feels. This loneliness may be interpreted as an allegory for the loneliness of being closeted as opposed to the loneliness of being out but othered.

Ultimately, Mobius’s love for Loki shifts from selfish desire to unconditional love when he chooses to help Loki save Sylvie. In S1E5, it is conspicuous that after delivering Sylvie safely to Loki’s side, Mobius’s partings words are, “Guess you got away again”, to which Loki replies, “I always do”, which echos the lover’s trope of “the one that got away”.

[It drives me absolutely bananas that I can't find the specific gif I need when I literally saw it multiple times earlier this week but didn't need it THEN]

Owen’s acting choice is interesting here. He laughs, smiles, then looks down before looking up again, his eyes shifting from fondness to what feels like longing. Mobius extends his hand, a sensible choice for someone who believes his love is unrequited and is unsure of how Loki defines their relationship. Loki, appreciating what Mobius has done for him, closes the distance with an embrace and thanks Mobius for his friendship.

In S2E1, upon Loki’s time-slipping into the war room, whatever apprehensions Mobius had about physical contact was wiped away by the collapse of the TVA and the memory of Loki’s hug. In this scene, it becomes clear to Mobius that Loki is panicking. He makes the executive decision to use his physical contact as a grounding force, relocates Loki to a quiet environment, asks after Sylvie with no bitterness in his voice, then prioritizes Loki’s physical well-being. Perhaps, in Mobius’s view, his love is unrequited, but there is nothing in place to stop him from expressing that love more freely while honoring Loki’s feelings for Sylvie. This regard, which may be construed as platonic, may also be viewed romantic, courtly love.

The fight between Loki and Sylvie in S1E6 sets the stage for Mobius to receive Loki and become a refuge for heartbreak.

S2E2 and S2E3 has Loki’s and Mobius’s temperaments when it comes to investigating flipped. In S1, Mobius was focused on the mission and often had to reign in Loki. In S2, Mobius is more casual, more willing to take his time and enjoy the sleuthing as it unfolds, while Loki administers pressure to stay focused. The question is why?

In S2E2, Brad attacks Mobius’s sense of self. He points out how weird it is that Mobius is not at all curious about looking at his timeline and stresses that the TVA, and everything in it, isn’t real. Brad calls into question Mobius’s reason for staying. Knowing that the answer is Loki, we can surmise through the queer lens that Brad also corners Mobius into potentially outing himself in front of the object of his affections, someone he believes does not return his feelings, and whose knowledge of those feelings may threaten their friendship. This is a traumatic experience for queer people in the real world, and this extra layer of emotional conflict adds depth to Mobius’s violent response.

Mobius influenced Loki in a myriad of ways. One that has not been discussed yet is an appreciation for focus and order. Loki, in turn, has cracked the door open for Mobius to explore pleasure. We can speculate that, in his own way, Mobius is testing what happiness could look like living a life between the TVA and the timelines. For him, this means cocktails at the theater, cracker jacks, and exploring the World’s Fair, all of which are pleasurable on their own but are even more so with Loki’s company. His queerness, once again, is quiet, mundane, but playful in its own right, and finally brave enough to explore. These scenes suggest that Mobius is indeed happy at the TVA and, as we see in the finale, this happiness is solely rooted in his relationship with Loki and the emotional intimacy they share together.

Loki expresses concern for Mobius, noting that he has “never seen him like that before.” Mobius, interestingly, deflects every concern by absurdly blaming Loki: “He got under your skin”, “I was following you!” The psychological undercurrent here is that Loki is the reason why Brad got under Mobius skin. Loki is the person that Mobius will follow.

Loki takes Mobius’s distress in stride, responding in a way the Mobius normally would. However, Brad’s question piques his interest, and his own care for Mobius prompts him to gently challenge Mobius’s lack of interest in his own timeline. Mobius’s reason for avoidance is, “What if it’s something good?”

In S2E5, it’s interesting that “good” in this narrative is defined as a heteronormative fantasy of a house, two kids, and (possibly) a puppy and a snake. The “good” in Mobius’s original timeline, however, is imperfect. There is a partner that is missing (partners being a recurring theme in the series, particularly in S2E3), pronounced gone not once but twice. The entire scene between Don and Loki has been discussed at length by many, so there’s no need to reiterate it here. However, let’s bring our attention to Mobius’s avoidance of this “good” because this avoidance resonates with another queer experience.

The TVA, for Mobius, is the place where he studied, saved, and developed a close relationship with Loki. The fear of the “something good” is the fear of being confronted with something Mobius “should” want more than the TVA, and therefore “should” want more Loki. The fear is wanting something (or feeling pressured to want something) other than a queer relationship with no children. The question of “choice” is impacted by what is considered the “norm”.

S2E5 very pointedly focuses on the concern of choice, especially Mobius’s choice, in the bar scene between Loki and Sylvie. “Mobius should get a choice now, no?” At this point, Loki’s regard for Mobius has finally caught up with the romantic nature of Mobius’s feelings for him. And Loki, living his own queer experience, is also afraid of his true desires like Mobius. In being part of the intersectional queer community, the psychological need to guard against disappointment is high and commonplace. Desires are easily disappointed by the expectations of oppressive social mores. This survival tactic manifests itself with our hope and heartbreak with mainstream media, Loki the series being among them.

But Sylvie, the harbinger of true and absolute freedom, takes on the role of supportive ex and challenges Loki to answer Mobius’s question in S1E1: “What do you want?”

In this, Mobius and Loki’s individual relationships with the TVA are identical. It was never about where (the TVA), when (time works differently at the TVA), or why (the timelines). It was about who. It was about each other. The TVA represents a liminal space which became home by virtue of the people who brought love into it. The TVA is code for Loki and Mobius when each speaks of it.

Again, the artists behind the media must self-censure. In this, Loki also self-censures while giving the truth. “I don’t want to be alone. I want my friends back.” It cannot be denied that Mobius is Loki’s first truest and closest friend. “I don’t want to be alone. I want Mobius back.” Sylvie appreciates and validates this desire, but also points out that showing the TVA is something that cannot be unseen. The implication of this response suggests that Sylvie believes that Loki’s friends will feel compelled to join the TVA out of moral pressure. She reiterates the true lives that are being lived, and Loki, loving his friends, loving Mobius, elects to not take that away from them. “You are just fine without the TVA.”

Yet, Loki must choose an act of profound selfless love to save everyone. In doing so, he saves and frees Mobius in the way Mobius saved and freed him. The tragedy and, once again, poetic irony is that they both would have chosen each other. In giving everyone freedom, the true freedom of Loki and Mobius is sacrificed. This double-standard reflects in our reality between those who identify as cis and heterosexual and those who do not.

When Mobius looks at his timeline in S2E6, he does so for one reason: that timeline survived because of Loki’s sacrifice. He must honor that sacrifice and see what Loki protected. Mobius appreciates what he finds, but he doesn’t belong there. It is not what he ultimately longs for. And there must be worry, shame, in recognizing he would prefer to give up the house and two children if a life with Loki were a viable choice.

We all experience loss in our lives. Loss without a goodbye is also commonplace but is another pain that is more acute within the intersectional queer community. I speak of missed opportunities for happiness due to external forces. I speak of loss of self. I speak of loss of friends and family and home. I speak of death, losing a loved one without a goodbye, because same-sex lovers are not considered next of kin, an impossibility without marriage. Marriage echoes back to Don, who has no spouse, and Mobius, who has no partner.

#asks #loki #mobius #lokius #loki season 2 #loki series #loki meta #my meta #loki analysis #my analysis #queer community #queer #queer representation #queer relationships #lgbt representation #lgbtq community #lgbtqia

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sarahscribbles · 1 year

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𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐚'𝐬 𝐘𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨…𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖.𝟒𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝟏𝟐 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The cut crystal glass in your hand was already half drained, but the deep burgundy liquid inside was still as warm as when you had picked it up and felt like Valhalla clasped between chilled fingertips. Obstinately - and foolishly you would now admit - you had ignored your mother’s advice to wear the soft satin gloves that perfectly complimented your gown, wishing to show off to anyone who looked in your direction the large ruby ring that your uncle had gifted you for Yule. It was a thing of beauty - a single large square stone set in three diamonds progressing in size on each side - but the frigid Ylir air had wrapped around your fingers like the hand of Hel herself when you had stepped from your carriage, almost instantly making you curse your vanity.

In your mother’s own words, your vanity would be your downfall.

It wasn’t as though you were hoping to catch the attention of a future husband - much to your mother’s neverending chagrin - but you did enjoy the envious glances that were thrown your way when you accessorised your finery with exquisite jewellery. Tonight was no different, and you had already lost count of the number of green eyed stares you had been on the receiving end of. Mixed with the roaring fire spitting and crackling behind you and the excellent food from the palace kitchens, it made throwing yourself on the mercy of the Asgardian winter worthwhile.

You took another small sip of wine, savouring the subtly sweet taste, and casually glanced around the Great Hall of the Royal Palace. The music had been playing ever since you had first arrived, but only a handful of couples were drifting around the dancefloor. Towering above them all, big and blonde and looking every inch the Crown Prince, was Thor. He held Sif in his arms and was moving completely out of time with the music, not that Sif even seemed to notice. She was looking at Thor with such affection - affection that was clearly obvious even with the vivid red mask concealing most of her face - that you couldn’t stop a genuine smile from crossing your own. Feeling the weight of your gaze, Thor eventually glanced up in your direction, breaking into a grin and waving at you over the heads of those around him. You raised a hand in silent greeting but made no move to cross the floor to them. Sif had been waiting for this night since Samhain. You weren’t about to ruin even a second of it for her.

More couples steadily began to fill the large, open space of the floor - you even caught sight of Odin leading Frigga in a dance - and your feet were itching to join them, though you were also loathe to leave the comforting warmth of the roaring fire in the grate behind you. The chill from the carriage ride from the North District to the palace still hadn’t fully melted from your bones, but you would allow yourself only a further five minutes by the flames. After all, you hadn’t spent a small fortune on your gown to spend the night in the shadows.

The glass in your hand now only contained the final dregs of wine and you glanced around the Hall for a passing servant, eager to free your hands for a night of dancing. With the crowd now thick with guests as the lesser nobility had filtered in, it was near impossible to catch sight of the dark brown uniforms of the palace staff, though even over the joyous melody of the music and the gentle murmur of the crowd one voice drifted easily and smoothly over it all.

“I specifically instructed the guards not to let any riff raff through the doors tonight.”

Loki.

Still with your back to him, you rolled your eyes. “This was clearly after you bribed your way in then?” you said, turning to give him a lazy glance. “Did they even recognise you outside Thor’s shadow?”

You saw his lip twitch beneath the deep black silk of his mask and bit back a smirk. “I could ask the same of you. How did you manage to get in tonight without your father? You’re so irrelevant I sincerely doubt anyone in this room knows who you are without the Duke.”

It was a barb meant to cut, but it only had you laugh softly into your glass. You didn’t care for fame or notoriety, didn’t care that no one in Asgard outside the nobility likely knew your name. Your father was the Duke, the one who sat on Odin’s security council and was likely up to his eyes in the blood of innocents. You couldn’t care less if people didn’t make the connection between you and him. In fact, you almost welcomed it.

“Perhaps I prefer it that way. Not all of us crave the attention of strangers because daddy doesn’t love us.” You took a final sip of your wine, turning your eyes from him and back to the crowd gathered in front of you.

You swore you heard him hiss quietly through his teeth, but otherwise, he remained silent. There was little more than a foot between you both - the soft scent of cedarwood and patchouli filled your senses with every inhale - and you despised how your heart skipped at realising just how little space separated you from him. All you really had to do was reach out your fingers…

But you didn’t. Because it was Loki. He was your lifelong annoyance.

And your greatest love.

A man in brown uniform drifted past and you set your glass firmly on the tray he held aloft, eagerly scanning the crowd for the first person who would ask for your hand, something that Loki’s keen eyes didn’t miss.

“Perhaps you would like to dance?” he asked. Behind the heavy sarcasm you almost swore you heard a genuine question.

You cocked one eyebrow at him. “With you?” you replied, and adopted the sweetest smile you could. “I’d rather be Odin’s groom of the stool.”

“We are feeling rather feisty tonight,” he replied instantly, a bite beginning to creep into his voice.

“I blame it on the company I’m being forced to keep,” you shot back. Across the way, you caught the eye of some minor noble - all blonde and big muscle and so completely not your type - but you smiled coyly at him in invitation. He quickly began to weave through the crowd and you turned to Loki with a smug little grin. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend some time with someone who doesn’t turn my stomach.”

You didn’t pause to see his reaction, but let the man sweep you into his embrace and only half listened as he introduced himself as Frode. Up close, you realised that he wasn’t as handsome as you had first believed. Even with the mask, you noticed the deep, jagged scar that ran down his right cheek and when he smiled, you saw that he was missing a tooth.

“A beautiful gown, my lady,” Frode commented, his voice rough and gravelly. You bristled when his eyes lingered a little too long on your cleavage.

His hand was large and clammy in yours and you fought the urge to grimace as he clutched you. He didn’t possess the refined elegance you knew Loki would have shown if he had been the one turning you around the floor. A glance over Frode’s large shoulder showed Loki still with his eyes locked on you both, so you gave the man your most winning smile.

“It suits the season! And compliments your own outfit perfectly!” you added, tracing a hand along his muscular upper arm while keeping Loki pinned in the corner of your eye.

He still hovered along the edge of the floor, eyes glued to you and Frode, but standing a little more rigidly than when you had left him. You may have been able to convince yourself that he actually cared, but when Frode twirled you around in his direction again, Loki was nowhere to be seen.

Desperately, you tried to ignore the pang of disappointment that echoed in your chest.

Frode continued moving you both haphazardly around the floor, colliding with a few other guests and talking about the Norns knew what. You laughed when you needed to but otherwise failed to listen to a single word he said. You were too focused on trying to locate Loki in a sea full of guests. A difficult task given how he could master the art of being invisible in a crowd until he wanted to be seen.

You were only half listening as Frode’s rough voice continued to drone on relentlessly. He could have been warning you about an imminent invasion from Midgard, or telling you of his perverted fantasies involving the Dark Elves, but you only gave him a simpering little laugh whenever there was a pause in the conversation. The man likely thought you were simple but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You wanted nothing more than for the song to end so you could escape. Hel, you’d dance with Odin himself if it meant you could be free from Frode’s clammy grip and the stench of ale that seemed to permeate from his every pore.

How had this seemed like a good idea?

“The younger prince is headed this way,” Frode suddenly growled, his blue eyes growing dark while he tightened his grip on your hand. You fought the urge to yank it from his grip. “If I were Odin I’d cast the little runt out. What use is he to the Court?”

The ghost of a smirk that appeared on his face indicated that he was waiting for you to agree or simply laugh at his remark, so it was entirely unexpected when the sole of your foot landed roughly on the tip of his boot. He abruptly relinquished his hold on you and his deep groan of pain caused a passing couple to look on in alarm.

“My apologies, my lord!” you cried out, biting back a smile at the deep grimace of pain he still wore. “I do get very clumsy after a few glasses of wine! Are you well?”

A quiet rumble of laughter from behind told you Loki was now at your back and you ignored how inwardly pleased you were that he had seen the whole spectacle.

“Perfectly!” Frode replied, sounding somewhat strained as he righted himself.

The music had come to a sweeping end and he looked to you in silent expectation that you would join him for another dance, but Loki quickly interjected before he had the opportunity to speak.

“You should rest, Bjørson. That looked like it hurt,” he said smoothly, and you saw Frode’s cheeks grow slightly pink.

“I’m fine, Your Highness,” he practically spat out the words.

Loki hummed and outwardly looked completely unfazed, but his cool fingers wrapped around the bend of your elbow and sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. “Perhaps, but the lady promised her next dance to me,” he said quietly, the words sounding vaguely like a threat.

“I did no such thing!” Instantly, you rounded on him, but for the life of you you didn’t know why. You’d sooner dance with anyone than return to Frode.

Loki looked at you the way one would look at a child that’s said something mildly amusing. “Poor thing.” He clucked his tongue. “You’ve had so much to drink already that you can’t remember. Unsurprising, really, when daddy isn’t here to keep watch over you,” he taunted.

Your cheeks were burning and you wanted nothing more than to rip his beautiful head from his shoulders, but you still let him lead you easily to the middle of the floor as the music began to play again. From the corner of your vision, you saw Frode stalk off towards the barrels of ale, begrudgingly accepting that he had been outranked.

Loki’s grip on your elbow was firm and unyielding as he lead you further into the crowd, but you found that you didn’t want to give up the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how furiously the anger was bubbling inside you. “At least my father trusts me to socialise alone!” you snapped at him when he suddenly stopped. “Tell me, my prince, who has been charged with babysitting you tonight?”

He didn’t bother to answer, only swung you into his arms so that you were pressed snug against his chest. “The brute looked like he wish to devour you. I should make you thank me for rescuing you,” he said, splaying his fingers possessively along your back and gripping your hand tightly in his.

You hated how you noticed every little detail about him. How he was holding you so tightly against him that you could feel the rigid planes of his stomach beneath his tunic and how it pressed into you with every breath he took. You noticed the shift of his shoulder blades beneath your fingers and how his eyes were the same shade of green as your favourite blanket draped across your bed. He was so solid and strong and fingers curled around yours so perfectly…

But you couldn’t think about that. He was your lifelong annoyance.

“You won’t make me do anything,” you said sweetly as he turned you effortlessly around the floor. For a brief second, you were caught up in how perfectly his emerald green evening wear complemented your golden gown as it swirled around his feet, caught up in how perfect the two of you must no doubt look to anyone who may look your way.

It was a shame, almost, that you were what you were.

Loki’s lips twitched at your comment and his eyes darkened over as they held yours. A pleasant tingle thrummed between your thighs. “That sounds like a challenge, darling,” he purred, pulling you even tighter against him. He rested his cheek against your temple until his lips were grazing your ear. “And I do love a challenge.”

Your hand twitched only a fraction in his, but you knew Loki would catch a movement even that tiny. You prayed he hadn’t caught the sharp intake of breath or could feel the frantic pounding of your heart with how tightly you were pressed against him. He couldn’t know how his words only fanned the ferocious flame that was flickering between your thighs, or how badly you wanted him to press you against the nearest hard surface and have his way with you.

You loathed him, yet you wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against yours.

“You’ll have to find someone else to challenge, my prince. I have no interest in second sons,” you replied, sounding steadier than you felt and desperately trying to ignore the feel of his firm thighs moving against yours.

How would they look kneeling between your spread legs? How would they feel beneath you as you straddled him?

Loki twirled you firmly around the floor, cocooning your legs in a twist of gold and making you briefly dizzy. “Is that so?” he purred. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I sought my pleasure in one of the lovely ladies or gentlemen here tonight.”

Something twisted sharply in your gut, something that felt alarmingly like jealousy, but you refused to acknowledge it. You knew he’d had many partners - likely as many as you - but you had never before been so consumed with envy at those who had been his lovers, who had seen him in the throes of passion and had felt his hands wander over their skin.

You refused to let it rise to the surface and kept your features as blissfully unaffected as possible. “Be my guest,” you replied simply, throwing a glance around the hall to signify just how much you didn’t care. “Lady Kari looks particularly beautiful tonight. Why don’t you carry her off to your dungeon?”

His lips twisted in a smirk and you knew he had caught the slight bite to your words. “Careful, darling. It’s beginning to sound like you would like me to carry you off,” he replied, his voice dripping with such smug self-assuredness that you wanted nothing more than to slap his perfect cheek.

Despite how much you absolutely didn’t want it, you allowed yourself the brief luxury of imagining what it would be like to be hoisted into his strong arms and flung upon his bed. How it would feel to have his lips claim every part of you, his hot breath fanning over your bare skin, the sound of his moans filling the quiet of the chamber…

But you didn’t want it.

“I’d rather Frode take me in one of the servant's passageways. I’d rather one of the servants themselves take me in the passageways. You’re at the bottom of a very long list, my prince,” you threw back haughtily.

Loki didn’t even blink. “As are you, darling,” he replied smoothly. The hand resting on your back pressed you closer, though there was barely a breath of space remaining between you both.

You caught the familiar, musky scent of him with each inhale and resisted the temptation to bury your face in his chest and breathe him in. You could feel the silky strands of his hair brushing across the back of your hand and wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in it. Briefly, you wondered if he enjoyed having it tugged…

Desire was written clearly on your face, you knew, and you were suddenly thanking Valhalla for the golden mask that partially shielded you from view. It gave you the chance to study him, but even behind the half covering of silk his face remained as passive as ever, though when the music once again began to come to an end, you didn’t fail to notice how his hand remained firmly against your back.

“Good,” you said primly. “Then we understand each other.”

The smile he gave you in return was nothing short of wolfish and emerald eyes narrowed behind black obsidian. “Oh, I believe we understand each other perfectly,” he murmured, holding your gaze as the music ended and he brought your hand to his lips.

It was an act of chivalry you would have expected of any gentleman you danced with tonight, but with Loki it felt strangely intimate, as though he were showing you a part of himself that he kept firmly locked away. His lips lingered just long enough for you to appreciate how warm and soft they were against your skin, long enough for you to imagine how they might feel elsewhere, and then, without another word, he left your side to melt easily into the crowd of guests. Like a shadow in the dead of night, he quickly disappeared, leaving you with a thundering heartbeat and an ever increasing tingling between your thighs.

How desperately you loathed him.

Before you had the chance to begin scanning the crowd in search of him you were quickly pulled into another dance. He was a great hulk of a man with muscles to rival Thor’s and, you would admit, he was attractive, even behind the royal blue mask that concealed half of his face.

“Hagen, my lady,” he introduced himself with a broad smile that revealed perfectly straight white teeth.

You smiled in acknowledgment, told him your name, and only half listened as he chattered on, your attention firmly on locating Loki. It was no easy feat given the sea of people who were twirling around the hall, and only made that much harder with the addition of decorative masks, but you finally did catch sight of him through an eventual parting of the crowd. He was also dancing again, only this time his partner was a vapid little thing who didn’t appear to have a single thought behind her eyes.

A fresh surge of searing jealousy, sudden and entirely unexpected, swept through you like a winter storm. You didn’t even know her name or where in Asgard she hailed from, didn’t recall seeing her on any previous occasions, yet here she was gazing at Loki with big doe eyes that made you want to slap her childish little face.

Hagen hadn’t noticed your sudden distraction and continued twirling you around the Great Hall until it felt like you were inside a kaleidoscope, but you never once lost sight of Loki, pinning him with your gaze like a predator in the final moments of the hunt. When he felt your molten gaze burning into him, he glanced over the ornately decorated head of the girl in his arms, and, to your absolute fury, he winked.

It was as quick as the space between heartbeats and he was turning away again as though it had never happened, but already your blood had been set aflame. With renewed vigour you turned your attention back to Hagen, smiling and simpering like a fool and laughing at every comment like it were the funniest thing you had heard in centuries. His eyes lit up and he immediately began retelling a story of some battle he had been involved in decades ago.

“...and at the end of it all, I pushed the poor soul into a barrel of mead head first! He screamed like a pig caught in the mud until he realised it had been long drained by his own hand!” he finished a few minutes later, eagerly scanning your face for approval.

The laugh you forced was so loud and so obviously fake that a few couples twirling by gazed intently your way. You didn’t care. With Hagen so distracted by winning your approval, he hadn’t noticed how you had managed to manipulate his movements across the floor, having glided effortlessly through the crowd until you were within touching distance of Loki and the preened little poodle in his arms. He noticed you instantly, but you steadfastly ignored the smirk that flicked across the face and gave Hagen the full force of your attention.

Surprisingly, it worked.

The longer you ignored Loki the more he tried to catch your attention. Every expert twirl perfectly in time with the music had his half concealed face turn towards you, green eyes sparkling as he hoped to see you looking back at him. It was entertaining, almost, to watch him desperately seek the attention you refused to give him.

Hagen remained the sole focus of your attention as you waited, waited for the perfect moment to do what you had guided him half way across the Great Hall to do. Loki twirled around again until the girl in his arms faced you - though not without throwing another glance towards you to see if he finally had your attention - and when you got close enough, you subtly kicked a foot out from under your gown to catch her ankle, sending her stumbling forward until Loki caught her fall. She gave you a look of pure, unadulterated outrage, but you only smiled sweetly at her.

“Oh, I am sorry! I’ve lost my footing a little after that third glass of wine!” you called over your shoulder as Hagen continued to whisk you through the crowd, not missing the tiny grin growing on Loki’s lips.

With satisfaction casting a warm glow through your chest you let Hagen continue to twirl you around the floor until the music again began to slow. Over his broad shoulder, you caught sight of Loki, still with that dull little thing in his arms, and you grinned. Letting one hand slide suggestively down Hagen’s upper arm, you held Loki’s gaze while you whispered in his ear. All you had said was “I’d like to go outside,” but, coupled with a light laugh and Hagen’s hand dropping an inch lower on your back, it was enough to make Loki’s expression darken.

You saw the instant deep frown and set of his strong jaw, saw his brief apology to the girl he had been dancing with, and he was quickly striding across the hall with purpose. Something deep in your stomach twisted with excitement.

He was before you both in a matter of seconds, towering over Hagen and staring at the man with cold eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to impose, but I must steal the lady from you,” Loki said, his voice perfectly calm and collected.

Hagen’s fingers tightened around your waist and you fought the overwhelming urge to grin. You could feel him bristle, could feel the clouds of an almighty argument begin to darken the spiced air of the Great Hall as he stared Loki down. Even with half his face obscured behind a mask of black obsidian, you could read his intense displeasure in the set of his jaw and in the dangerous glint in his green eyes.

You turned to give your thanks to Hagen for his dance - a dance you had surprisingly enjoyed - but before the first syllable had even crossed your lips, Loki had twirled you out of his grip so swiftly that your skirts twisted around your ankles in a quiet whisper and you clamped a hand on his velvet clad arm in order to stay steady.

Or that’s what you told yourself.

Once righted, and with your hands tucked securely within the folds of your gown, you became very aware of the firm solidness of his chest against your shoulder, almost shivering at the feel of the soft material of his evening wear brushing enticingly against your exposed skin. It was a teasing reminder that all that separated you from him was tulle and velvet.

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

On your left, Hagen was making his irritation known, but his voice was nothing but a dull drone in the near distance, comparable to the incessant buzzing of a fly on a warm summer evening. Your focus had long since drifted from him, shifting solely to the feel of Loki’s curls ghosting gently against the base of your neck.

The familiar intoxicating scent of him - cedarwood and patchouli and something vaguely sweet - washed over you once more, so inviting that you wished you could drown in it.

His warm breath fanned against the skin below your ear, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. “With me, darling. Now.” The words were uttered so quietly, so dangerously in your ear that your heart sped up like a wild hare darting through a spring meadow. Resisting him would be pointless.

“Of course, my prince,” you replied sweetly, a thin layer of coyness wrapping around each word.

Without another word, he placed a firm, heavy hand on the curve of your waist, expertly weaving you both through the sea of colourfully clad guests. His imposing stature, coupled with the displeased scowl that not even his mask could hide, cleared an easy path through the hall until the vast mahogany doors leading to the balcony grew before you.

Perhaps it was the third glass of mead you’d knocked back not too long ago, or perhaps you were merely feeling playful at finally being cornered, but in the final few feet before the heavy wooden doors were right in front of you, you made a weak attempt to twist out of Loki’s firm grip. You were met with a firm curl of his fingers into the soft silk of your gown to keep you tight against his side, a silent promise that you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it.

His boots continued to hit the floor with rhythmic thuds, each step bringing you closer to the balcony doors and sending a shot of pure adrenaline shooting through your blood. You worked to keep up with him, taking two steps for each one of his, and when the double doors were right in front of you, you feared the purpose underlying Loki’s every step would have you both collide with them. At the very last minute a shimmer of vibrant emerald green, emanating from both everywhere and nowhere, pushed the magnificent double doors open, allowing Loki to guide you both through them without so much as a pause in his stride. His hand remained firmly on your back as he lead you onto the wide, open space of the sandstone balcony and when you shivered, it had nothing to do with the coolness of the night air.

The quiet thud of the doors sounded behind you and the sudden shift in the energy betrayed how Loki was using his magic again, though for what you had no idea. Slow, lazy steps carried you away from him, the quiet click of your heels against the smooth stone floor being the only sound filling the quiet as you reached the intricately carved stone of the balcony. Guests trickled around the gardens below, enjoying the seasonal display of flowers that Frigga had so lovingly cultivated and admiring the small orbs of light that floated just out of their reach, each one appearing like a snow flake that had been frozen mid fall. You would never not be captivated by the effort that the Allmother placed in making the palace look magical no matter what the occasion.

In your brief distraction admiring the grounds Loki still hadn’t spoken, and when you turned quickly to look at him, he was still standing silently by the double doors. His black mask was still on, but it didn’t obscure the glint of raw hunger shining in his eyes as they rested on you. You felt your heart speed up and swallowed thickly, practically vibrating with the anticipation of what you knew was about to come. Loki remained watching you, appearing to search for some small sign or signal.

Your silent, knowing grin was all it took.

Four large strides, silent as the night, brought him swiftly towards you. The black mask was ripped easily from his face before his strong arms were around you to pull you tight against his chest, his lips crashing down onto yours with such fierceness that it knocked the breath from your lungs. You returned it easily, parting your lips to meet his tongue with your own and tangling your hand blissfully into his black curls.

They were softer than you even imagined.

The kiss was deep and frantic, as though the whole world around you both was going up in flames and the last thing you both would ever do was taste each other. Without breaking away, Loki walked you backwards until you collided with the smooth stone, both arms tightening around you until you were all but crushed between the smooth surface of the balcony and his warm chest.

You were lost in him, lost to him. The feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him; it was everything you had imagined it would be and more.

The fingers of his right hand drifted from where they had been clasping the base of your neck to untie the silken ties of your mask, letting it fall away like smoke in the wind. He pressed you tighter against him and you moaned quietly against his lips. You felt him smile against your mouth, an innocent gesture that was quickly followed by a roll of his hips against yours, letting you feel just how badly he wanted you.

His lips left yours and you fought to contain a whine at the sudden absence of him. “Touch me,” he murmured between shallow pants, resting his forehead against yours.

“I am touching you,” you replied, bringing a hand to rest against his cheek, You knew what he was asking, of course, but you kept your hand firmly on his cheek.

Loki lifted his forehead from yours and you could see the fire blazing in his green eyes, a burning, searing flame of desire for you. He pulled your hand from his cheek and guided it down to rest on the prominent bulge in his leather trousers.

“Touch me,” he repeated softly.

You twisted your free hand into his hair, using it as leverage to guide him back to your lips. With the other, you teasingly stroked the outline of his cock, palming him firmly while his lips continued claiming yours. He groaned deeply into your mouth, sending a flutter between your thighs, and pulled back from your kiss once again.

“Your hand feels so much better than my own, darling,” he half moaned into the darkness.

“Oh?” You smirked and pulled your hand back. “Then maybe I should make you beg for it.”

Something in his eyes darkened and he curled two fingers under your chin to hold your gaze. “Darling, I can assure you that I won’t be the one begging tonight.”

The confidence of his words, the suggestion dripping like honey from every syllable, sent a rush of heat surging through you. Your gaze dropped to his lips, kiss swollen and stained a faint crimson red from your lipstick. It was barely noticeable under the pale moonlight, but it still made something in your stir, as though that delicate sheen of red was your mark on him.

A warning to everyone else that he was yours.

Your fingers still resting at the base of his neck curled into his soft skin, sharp nails scratching him gently and sending a slight shiver down his spine. “Kiss me again,” you said, not caring about the faint rasp that now edged your words.

Loki laughed quiet and low, the sound a soft rumble in the quiet of the night. “An excellent start,” he purred, not giving you a second to even glare at him before his lips were back on yours, kissing you just as frantically as before. It was as though that first kiss had shown him what he had been missing and now he wouldn’t be sated until he tasted every inch of you.

You welcomed the warm force of his mouth against yours once more, locking your arms around his neck while your hands scrambled for purchase on the rich velvet of his tunic. You couldn’t get close enough. The force of his renewed assault made your back hit the smooth curved stone of the balcony so hard that for a second you were briefly bent over it. While your hands were tangling in his hair - and you were delighting in the quiet growl of appreciation that came from your experimental tug - his were frantically bunching the golden skirts of your gown around your hips, all the while still kissing you like you were his only source of oxygen.

The cool night air wrapped instantly around your bare legs but did nothing to ease the searing burn of arousal pulsing in your core. Loki’s fingers trailed over your thighs and you whined into his mouth, the barest hint of his touch lighting tiny fires beneath your skin and making you crave him like rain in a drought. One strong hand rested against your stomach to secure layers of golden tulle out of his way while the other dipped between your thighs to run a finger firmly over your cunt through the thin layer of your underwear. You rocked your hips against it, already desperately seeking more, and he gently nipped your bottom lip.

“Something wrong, pet?” he asked, pulling back from your kiss but still running his finger tormentingly along the length of your cunt.

It was such a simple action, but you felt the sharp tendrils of pleasure right down to your knees. It wasn’t enough. “Need more,” you said, still attempting to grind down against his finger.

“Oh?” Loki replied, cocking one perfect eyebrow at you. You felt him slide his finger to the side of your underwear, using it to pull them aside and run it lightly through your slick folds. “Is this enough?”

It felt good, it felt almost blindingly good, but it wasn’t enough. You needed his cock, needed him to fill you to the brim and fuck you so hard that you felt it for days. You needed to feel him spill inside you and claim you completely as his.

Because you were.

You had always been his.

“No,” you breathed out, fingers digging firmly into the back of his neck in an effort to ground yourself. The other rested low on his hip, slowly snaking around to cup his ass through the soft black material.

You heard his quick intake of breath and saw the exact moment his eye darkened with fresh, undiluted lust. “Good.” It was almost a growl. “Because I’m losing what little self control I have left.”

His hand retracted from between your thighs and an immediate complaint was dancing on the tip of your tongue, until both rested back on your hips, stealing the breath from your lungs with the sudden surprise of being swiftly turned and bent over the balcony edge. Yards of tulle fell in a sweeping whisper to cover your legs, only to be just as quickly bunched back up in his hands. This time he folded them back carelessly onto your back, leaving you almost fully on display for him.

His cool fingers rested around the curve of your hips, the silken pads of his thumbs tracing tiny circles along your exposed skin. “Beautiful, darling,” he murmured behind you, no hint or trace of mockery in his voice.

Your witty reply melted into a sigh of contentment when his hands moved to ghost over the swell of your ass and you felt him kneel between your legs. Teasingly, his hands ran down the backs of your thighs, long fingers dancing so close to where you ached for him, had ached for him for centuries.

“Loki…” His name was barely a whisper into the blackness of the night and was chased swiftly by a quiet moan when you felt his teeth hook into the band of your underwear.

You could almost hear the smirk on his face as he expertly pulled them down your legs, the gentle rub of his nose against your skin having your fingers curl against the sandstone. They were quickly pooling around your ankles and Loki was just as easily ripping them away and tossing them aside.

You yelped when his teeth then sank into the flesh of your ass.

“So responsive, darling,” he purred while getting to his feet, the cool tips of his fingers running soothingly over the area he had just bitten. “I wonder what other little noises I can get you to make for me.”

“Why don’t you fuck me and we’ll find out.” You had meant it as an attempt to goad him, to infer that he could have what he wanted if he would just fuck you, but the sharpness of your tone and the obvious pleading behind it betrayed nothing but your own impatience to have him inside you.

Something that, of course, Loki didn’t miss. “I told you I wouldn’t be the one begging tonight, didn’t I?” he taunted, a firm hand creeping beneath the layers of tulle to lie against the naked skin of your back. “Say please.”

The swell of pleasure between your thighs at his quiet command was instant, but you fought to ignore it and remained stubbornly quiet if only to see what your refusal to answer would make him do. Below you, guests continue to mill around in the gardens, their quiet laughter and conversation drifting upwards on a phantom breeze. They were only a matter of metres below and if any decided to turn their gaze upwards towards the palace, little would stop them from seeing you bent over the balcony with Loki between your legs. The thought alone had you swallowing a moan.

Loki clicked his tongue quietly, his fingers dipping back between your thighs to teasingly stroke your cunt. This time, you couldn’t prevent the curse that slipped from your lips at how good his fingers felt. “Say please,” he repeated.

Stubbornly, you continued to try and hold your silence, but the steady ripples of pleasure he was granting you had you desperate for more within a short matter of seconds. “Please! Please, Loki!” you eventually cracked, the wet need between your thighs surpassing any desire to press his buttons.

He slapped your ass just hard enough for you to feel a sting. “Good girl,” he said, and you heard the quiet shuffle as he freed himself from his trousers. “Do you know how often I touch myself to the idea of you begging for me?” he continued, lazily dragging the tip of his cock through your dripping cunt, coating himself with your arousal.

The sound that tumbled from your lips was so lewd that you felt your cheeks flame, and you dropped your head low between your shoulders at the exquisite torture that he was subjecting you to. Over and over he dragged his cock through your folds, each time stopping just short of hitting your clit, so teasingly short that eventually, you began to squirm.

“Loki…please…,” you repeated, now freely giving him what he wanted in a voice practically hoarse with desire.

The languid roll of his hips came to a sudden stop, but his cock remained firmly against your cunt. “You sound so lovely when you beg, darling, I’m tempted to not give you what you want,” he taunted. “But I’ve waited too long to have you.”

“Then, for the love of Yggdrasil, take me!” you all but screamed at him, the unrelenting ache between your legs crying out for release.

At your plea, he curled one hand around the curve of your hip and with the other aligned himself with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by beautiful inch until he had filled you to the brim. He stretched you beautifully and you briefly lost the ability to speak while you adjusted to his size. It was nothing short of exquisite.

When he got comfortable and began to roll his hips steadily into you, both hands now gripping your hips like a vice, you saw the remnant wisps of emerald green in the night air. Likely, Loki had cast come illusion to conceal you both from the guests still wandering below.

Something you had no doubt you would be thankful for in a short matter of minutes.

Already, his cock was brushing wondrously against that sweet spot inside you, having your toes curl in your shoes. His hands held your hips in a punishing grip that you knew would leave bruises the following morning, and a stream of moans - the most glorious sound you had ever heard - tumbled freely from his lips with each thrust. Loud, forceful moans that you were sure could be heard from the gardens down below, but no one so much as glanced towards the balcony where you both stood.

Then it hit you. The soft whirls of green magic had been a silencing charm.

For the first time in your long life, you were saying a silent thanks to Loki.

“Fuck, Loki!” you cried out, feeling as though a weight had been lifted to allow you to vocalise your pleasure. “You feel so good!”

You were close to losing yourself in the pleasure, to let it wash over you while you screamed to Valhalla, but two quiet voices from below drifted up softly to your ears and made you go rigid.

“Did you hear that?” A deep male voice asked. “Someone with Prince Loki, perhaps?”

“I saw the Prince inside a few moments ago. It’s likely someone else,” another answered, sounding incredibly bored.

Loki’s arm looped around your middle, pulling you upright and tight against his chest. “You’ll have to be quiet, darling, unless you want the attention of all those guests on this balcony. What would they think if they could hear you, hmm? Perhaps that you’re here pleasuring yourself to the thought of me?” he whispered lowly in your ear.

A groan bubbled low in your throat, one that you fought valiantly to contain. “But…you’ve…you’ve been moaning like a whore and no one has spared a second glance!” you said.

His teeth sunk into your earlobe, pulling gently and making you go near limp in his arms. “Oh, dear. Did I forget to place that silencing charm over you? I do apologise, darling,” he purred, sounding anything but sorry. “I hope you can stay quiet.” He punctuated his sentence with a firm, forceful thrust that made you bite your lip to contain a cry.

It melted into a whimper with each continued plunge of his cock into your cunt. You could feel every inch of him as he moved, each drag only sending ripples of building pleasure washing over you. While he kept one strong arm locked securely around your waist to anchor you to him, the other was effortlessly gathering up layers of gold to dip his hand beneath and find your clit.

It was almost your undoing.

He could play your body like a violin and the unbroken rhythm his fingers played on your clit had you clamping down hard on his arm to contain shameless moans. Your head dropped back against his shoulder and your free hand desperately curled around his thigh in an effort to do something, anything, to channel the burning waves of pleasure crashing through you under his touch. He continued thrusting roughly into you, continued moaning and cursing freely right by your ear, all the while your nails were digging so hard into the top of his thigh you feared you might draw blood, all in the effort of having to stay quiet.

You wanted to scream his name to Valhalla, wanted to curse and scream in the face of the pleasure he was bringing you, yet all you could do was grip him like he was a liferaft and grind shamelessly against his fingers.

It was blissful torture.

Blissful torture that he had seemed in no rush to end.

A thin sheen of sweat was forming along your hairline from both the effort of staying quiet and the brazen way in which you were rolling your hips against his hand. You wanted the release more than anything you had ever wished for before, wanted Loki to be the reason you came completely undone, and with the way he was playing your body as though it had been made for him, it wouldn’t take long until you saw stars.

His breathing was coming hard and fast in your ear, his warm breath hitting you in time with every thrust. “I thought you wanted this, darling?” he taunted you. “I can’t hear any sounds of pleasure coming from you. Perhaps you’d prefer it if I stopped?” he asked, dropping his hand from your cunt and slowing down his frantic thrusts until he was doing nothing but languidly rolling his hips into you.

Your hips arched into the balcony in a fruitless attempt at chasing his hand and you turned your head against his jaw, almost panic stricken at the threat. “No, please!” you begged him. “Please don’t stop!”

The satisfied smirk crossed his face instantly. “Then you need to let me know how good I’m making you feel,” he said and turned his head so his lips were just brushing the crown of your head. “Because I’m not letting you come until I can hear you.”

“Loki…,” you whined pitifully.

He ignored you, instead returning his fingers to play with your swollen clit and beginning to forcefully thrust his cock back into you. “You better start singing for me, darling.”

You cursed his name to Hel, but you were teetering so close to that wonderful freefall into pleasure that you sang easily for him, letting his name tangle with sharp breathy moans as he pushed you steadily towards release.

You were so blissfully close when his hand unfurled from your waist to sharply slap your ass again. “Louder,” he growled, his hips now colliding repeatedly with yours as the wet sound of sex filled the quiet of the night.

Clammy hands fell to brace against the smooth stone of the balcony while his cock hit that sweet spot over and over, and his long fingers only pushed you right to the teetering edge. You moaned for him, you whined and whimpered for him, squeezing your eyes shut so as not to see the looks of shock and open disgust on the faces of those below as he sent you soaring over the edge, his name ripped from your throat in a scream as you saw stars.

His thrusts were erratic, his grip on you bruising as he chased his high. Your name was the only sound he could make as he spilled inside you, claiming you completely as his. His arm returned to loop around your waist and pull you back against him, all while he continued plunging into you, not allowing a single drop of his seed to go to waste.

“Mine,” he growled in your ear, giving a final few shuddering thrusts of his cock before going still.

You were boneless in his arms, panting loudly and falling forward to desperately grip the balcony in the wake of your release. You didn’t dare open your eyes, couldn’t make yourself open them and see the gaze of so many people who had watched you tumble into pleasure in the open like a common harlot. Your stomach began to turn at the thought.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Loki encouraged gently, still inside you and still claspiing you tightly to him.

After a brief hesitation, you slowly cracked them open, only to see the guests down below still in conversation amongst themselves, not a single face turned in the direction of the balcony. Instantly, you calmed.

“Do you really believe I’d do that to you,” Loki murmured, nuzzling his face into your neck. “They didn’t hear or see a thing. I promise you.”

You released a breath and laughed at your own stupidity. Of course he wouldn’t. “You…are an asshole,” you said, still panting.

He hummed against your neck. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “And perhaps later you’ll punish me for it,” he said, licking a light stripe up your neck.

You closed your eyes again, allowing yourself to bask in his affections and at the surety that there was so much more yet to come. “Perhaps I will.”

Tags: @sailorholly @joyful-enchantress @muddyorbs @ozymdias @fandxmslxt69 @trickster-maiden @lokixryss @silverfire475 @wolfsmom1 @lokisgoodgirl @cake-writes @vickie5446 @lokidbadguy @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @all-envy-suyu @erynion-rogueofthegreenwoods @gortycs @katehawke @123forgottherest @fictive-sl0th @lovingchoices14 @peanutbutter-y-jams @wintermischief @gigglingtigger

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki imagine

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bengallemon · 2 months

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okay so its going to be impossible for me to write a full post about isat until after my 2nd playthrough and i have a bunch of notes, but i WILL be insane about how the senses are depicted, especially things siffrin smells, tastes and sees.

(spoilers for the whole game but when i get to act 4/5 ill put it under a cut)

because it starts off normal. everything that's experienced for the first couple of loops is alright, and that's because siffrin's mental state is still mostly the same as when they went into the house for the first time with the squad.

until the text starts commenting on little things, like how the cookies are getting old to the malanga fritters not being exactly the same as how sif is trying to remember, to how whenever they get to the end and talk to the head housemaiden how they smell burnt sugar just before looping back to the start.

the most jarring is the sight. slowly, throughout all the loops you start seeing an image of siffrin standing somewhere, such as in a hallway, before vanishing, and it gets a bit more common the more loops you've been through. it becomes more obvious the more things taste less like anything (and the more the game comments on how siffrin's stomach feels) and how easy it is to miss something new someone says (because you and siffrin are speeding through everything you hear), how quickly his mental state is declining.

(now spoilers for acts 4 and 5 because thats when it gets Real)

during act 4 it's possible (for some ungodly reason), when talking to bonnie at least for the first time in a loop, for the music to cut off and their sprite suddenly be half covered in black. because. why not. (this happened the second time in act 4 i talked to bonnie in dormont and i jumped badly)

the most probable explanation for seeing this is because of how the last moments in act 3 are of bonnie literally being crushed by the king's hand. probably siffrin remembering what happened and it starting to overlay in his vision.

it's probably also why you see other sifs throughout the castle, especially the further along you go. either he's seeing vestiges of past loops, or hallucinating. probably both. their mental state is getting more and more worse.

act 5 shows this even more, with blacked out sprites of the other characters and visions of them in places such as the break rooms, or getting their dialogue when interacting with objects despite siffrin being completely alone in their rampage throughout the castle. most notable is the mirror room dialogue.

how the initial picture you see during act 5 is with the whole family, until you view it and siffrin is completely alone. how the memories of the past loops are overlaying with the current one to the point where his senses are starting to become more unreliable.

during act 5 as well if you interact with any candles they smell sweet. before siffrin either didnt smell anything or it was something he didnt really know.

anyway. siffrin's own senses becoming unreliable reflecting his own deteriorating mental state is a brilliant touch to add to the horror in the story. (even without talking about how his relationship with touch is).

postgame our man absolutely would not be able to trust his sense with how the past looping affected his perception of everything around them.

#lemon time #isat spoilers #in stars and time #WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. FINALLY MADE AN ACTUAL POST ABOUT SOME THOUGHTS.#anyway. still trying to figure out if the ghost siffrins are glitches from past loops or hallucinations or both.#im leaning towards both.#i dont think i even need to mention how the sense of touch plays into the story. all That speaks for itself #i didnt even mention how the Acting plays into all that.#welp. right time to draw more frins.

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sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 25 days

Text

Natural Satellite [ch 13]

An In Stars and Time AU. In ch 13, Loop deflects. Siffrin spirals. Isabeau tries to keep up. You can start from chapter one here.

Isabeau nearly jumps out of his skin. “W-Woah!!! Sif!!!” “Yes?” “You’re—wow, you’re like, really quiet!!” “Yes.” Sif flops down in the grass, patting around vaguely till they find a thick-ish branch. They snap it in half with a startling crack, eye it thoughtfully, and then halve it again before unsheathing their dagger. ...Huh. They’re whittling again, even though they know their work won’t outlast the loop. Which means they want to talk about something. “What’s up, Sif?” “The canopy.” “Annnd…?” Sif’s blade digs into the wood, scraping off a long, curling shaving. “And I thought we should talk about Wish Craft.”

[isat spoilers / 2 hats spoilers / spoilers thru act 6]

Isabeau has, like, at least a million questions.

If Loop—(Sif???) (No, they chose the name Loop; that has to matter)—is really some alternate version of Siffrin, then… what? What? What??? What would that even mean??? And why would they keep it a secret from Sif? What’s the point in keeping secrets from yourself?

Of course Isa isn’t going to rat them out. It’s not his place. And he’s definitely not gonna confront them about their past. What kind of a crab could look at someone who Changed that much and try to talk to the person they used to be? Loop is Loop now. Isabeau is totally cool with that.

…He’s just a little confused about why there are two of them.

Isabeau knows how it feels to Change. But it’s not like he walked out of the House holding hands with the kid he used to be. One person can’t become two people. That’s not how it works. (That’s not how anything works.)

He needs to talk to Loop. Luckily, he’s in the right place. There should be at least a few minutes before Siffrin catches up. Longer, if Sif stops to talk to Mira. It’s not ideal, but it should be enough to get at least a few answers.

“Loop!” he gasps, when he spots them.

“What do you want,” Loop asks sourly.

“N-Nothing!! I’m just a little confused, is all!”

“Okay.”

“And… I guess I was hoping you could help with that?”

Loop gives him a close-eyed smile. “Optimistic!”

“I’m just, um. I… guess I’m having a hard time getting my head around it?”

Loop’s eyes snap open. “Why? Because I don’t hang on your every word? Because I’m not some cute little puppy, like your Siffrin?”

“What? No! Because why are there two of you???”

He watches Loop draw themself up to snap at him and then just—settle back into their seat. “Oh.”

Yeah, oh. “So. You know. Why are there two of you?”

“Does it matter?”

“And how do you look so different? Body Craft is, I mean, it’s pretty advanced, but I don’t think it’s possible to—I mean—I’m pretty sure you’re made of light?”

Loop examines their hands, the white shining from under their nails. “It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“And—” This one is embarrassing, but he can’t help it. “W-Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“…Why would I?”

Yeah, Isabeau probably could’ve seen that coming. “Are you seriously not going to answer any of my questions?”

“I’d have thought that would be obvious.” Loop narrows their eyes at him. “Don’t you have any manners? This is Vaugarde. It’s rude to ask someone about who they used to be.”

Wow, they are really not making this easy! “I’m not— I don’t care that you Changed. Or, I mean, it’s great! If you’re happy, I’m happy! I just… I mean… It kinda seems like you aren’t, though?”

Loop’s face hardens. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“Well, who do you wanna talk to?”

“No one! Ever!!! Till the end of time!!!!”

Isabeau groans. “Look, I didn’t wanna play this card, but you just really don’t seem like you’re doing very well…”

“What impressive powers of perception! Your parents must be proud.”

“…and I guess it seems like you’re cool with that, but I’m not, so I think you probably have to talk to someone, so… i-if you really won’t talk to me, then—” He grimaces, bracing for the worst. “I… think I might have to tell Sif.”

To his surprise, Loop just rolls their eyes. “Knock yourself out. I’m sure he’ll be soooo~ surprised.”

“Wh— Huh???”

“Why are you acting like that?” Loop asks grumpily. “You just said it just last loop. That they guessed who I was, and he thought I was probably him.”

“B-But that’s just a theory!”

“Oh, grow up. How long did it take you to clock me? Three loops? Maybe four? He’s been here for hundreds.”

(“Hund—????”)

“They have all the pieces. He’s just deluding himself because he doesn’t like the implication.”

He almost doesn’t want to ask, but… “What implication?”

Loop smiles nastily. “That—”

“Oh, good,” Siffrin says, from immediately behind him. “You’re already here.”

Isabeau nearly jumps out of his skin. “W-Woah!!! Sif!!!”

“Yes?”

“You’re—wow, you’re like, really quiet!!”

“Yes.” Sif flops down in the grass, patting around vaguely till they find a thick-ish branch. They snap it in half with a startling crack, eye it thoughtfully, and then halve it again before unsheathing their dagger.

Huh. They’re whittling again, even though they know their work won’t outlast the loop. Which means they want to talk about something. “What’s up, Sif?”

“The canopy.”

“Annnd…?”

Sif’s blade digs into the wood, scraping off a long, curling shaving. “And I thought we should talk about Wish Craft.”

“It sounds like you should talk about Wish Craft,” Loop sniffs. “You are the only one who knows the rituals.”

Isabeau gives them a look, but doesn’t argue.

“I don’t think that’s right, though,” Sif mutters. “My wish wasn’t even related. And, I mean… do I know the rituals?”

“You knew the right numbers,” Isa points out. “And the chanting and stuff.”

“Right, but it can’t be that simple. If repeating was all it took, then I’d still have that toilet paper.”

Isabeau stares.

Unexpectedly, Loop stares, too. “Come again?”

“The toilet paper,” Sif says again. “Didn’t you see? In the bathroom on the third floor.”

“I don’t watch you pee, stardust. Gross.”

“Wait,” Isabeau interjects, “I’m sorry, I just… You can do Wish Craft by peeing?”

“Piss Craft,” Sif says, apparently on reflex, and then glares. “I mean, no. Obviously not. Will you just listen?”

Isabeau shuts his mouth obligingly. He’s listening.

* * *

You don’t like that Isabeau is talking to Loop now. You can feel that something’s shifted between them, and you don’t like that, either. But at least Isa still mostly does what you tell him.

“I’m saying I didn’t do Wish Craft,” you explain. “I did the wanting, and the repeating, and it didn’t do anything. I didn’t get what I…”

. . . Wait.

What did you repeat, exactly? It definitely wasn’t “toilet paper, toilet paper, toilet paper.” What were your exact words? You asked it to come with you. No. To loop back with you. And you said—

You said you didn’t want to be alone.

(“S-Sif?” Isa says nervously. “You’re, um. You should probably be careful?”

You follow his gaze toward your hands. You’ve reduced the whole branch to sawdust. You flip your knife shut and brush off your knees in disgust.)

You said you didn’t want to be alone. And you’re not alone anymore, are you? Someone’s looping back with you, but it’s not the blinding toilet paper.

“Oh, Stars,” you mumble. “I did it.”

Loop wheezes. “What, really? Piss Craft?”

“No!! Shut up!! Will you both just shut up and listen? I’m saying that I—” Stars, but it hurts to admit. “It’s— Isa, he’s… It was my fault. I’m the reason he remembers.”

Isabeau’s eyes widen. “Wait, but… are you saying, um. D-Does that mean you wished for me?”

Right. Of course he’d ask that. You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing. “Not… exactly?”

“Toilet paper??????”

“I just wanted something I could hold!!” you say defensively. “I was losing my mind!! I was tired and alone and tired of being alone and I couldn’t make anyone touch me and I was just—so blinding tired of dying that I… yes. Yes. Toilet paper.”

For some reason, Isabeau looks even more confused. “W-Wait, what?”

“I said I wanted something I could hold.”

Loop stops laughing for just long enough to choke out, “Wrong sentence, stardust.”

You frown at them, running over your lines in your mind. It all seems pretty self-explanatory. “What?”

“You—” Isabeau’s face is quickly changing color. “You, um. You… wanted us to touch you?”

Oh. Oh, no.

You can read the rest of ch 13 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53412649/chapters/139473697 Or start from the beginning here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53412649/chapters/135189547

#isat spoilers #in stars and time #isafrin #isat siffrin #isat isabeau #isat loop

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smolvenger · 16 days

Text

The Boat in the Water: A Beauty and the Beast Story (An MCU and The Essex Serpent Crossover, Loki x Stella Ransome, Multi-Part), Chapter Three

Summary: Having lost her health and her husband's fidelity and love, Stella has nothing more to lose than her life. Then...she is swept away to another realm, to an enchanted castle. A castle whose master is a god...a god with a striking resemblance to her husband.

Warnings: Angst that turns into hurt/comfort. Discussions of cheating (I portray the Will/Cora affair as bad and Stella having some negative feelings about it, so if you don't agree or have a problem with that interpretation, this your warning right now that this probably isn't the fic for you), some blood and portrayals of illness, references to both canons, some silly, goofy lil moments.

Word Count: >7K. (have drinkies and snacks)

One// Two//Three//Four coming soon!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @anukulee @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson

She kept crying so much, she did not hear his knock.

‘That’s what I get,’ Loki thought. He took a step away, lowering his hand, curling it into a fist by his side. ‘Mother was always the expert at these- no, I should remember, she’s not my mother at all! Damn her! Damn Will, Damn Stella, and damn me most!’

He took a moment and paced about. His cape flowed behind him like opened wings that would go nowhere. His mind kept racing. He was called Silvertongue, but when it came to consolation, why could he think of nothing to say?

She was still sobbing. It paused for a moment. She was murmuring. He pressed his ear to the door.

“God, I confess, I have just sinned against you in thought, word, and deed. By what I have done and what I have left undone. I am truly sorry and I humbly repent. For the sake of your son, Jesus Christ…”

He remembered that prayer. He overheard when he disguised himself as an ordinary village person, that was the prayer done every Sunday in that church to confess sins. Did she think she should repent for….for feeling sad about her husband’s infidelity? What kind of world made her to be what she is?

Asgard never taught its children to feel remorse over such things. He recalled Lady Sif. If Sif’s husband betrayed her for another, she would get out her sword and decapitate him without a word, without hesitation, and definitely without any regret.

But, Stella wasn’t Sif. And she was suffering. Norns, he had to…had to…think of something! Perhaps a charming little trick! Conjure little fireworks or more flowers for her! Yes, if all else failed, he could try that! Wasn’t that what mortal ladies like? He didn’t have much experience with them.

Before his courage could sink down, he went to the door and knocked louder.

“Can I come in?” he asked, projecting his voice.

“You…you may…” was her quiet reply.

When he opened the door, he saw her kneeling. Clutching the wedding gown from the chest in her arms like a child clutching a blanket Her blonde hair was a little rumpled, a few strands loose from her braid. The paths of tears were obvious down her cheeks, her face was a little red and puffy from crying.

He remained standing at the threshold.

“I…I don’t know how to say this, but…but…but I am sorry…I shouldn’t have said those things aloud. I shouldn’t have judged you. Or him.”

She nodded her head.

“You only like to be proven right-that was why…” she mused.

She was right. For being such a pitiful, pretty little pet unaware of her own torment and with no thoughts other than her husband and family...she was right. Perhaps her head wasn’t as empty as he first thought.

“Little Star, I still shouldn’t have said a word, I…I didn’t consider how much it would hurt-”

“I forgive you, Loki,” she interrupted, looking into his eyes.

I forgive you. Three words he had not often heard in sequence in his life. Much less directed at him.

Gently, he knelt down to meet her.

“This was what you wore when you married him,” he began.

She nodded sniffling.

“It’s…it’s rather pretty,” he admitted.

“Yes. I remember how. My mother gave her last warning about the marriage bed that morning, it was summer and stuck to my skin when I went outside to go to the church, my heart was racing and then he….he told me when I went to the altar that I was beautiful. And that night…the first night we…we performed the act…when it was done… he told me it was the happiest day of his life” she began.

She looked down at the heap of the wedding dress and veil. Then back at him, though it sat in a white heap on her lap. Her fists tightened as she clutched it over her, more like a soft shield than a blanket.

“You speak too ill of him. The first time he met Cora, do you know what he was doing? A farmer had his poor sheep stuck in a pit of mud. Will ran over and helped him. He didn’t stay in his study reading all day, clean and snug- no! He went out and helped pull each animal from the pit, ruining his clothes, and dragging heavy, thrashing sheep from the pit. He and the farmer got them to safety onto the higher field. He was drenched in mud when he came home, but the animals were safe…how could a bad man do that?”

Loki’s eyebrows shot up, and then back down.

“You should have seen how James sits on his lap, how John goes to his office with questions about hell, how he handles Jo and her little rebellions- you should have seen it all! I took Jo to be hypnotized once because I was curious. He fled in, insisted it stopped, and woke her up. The fear in his eyes…I feel so horrible about it now. Why? Because of how much he loved them!”

“Does he love you?” Loki asked.

“Yes, he does!” she repeated.

“But her loves her too…” he stated.

She froze, her face pale again.

“Yes…he does…”

She shook her head.

“He shouldn’t be alone. And the children should have a mother in their lives. You should see how happy he is with her. Loki, I can’t hate her! I like her. She writes me letters, she says how happy she is that she has me as her friend.”

Well, With friends like these, as the old mortal saying goes, Loki thought dryly, but he kept his mouth shut before he made the situation worse. Her eyes went down to the white wedding gown.

“I asked him to dance with her. I asked him to sit with her, see her, visit her, and write to her. So he could have someone…” she said. “It is the duty of a Christian to tear off your shirt for someone else. Of a wife to nurture and support her husband. I’ve done my duty…”

Her face then scrunched and went red and a hand went up over her face.

“And for once, it has made me unhappy!”

She began to cry. Loki did not conjure her flowers as he planned. He slowly reached his hand forward and placed it over hers. It’s what his mother, for Frigga in his heart, was still his mother, did. She barely flinched, but let him. He waited as her sobs heaved out.

“I…I did everything for him. The vicarage was always spotless. There were always visitors. I can’t recall one wrong step, or one failing I had. Men flirted with me after I was wed, and I had to dismiss them. I bore five children from him-”

“Five?” Loki repeated

“They weren’t always easy pregnancies. And the childbirths were painful, long, terrifying. And Two of them…we…” her tears broke down. “...Julianna died in my arms, And he was there for it all. They’re buried next to the church, and I think of them every day. Does he think of them too, I wonder? No…I know where and with whom his thoughts lay now… I made sure all was well in church. That his ministry was supported. I counseled and helped him through it all. I did everything for him…I even let him take a misteress…”

She paused. Her words failed at that moment. Then she spoke again, a small, broken smile on her face. The smile of one who accepted their defeat before the sword before them brought their end.

“I love him, Loki, and I’ve loved him for years. I feel like I loved him since the day I met him- who couldn’t? And I think, I wonder -I never said this aloud but, seeing him with her, and he….he’s no longer mine and….and the baser part of me wonders, whispering…when did I fail him? Then I tell myself it was because I was dying at least then…and that…it was all my fault. I pushed him onto her. Encouraged him. Told him to dance with her…”

She found a small lace pattern on the material of the wedding gown. Her fingers, compared to Loki's, seemed like doll hands. Tiny and delicate. One finger traced the pattern.

“Once I was the most important woman in Will’s life. He told me I was second to God and that the children were third. Cora arrived. And that changed. Now…I am the least important woman in all of England…it used to be that never bothered me…but now…the more I think on it, dwell on it no matter how I try not to…”

She shook her head as her hand curled up into a fist.

“I have no one to blame but myself,” she finished.

Loki bit back the urge to say it wasn’t her fault that she got ill. That her husband wanted to chase another skirt to satiate his lust since now his wife wasn’t an option. He swallowed lightly as if swallowing the thought down. She would reprimand him if he did. Claim it wasn’t obsession. It was love. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was right too. Perhaps the truth was that it was both.

“Do not blame yourself. There is no one to blame but him and her. He shouldn’t have done that in the first place, no one was forcing him to. He should have resisted her and stayed with you until the end. That’s what a decent husband and lover would have done,” Loki advised carefully.

There was that sliver of rage inside him. He could have gone to that town and done all sorts of things to Will and Cora. Horrendous, violent things. Right. Now.

But he dared not move, dared not leave Stella alone with her tears and racing thoughts.

The one thing he did conjure was a handkerchief in his free hand. He offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wiped off her face with the handkerchief and then put it down with the dress.

“It is not my place to let people in love be unhappy, it’s not my place to be jealous, to think badly of them, or if I let these thoughts consume me, Loki… I could do something…something horrible, I could hurt someone I care about…and it frightens me,” she admitted.

She grasped the handkerchief with both hands, squeezing it lightly.

“I…I don’t want to be a bad person,” she confessed.

“You aren’t a bad person,” Loki assured her.

She lifted her face, her blue eyes shining up. A little of her light regained.

“Then what am I?” she asked.

He thought for a moment, and then the answer dawned on him.

“Alive.”

She then settled. How pretty her eyes were, soft as snow. He gave her a weak, but present smile.

“Do not fret about being a bad person. You have more goodness in your little finger than I have in my whole body,” Loki assured her.

She tilted her head a bit.

“It always hurts…to be the second favorite…not chosen, not special, not equal to someone, even someone you care for…” he admitted. The painful thoughts and memories coming back up. Thor’s birthright of a crown. His birthright of a grave. “But…you are still good, after all of that. There’s a strength in being so even gods have failed at it. Even me…”

He saw her lips curl up to a small smile at his phrase.

“Thank you,” was her soft reply.

She paused, her eyes widening.

Then her body heaved and she put the handkerchief to her mouth. A series of coughs wracked her body. And when she lowered the handkerchief, to his horror, there was a pool of blood.

Stella stiffened a little blood on her lips, her breaths shallow.

“Loki…Loki please help!” she pleaded. “Please…the healers! I’m…I’m so scared…I’m going to die, I don’t want to die anymore, please!”

He immediately grabbed her and placed one of her arms around her shoulder and another beneath her legs. She felt her small gasp as he did so. How light she felt, how small. How was it that people described her in town when he overheard? Oh yes, that phrase Mrs. Ambrose used- “Oh, Mrs. Ransome! Doesn’t she look lovely every day? Oh, she is no bigger than a fairy and twice as pretty!” She did feel as light as a fairy in his arms. He got her to the bed and put the covers over her.

He lifted his hand and turned it, and her ballgown was transformed into a nightgown.

“I’m going to fetch them- stay here!”

He created a duplicate of himself to stand by the bed. It offered its hand and Stella accepted, squeezing tightly.

“So you won’t be alone! I will be right back. Here-”

He got a potion conjured in his hand. A little vial with violet-colored liquid. He offered it to her.

“This should help with the coughing, lessen it at least until they get here.”

She accepted it and then pressed it to her lips.

With his gifts of transportation and some swift horses, the healers arrived promptly. They gave her more medicine and their magic. Checked everything about her as they moved their hands over her body and repeated spells. Soon her coughs weren’t as common or present. She was more relaxed.

Loki would usually leave at this point, but he stayed. Stayed right in the room, dismissing his copy. Stayed by and watched anxiously, his brow wrinkling every time they finished an incantation.

Soon enough, they made her a little cup of tea to help calm her and ease the pain in her body. She cuddled up in the blankets, her eyes drooping down sleepily.

One healer, a woman with her brown hair in a bun approached him.

“She is stable. She will be fine, though there will be coughs and bouts of weakness. She just needs more time before we can declare her completely healed,” she reported.

Then they left. Her face looked pale and weary.

“Loki…where is the music? I miss it…from the ballroom…” she asked.

“That was from my magic,” he explained.

“Could you have it play for me, please? Or, do you know a…a song…I need to take my mind off of everything…”

Loki thought for a moment.

“I know a song…it’s rather fast, but there’s the slower bit…”

She stilled. Then he sat by the bed and held her hand and sang:

“I stormsvarte fjell Jeg vandrer alene Over isbreer tar jeg meg frem…”

He paused, a cheeky smile towards Stella. He looked right in her eyes, singing the next line right to her.

“I eplehagen står møyen den vene”

He gave her a wink, kissing her hand. Her eyes widened though from the scattered look, she didn’t understand what that line was actually saying, but her eyes did become a little bigger and her lips parted slightly, though no words came out.

“Og synger, ‘Nar kommer du hjem?’”

She did smile at that.

He made sure to slow the song down as much as he could, despite the temptation to speed it up. He finished the last line, and she nodded her head.

“The beginning was beautiful, thank you…I have one more request, please don’t think me selfish.”

“That depends on the request,” Loki teased, arching an eyebrow.

Her voice was soft and sleepy.

“Could I…have…a patch of ground in the garden? And a few seeds of flowers? They’re far easier than vegetables.”

“Why, yes, yes you may.”

She had a small smile and he felt his stomach turn a little at it.

I think I’m ready to go to sleep now. I’m grateful for you today, you were very kind to me. Goodnight, Loki.” she wished.

“Goodnight, Little Star.”

She kept the smile on her as her eyes drifted shut and she relaxed. They remained closed for a minute. Her small exhale and slowly rising and falling chest assured him that she wasn’t lost forever.

Then he left, closing the door quietly.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Least Important Woman in the World found her patch of earth with a wooden sign on the ground and little stakes with azure ribbon around it the next day. There was a bag of flower seeds, a water cat, and a few tools. Then she got to work.

Stella stood in the muck, with an apron, a little straw hat over her braided hair, and gloves. She pulled up the dirt and shoveled.

A forbidden image came up in her mind. There, in the dirt, she imagined it was images of her husband and Cora. Happy and together. Like her years with him never mattered.

She indulged herself.

She picked up the shovel and slammed it in hard. She exhaled through her nose fast, simultaneous guilt and catharsis simmering inside her. The image of their dance was like a painting on the ground. She kept slamming it in like a blade. Releasing bits of her anger as steadily as a tea kettle whistling out steam when the water was too hot. No one was hurt, she didn’t want to hurt anyone. Yet her anguish demanded release. But she grunted as she dug out the dirt and slammed the shovel into different parts of the ground over and over again.

Loki watched with a slice of toasted bread with butter and a warm drink from inside the palace. He observed out the window, the clearest one so no color would distort what was happening. Clean and safe from his window like a prince observing his subject. Not that she noticed.

Part of him was struck as she was stabbing into the ground. There’s always something a little chilling when the sweetest person one knows turns angry. It’s sacred, terrifying. Even though he was a god who could bend shadows to his will, Loki felt his breathing become slightly more shallow.

When the ground was ready, she realized she was crying. She took one dirt-stained sleeve and wiped off her eyes. Then she wiped off her forehead as well, for she was sweating from the excursion already.

The holes were all prepared. She placed the bag of seeds in the pocket of her apron. She placed them in each hole delicately. Not minding that her skirts, hands, and a little of her face were dirty.

Loki couldn’t help but smirk, it was the dirtiest and thorniest he had seen this English Rose. He wondered what he would do if he was in her position. If his husband betrayed him for another, especially as he turned deadly sick, he would have loved to burn the entire village to the ashes.

She didn’t burn things down. She only gardened.

She patted the dirt over each little hole. Then she took out a watering can and put it over.

Wiping her hands from the effort, She would go about, checking on the various flowers. Watering them. She even got little scissors and snipped off surplus leaves. Wanting to do more than just amble about and admire plants.

She did see which flowers were blue and saw little blue pebbles in the ground in the garden- tiny rocks. She picked them up and placed them in her pocket. Then hurried back and put them in the box on her desk.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next day, it was Stella was sitting in the room by the window. She was using the desk to write to her family. It was a pleasant room that caught the sunshine and made it appear golden and she could think of no better place to do so. She sat down, absorbed by detailing everything in letters to her children and husband about what was happening, as well as reading their responses that were delivered when the chests returned.

She was so hypnotized by it, that she didn’t notice Loki outside in the garden.

He looked up at her and placed his hands on his hips. He frowned as she smiled at one letter, a blush over her cheeks. She kissed it.

No doubt it was a letter from her philandering husband, Loki fumed silently. His face turned a bit red. Jealousy made a pit in his chest.

He looked at the free space in the outside courtyard- just right at Stella’s field of vision. A blank area of grass with no plants, not even a weed.

Grinning mischievously, he got an idea.

He conjured a mud puddle. Then he conjured a small flock of sheep to go about baaing. Right where she would see.

Her eyes were down on her letters. She had picked up a pen and was writing.

He tried to wave his hands to the sheep. Guiding them to stand in the mud puddle, though they were all at the edges of the puddle where it was shallow. They baaed quietly and looked around. Only their hooves were in the mud, but they were going about happily and very much not stuck. Though he didn’t like getting his fine leathers dirty, he got into the puddle. He smiled and placed his hands on his hips and looked up.

Her eyes were down.

He scrunched his nose and frowned. He let out a deep sigh as he got up and splashed some mud on his clothes and around his face. Then he waved at the sheep to go into the middle where there was more mud.

“Come on, my wooled friends, come on!” he urged.

One sheep finally managed to get into the deep middle.

Smiling again, he walked over to it. He picked it up easily and carried it over a mere one foot away from the mud to chew on un-muddy grass.

Loki checked the window.

She wasn’t looking. And still writing.

He got up another and lifted it up, high over his head. He made sure to be grunty and sweaty, just as she would have liked.

Her eyes were on her work.

Another wandered over.

“I didn’t want to do this, but it looks like I will have to,” Loki muttered internally.

He used magic to transform his clothes so that he was shirtless with fine pants. He knew he was beautiful and wanted her to see it.

And this time, the sheep were getting the memo and going over to the middle. They were not stuck, but going about the deeper mud contentedly. He picked up one, he lifted it high over his head so she could get a good look at his chest.

He checked

Norns, she was still writing!

He set it down on the grass. He then returned to the mud. He got one sheep and began lifting it up and down repeatedly as a weight, making sure to grunt in a way she would find a little titillating until there was a good sweat to make him glisten and her blush.

After a fifth rep, he held the sheep high over his head and put on his most winning smile. He checked the window.

She still didn’t look.

Right as he was on the verge of giving up, he lowered the sheep and it let out a rather loud, supported, unignorable “baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Stella looked up.

Loki made sure everything was in place- the mud on him, his naked top, and he made sure to smile and pose with the sheep high over his head.

She gasped and left her desk in a hurry.

Was she offended? Perhaps so- perhaps the shirtlessness was a little too scandalous for her tastes. What was he doing being so crass? Doing something that Thor himself would do- did he really stoop that low? With a huff, he magicked back his shirt.

In a few minutes, the door to the garden was opening and out came a yellow head.

He felt as if he was set on fire. He hurried and picked up one sheep. He began to lift it up and down as it baaed.

“One hundred and one,” he began to grunt, loud enough for her to hear. “One hundred and two, one hundred and-”

“Come here, little darlings!” Stella cooed at the sheep, cutting him off.

When he turned his head, he realized she had a basket full of corn and peas and a wet towel in her other hand.

“Oh, poor dears! Please don’t eat in the garden! Here you are- you may have a little lunch!” she lured sweetly

The sheep gathered around her. Easily walking out of the mud without difficulty towards her. Taking the vegetables she gathered. She got out the wet towel, wiped off their hooves, and petted them.

“Are they alright?” she asked.

He did notice there was pink in her cheeks, hopefully at him. He made sure to have another of his famous smirks.

“Yes- they…they, uh, are,” he answered.

“The dirt on their wool will need soap and hot water, but that’s normal for them to get dirty when they go about,” she asked.

Loki looked down at the towel.

“I have the magic to clean them myself in a snap of my fingers if it pleases you.”

“Loki, could I clean a bit in the palace?” she asked.

“Clean? Why would you ever want to clean?” he asked.

One sheep walked to be by her side. She kept a hand on its head.

“I lived in a vicarage, given to us by Aldwinter to be our home. But since it was the vicarage, there were visitors so often. I knew if they judged the house, they would judge not only me but their vicar. So I made sure it was always as tidy as I could make it.”

She grinned.

“Sometimes I do not mind it at all! And I am alone in this palace with nothing to do until you decide to show up. May I clean a little? Lighten the magic some?” she asked.

Cleaning. All of his life, that was the job of the servants of the palace, never one of the princes. Loki tilted his head at her, he opened his mouth and for a second he couldn’t form words. But then he nodded his head with a shrug.

“Why…well, you are the one staying here, so I don’t see why not.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Stella did not mind cleaning a big palace or gardening. As her coughs lessened, as she got better, she found she no longer became tired so easily. She did miss her children terribly- she could imagine James running over to the kitchen and making himself sick on chocolates. She could see John with the dog running through the halls and opening every door, and hear his feet hurrying over the floors in echoes. She could see Jo going to the library and devouring book after book until she fell asleep with a novel on her face on the couch. How they would have loved this place!

Perhaps…when she was better…she could find a way to still keep in touch with Loki. She would take them on a trip. A free day of traveling, even though it was not to London but another world.

Nevertheless, she didn’t mind dusting every surface and sweeping off the floors. It was better to act rather than dwell all day.

As she was contentedly scrubbing away the floors of the main entryway one day, there was a knock at the door.

She jumped and released a gasp. If it was Loki, he would just conjure himself inside. Who could it be? A burglar? Surely, an enchanted castle could protect itself, could it not??

But then there was a voice, a booming, masculine, baritone voice that made her jump again.

“BROTHER!”

A burglar would not announce themselves like that.

She cautiously walked closer.

“Brother! Are you living here? Do not play your games, Loki, I wish to speak to you!” he stated from outside.

“On my way!” she replied. She picked up her skirt and walked over to open the door.

She opened the door to find a tall, large, muscular man with long beautiful blonde hair, blue eyes, and a blond beard. Stella was slightly taller than some women, but he hovered above her like a blonde bear. He looked down at her and smiled brightly.

“Oh…hello…” she greeted shyly.

“Why! Are you the Midgard lady they say lives here?” he asked.

“I…I am,” she replied. “I am Mrs. Stella Ransome, I’m pleased to meet you.” She curtsied small.

He shook her hand. She accepted it and found his grip matched her suspicion about his strength.

“Oh, I am Thor! God of Thunder and Prince of Asgard!”

Stella’s hand flew up to lightly touch her throat. Thor! Thor himself here! She was a devout Christian all of her life and now she had met not only one but two pagan gods! What on earth was she going to tell her Sunday School when she returned?

Thor kept talking excitedly, his handsome smile shining on his face.

“Why, how happy I am Loki had finally settled on a lady! He had several princesses in the past show interest, but they never liked him or he never liked them, and-”

“Oh no! I’m not his…his….his companion of that sort. This is a palace he made and I am only the guest here.” she answered.

Yet, what more did this god of thunder have to say? What was he like? What sort of powers? What was it like to be a god? She had no fear now, only curiosity.

“Prince Thor, would you like to stay for some tea?”

“Why, tea sounds wonderful Lady Stella!” he replied.

Calling her that made her smile. If this prince was a burglar, he was the nicest burglar she had ever met.

Giving him tea and a tray of biscuits, she told him about how she ended up here. Then she asked him to clarify more about Loki and him. Thor informed her that they were princes of Asgard, sons of King Odin and Queen Frigga and that he was the eldest brother and in line for the throne. Thor answered questions about Asgard. She brought out a sketchbook she found in the library and Thor drew the realms of the map. Stella was awed at it. Her world had been small in the marshes- to think there were so many other realms with so many other lives and people and their stories! How big everything was and she was just one tiny speck on a circle that moved between Midgard and Asgard.

Thor was munching on perhaps his tenth biscuit by now. Not that it stopped his talking.

“We hear that the Frost Giants wish to try to take over again- those are the ones in Jotunheim! They won’t touch a hair on my brother's head anymore. One day, I will find King Laufey to defeat him in battle!” he boasted, pumping his fist.

“It is natural to be protective of one’s family,” she commented.

Thor wiped the crumbs off his beard. “Maybe that’s why Loki’s been hiding since the battle- he’s scared of them!”

“Hiding?” she prodded.

Thor nodded, sucking down his tea.

“He has been away for some time. Father won’t tell me why, and Mother seems strong. But sometimes I think I hear her crying from a distance. You must find Loki when he shows up next- tell him that she misses him! That he has to come home!”

She clasped her hands on her lap and gave him a smile.

“I will be glad to do so. I have been able to persuade him into a few things recently, so I think he might listen to me,” she said.

“How good of you, Lady Stella!” Thor declared.

Before she could say, he slammed down his teacup, making her jump and gasp aloud in surprise, demanding another cup of tea.

The magic palace fixed the teacup back to normal, and Stella, her heart slowing down after that surprise, poured him another.

That evening, she waited for him at dinner. She was adorned with her hair up in a bun and another ballgown. It was navy blue and had little stars adorned across it, making her look like the night sky. She began to eat a little after her stomach rumbled.

She knew it was past sunset, but there was no response. Nothing. No sign of the trickster god.

“Loki?” she asked.

Her voice echoing was the only reply.

Enough time had passed. He required her to fulfil the bargain and here she was just as she had been every night for some time now. What was going on?

She got up from her chair. She passed the lush banquet and went down one hall. It had another marble floor, but there were windows with the red, velvet curtains drawn. There was a hall of doors.

She heard a sound like a grunt from the door in the far corner on her right. Green lights flashed from it.

She walked carefully closer to it. There was another flash of light, only it was light blue. And another frustrated huff.

She had heard similar huffs of frustration from a certain office for over a decade. There was no doubt now Loki was behind.

She was now at the door and realized it had creaked open.

Her eyes went to the opening. She gently said his name.

“Loki, wher-”

She saw him and her voice turned into a gasp, cupping her mouth

Loki was definitely there. The room was a smaller library with neater bookshelves and a fireplace. He stood in the center over a high table with a book full of runes on it.

But he looked different.

His skin was a bright blue and his eyes red.

Loki turned, his red eyes wide as he noticed her. Stella froze where she was, for she could not run. Was this some new enchantment he could do? Was he practicing and was that why he was late?

Yet his face turned into a frown, his teeth gritted. His red eyes glared at her. She should have run, she should have screamed. Yet she could not move.

He turned his back on her, his voice angry as he tried to cover his own face.

“Don’t- don’t look Stella! Go away!” he ordered angrily. The tone in his voice speared her heart.

“Are you hurt?” she insisted. “I was wondering why you were missing and-”

“I said to go away!” Loki barked. “And don’t look!”

Normally she would run. But something in her intuition told her to stay. There was a hurt to his voice that stirred her. He needed someone by him.

She walked inside cautiously.

“I…I am sorry I peeked in, but…Loki…”

His back was still turned. She could see bits of his blue neck beneath his raven curls. He stood before the fire.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“No! I’m not hurt at all!” he replied, something of a choked sob in his voice.

He was behaving no better then Jo when she was four years of age.

“But your skin…did someone do this to you? do you need an ointment?” she asked.

She reached out a hand to gently touch his shoulder. He flinched away and then turned around. She took in his cerulean skin and how much brighter it made his red eyes appear.

“I don’t need the healers! Norns! I just- I’m just doing a spell and-”

She peeked and saw him uncurl his hand and clench it. His skin turned to white and his eyes to blue. But she saw there were still tears in his eyes, despite the stubborn frown on his head.

“What is happening?” she asked. “You don’t get this upset taking another person's form. Please, I’d like to know.”

She insisted he sit on the chair. She had him magic over another mug of tea and some sandwiches on a tray. They sat on the floor before the fire.

“Do you know what a Frost Giant is?” he asked.

“Yes. I hear they’re considered your enemy here,” Stella responded. She could discuss Thor and his family later.

Loki kept his eyes on the fire.

“All children in Asgard are taught to be terrified of them Stella…this is my true form. I’m a runt of a Frost Giant. Left behind as a baby to die in a tundra. Unwanted since the moment I was born. All of my life I was told of beasts who slaughter innocents. Only to realize I had to look in the mirror to see one.”

Stella’s eyes softened at him.

“Loki…that’s…that’s horrible…”

“I’m going to control it. Hide it. Push it away so no one will tell, no one will be able to see. I will be dead, I won’t be nothing, I’ll prove to father I’m worthy, I will!” he hissed. He slammed a fist onto his lap.

Stella leaned forward.

“May I see it again, please? Just once.” she asked.

He turned to her and swallowed. But he only turned his forearm and hand blue.

“May I?” she asked.

He gave her his arm and hand. She put her hand beneath his to lift it and then, with her other hand, pressed a finger on his blue palm.

“It’s cold. Cold like snow on Christmas, like a steam on a summer’s day, like a chapel in the morning…those aren’t bad things…” she consoled.

She traced up to his forearm. He felt himself shiver at her touch, his body stirring at the press of her hand on his skin. A tingling he kept down. She looked quietly and carefully.

“Could I have the box with my collection, please?” she asked.

He easily conjured it to the room. She lifted the lid and set it aside. She took out some trinkets- spoons, shells, bottles. She set them in the air like a painter, next to his hand.

Then she looked in and smiled. She got out two pebbles. Then she got out her diary and opened to the first page. She got out a pressed flower. Setting them in her hands, she moved them close to Loki’s hand.

“See! They’re the very color of your skin!” she sheered.

As Loki looked down, he saw she was right. The shade of the flower and the pebbles matched the skin of his Jotunheim form.

“Now, if only there was a box big enough, I could add you too!” she teased.

He did not reprimand her for her joke, even if he had every right to. He looked up at her.

“What about blue makes it your favorite color? Why collect blue things and not something…something red or green?” Loki asked.

She traced her finger again over the pebbles and flowers. She then smiled at the other miscellaneous things she pulled out.

“It’s the color of peace. The color of heaven. It represents the sky and the sea- the two things we think of when we discuss eternity. It’s rare in nature, for it is a sacred color. Blue dye once had to be imported, for it was costly. They say that Mary wore a blue shroud. It is the color of serenity…of kindness…”

She set the items down. Though his hand was as cold as ice, it felt good on her against the warm fire. His eyes shone up at her.

“Your skin is beautiful when it’s blue. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

Loki took in a deep breath and then shook his head.

“But…the Frost Giants are…are hated…hated!”

“I don’t hate you,” she replied.

He blinked, squinting his eyes further at her. She kept her sweet smile at him.

“What? You…you don’t?” he asked.

She released his hand and began gathering her things to put back into the box.

“I’m not your servant or misteress here. You saved my life and my health. Could a truly monstrous person do that?”

His eyes sparkled. She set them back in and sealed the lid. She looked back up at him, her plate of food untouched, as was his.

“Loki, if you think my husband is so hateful, so bad…. if I could love him, how could I think less of you? Not from anything you freely chose to do, but because of how you were born? I wish you didn’t discover it in this way, and despite what I have heard…I don’t agree about Frost Giants. They can be good and kind…”

“The stories…” Loki began muttering.

“Maybe the stories are wrong,” she suggested.

She handed him a cup of tea. His magic was starting to melt back to his usual pale color, except for his hand.

He noticed that the tea set was white except for the blue flowers painted all over it. Of course, it was in relation to Stella being the one staying here.

Looking down at his hand while it was still blue, he saw that the petals of the flower on his cup matched the shade of a Frost Giant's skin.

For once, at least for a minute, he did not feel ashamed.

18 notes · View notes

darknight3904 · 6 months

Text

Bubbles

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

This part marks where this story will begin to line up with the events of the first three Thor movies.

Asgard 2011

Loki couldn't believe what he had just heard. His legs carried him further and further from the throne room as his anger grew. Thor, his idiot oaf of a brother would be king and his coronation would take place in a fortnight. Thor, the God of Thunder who three days ago Loki had seen drink himself sick in a mindless celebration of who knows what. His anger was practically bubbling over when he reached the training grounds where he knew he could blow off some steam.

The loud clang of metal on metal greeted him as he observed who was sparring today. Volstagg had his large battle axe in hand and Fandral's slim sword in another while the owner of the said sword had his hands risen in surrender. Hogun was a few feet away laughing at his fellow warrior's loss. Different palace guards also were sparring against each other, Loki couldn't remember any of their names but it was good they were brushing up on their skills. In the center of all the chaos and sweaty men, Astri's silver armor glinted in the sun. Her longsword was unsheathed for once as she blocked another blow from Sif who had the upper hand in the fight. Astri's brown hair swished as she managed to knock Sif off balance in an attempt to win the fight. Even Loki flinched when Sif's elbow went into Astri's face, swiftly ending the fight. Somehow, Fandral had beaten Loki to Astri's side and helped her up.

"You ought to spend more time sparring and less with your nose in books on magic." He recommended with that grin he used on all women

"Had I used my magic Sif would have been on the ground faster than she could draw her sword." Astri confidently said ignoring Fandral's obvious flirting

"Oh, I know." Sif smiled "I didn't hit you too hard, right?"

"I'll be fine," Astri said, her head finally turning to see Loki a few paces to her right "I'll kick your ass another day with magic, Sif."

Loki wanted to match her smile as she approached but he found his anger overriding his other emotions.

"What did Odin say? You look upset." Astri said once she was in front of him

"I don't wish to speak about it." Loki grumbled, "How about we just fight?"

"With magic?" She asked

"Is there any other way to fight?" He asked slyly

It had taken years but Loki was nearly certain that his magic was on par with Astri's. Sure, he still wasn't able to master the enchanting she had figured out a few months ago but that only mattered if she got close enough to touch him. This time, he was ready for whatever she was able to conjure up. The sun was warm as Volstagg counted down and when he reached zero, Astri did the unexpected. The knife that normally remained sheathed at her side came flying at Loki's head, ready to take one of his eyes out. A quick dodge to his left had kept both his eyes intact but he had unknowingly let his guard down. Loki should have given her more credit when they started because she came charging towards him, sword drawn.

"I thought you wanted to use magic." He said blocking her with his knives

"You never said we had to use magic," Astri responded, pressing down harder in an attempt to disarm him.

So she finally figured out that in an all-out strength competition, she could beat him. Very well, Loki would just have to outsmart his closest friend. His hand lit up in a soft green hue and he let it flash bright enough to blind her momentarily.

"You should keep your eyes on the prize, Astri." He jested, maneuvering himself to where her guard was weakest.

She rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to most likely stop the bright flashes his magic had cast. Loki was behind her now, ready to take his win when she reached out and grabbed at his right hand which held his favorite dagger.

"And you should know that sneaking up behind me won't work forever."

Loki's eyes widened when he saw her hands flash blue. Before he knew it, he was on his back with her knife pressed to his throat.

"Looks like I've won." She bragged

"Best out of three?" He asked, raising his hands in surrender

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Despite Loki's earlier transgressions about 'not talking' about whatever Odin had said to him, Astri was still listening to her friends ranting hours later. Even now when she was trying to have a relaxing soak in a bath Loki was on the other side of a divider her handmaidens had brought, talking her ears off.

"I don't get what he sees in Thor. He's nothing compared to me. He's impulsive and brash. Traits like that could doom Asgard." Loki's voice pointed out

"Do you ever tire of being angry at Thor?" Astri asked. wishing he'd just give her a moment of silence to enjoy the lavender oil she had added to the water

"No. I have good reason to be angry at him. He is undeserving of his role as heir." Loki said

Astri sighed she knew he wasn't going to just let this go. Of course, he had every right to be upset but did he have to do it while she was trying to relax?

"It's because he favors Thor over me. He's always valued physical strength over mental. I was never even on his radar as a choice to be king." Loki sighed dejectedly.

Astri never spent much time around Odin. Sure, Frigga had told her the tale of how he had rescued her from her murderous birth father but after that, he had never truly acknowledged her. Only once had he sat down to talk to her alone and it had instead been questions about what she thought about Thor. The conversation had ended badly after Odin had asked if she viewed Thor as a potential husband stating something about heirs. Astri didn't quite remember what she said in return but it was rude enough that the AllFather didn't bring it up again. After that, she spent most of her time with Frigga, Thor, and Loki.

"Why does it matter?" Astri suddenly said, letting the words out barely thinking.

"I beg your pardon?" Loki said exasperated

"Being king." She responded playing with the floating bubbles

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," Loki said before beginning to spiral again about how Thor couldn't be king.

The minutes ticked by and as Loki talked from the other side of the divider, Astri tried crafting shapes with the bubbles that floated in the water around her. Suddenly a soft knock at the door interrupted both of them

"Come in," Astri called

Drifa entered with a large fluffy towel in one arm and Astri's favorite robe in another. Astri and Loki could see her brain try and connect what she was seeing in front of her. On one side her crown prince was sitting on an impossibly small stool, picking at his nails, and on the other, her lady and one of her closest friends was smiling happily in her bath.

"My Prince," She had greeted Loki first before rushing over to Astri.

"Drifa, you brought my favorite robe." Astri smiled

"Yes, I did," Drifa confirmed, helping Astri out of the warm water. "Are you alright with him being here, my lady?"

"Yes, He's fine. I'll dress myself tonight. Could you bring supper for both of us? I have a feeling Loki wants to continue talking." Astri said as Drifa tied the robe tightly around her waist.

"Right away." She said before hurrying out of the room, avoiding Loki's gaze.

"You scare her," Astri said coming around the divider to see Loki sitting on the stool she used to reach things that were too high up in her wardrobe.

"She's been seeing me for hundreds of years. How exactly is she still scared?" Loki asked, still comically short thanks to the stool.

"You're not the most approachable person in the palace, you know," Astri explained making her way to her wardrobe to pick something comfortable she could relax in.

"I'm plenty approachable." Loki said following her "You should wear the pink silk one."

"Alright style expert." She sighed pulling it out.

Loki stared down at her and the dress as if it was going to put itself on.

"Get out," Astri demanded

"You can just make it appear on your body." He complained referring to their shared abilities to conjure clothes to their bodies

"Get out and let me dress how I want to or I will eat all of the dessert Drifa brings for us to share." She threatened.

Loki groaned in annoyance but listened anyway. Astri slid the door to her closet shut and quickly dressed. Her hair was a bit wet from her bath and it dripped onto the soft fabric of her night dress, darkening the color slightly. When she emerged, Loki was sitting on her bed a large spread of food in front of him.

"She brought your favorite cakes." Loki pointed out

"She always does. That's what it is like being friends with your handmaidens." She said sitting on the other end of the bed

Loki scoffed but picked up one of the delicate-looking cakes anyway.

"Loki, no dessert before dinner." Astri scolded, trying to imitate Frigga's voice from when they were children.

"I do what I want," Loki responded, mouth full of food.

"Oh trust me, I know." Astri smiled, "Now what else did you want to say about Thor?"

We have finally reached the beginning of the first Thor movie. This means that the plot will become more intense and updates will be slower. Currently, I am hoping to update roughly every other day/ every two days. I am however a full-time college student and do not anticipate being able to always uphold a regular update schedule. School will always come first for me. I hope you are enjoying the story so far!

Also, I am so excited for the Loki Season 2 finale. I am also worried but please Marvel give me Lokius and a Thor and Loki reunion, I'm begging you. If not both then at least one of them :)

Taglist: (To be added comment below.)

@buttercupcookies-blog

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki series #marvel #mcu #tom hiddleston #chris hemsworth #thor odinson #thor #lokixoc #loki x female reader #loki x f!reader #fanfic #romance #marvel cinematic universe #loki season 2

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felikatze · 5 months

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wawawa i got to the act 3 finale again and looked at both options this time and both are. SO GOOD.

act 3 spoilers, because i have to ramble right now.

like saying its name leads to a SUPER eerie scene. the screen gets darker, sif and the king both take more and more damage, sif's family rally in concern at what is happening-

this variant of the scene also brings up the shattering star imagery two more times - each time sif and the king try to say it. which makes it obvious why they both keep taking damage. something is breaking. siffrin is desperate. maybe he can say it. maybe he can finally say it, finally remember. siffrin starts literally spitting blood and breaking apart and then it kills them.

and the other variant of this scene. not saying it. ohahahaha. it's also very good. the scene is much less eerie, but all the more visceral for it. sif refuses to say it. the screen stays bright. sif's internal monologue continues. they can never say it. something terrible will happen if they do. (and in another time, you can see exactly what that is.) the king begs siffrin to try, but sif refuses, because he cannot allow himself to have hope.

siffrin fucking GETS IT. but they also understand, their home is dead and gone. so they just start YELLING at the king at the top of their lungs, stop it stop it stop it LET IT DIE!! WE HAVE TO LET GO!!!

but the king tries anyway. and everything stops.

it's so. it's so interesting how both of these scenes lead siffrin to the same conclusion: that the king is a fucking moron for even trying. because. there's two aspects to siffrin here.

1.) they know the country is gone. they know it will never come back. it is useless to try.

2.) he would like it to be, anyway

so in a way, the two variants of this scene just lean into one of these aspects. either siffrin is desperate enough to try, or refuses to ever bother for fear of the consequence. and in both scenarios, siffrin is proven right, that the consequence is grave, and attempting it is tantamount to suicide. yet the king and siffrin also get so tantalizingly close anyway, that siffrin berates themself for never taking their own advice. it's a logic vs emotions thing. of course the logical thing is to let go. but emotionally, they really can't.

that's siffrin's whole thing. he can never let go. yet it all slips from his grasp anyway.

it's fantastic, is what i'm saying, how both scenes reveal the same deeper truth about the character through drastically different means, and both scenes have severe emotional weight and impact, regardless of if its horrifying dread or hopeless anger.

and then. of course. talking to the king again. aurgrhhrhrh.

to either scene, it's such a natural next step that you finally get to know the king's backstory. and from everything gleaned in act 3 so far, it has to be a glaring mirror to siffrin's. the two went through the exact same experience, the same loss, the same wanderings, the same new home and same acceptance and same fear of losing it all over again.

when siffrin picks up the mirror picture again, he talks a lot like the king. they talk a lot like the king in general. it's not a coincidence. it's a gradual build up through the third act, especially noticable if you do the family questlines again. sif will mention that they're selfish for doing this, but they like the reassurance again anyway. he likes knowing what happens next. he knows how to make everyone happy, now. wouldn't it be nice to make everyone happy, the best version of themselves they can be, forever?

so. of course you have the option to trust the king. this act is specifically building him up as a foil to siffrin. and again you have that choice, do you have hope, or do you refuse to even try?

which, of course, all comes crashing down when the king reveals he's a massive piece of shit, even with the exact same sobstory as siffrin. aurgh.

goddddd it's just too good okay.

#feli speaks #isat spoilers #in stars and time #FORGOT THE READMORE WHOOPS

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box-architecture · 3 months

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CKAU: Part One of ???

I often find myself struggling to write the first chapter of the Communication Knife AU.

When I first started writing awesamdream, it was me spitballing ideas in the dreblr minecraft server when it first opened, and trying to have fun with a ship that, at the time, wasn't considered A Big Thing, or was purely for whump purposes. And while writing for an AU, Sif was also there, poking and tormenting lovingly as a Sif does, and mentioned the concept of Auspisticism, a homestuck relationship, in regards to Dream, Sam, and Punz. And then one thing led to another, and now I have this big thing that makes me happy and had grown a lot bigger than I expected it to, and there's so many little drabbles and snippets and smut pieces that came out of it, that by the time new people started asking what the hell I was talking about, I realized that the context wasn't properly put together and hard to explain.

So I tried to put together a whole fic for it! And it hasn't been going well.

Because I really want to do the fic justice. I want to make it sound really lovely and use all the right words and explain very well all the things that made me insane so you can understand just the way it went when all this started! But in trying to do that, it's become so hard to write. I feel stuck, the words won't come, I overthink and overedit, and nothing is good enough.

But I still really, really do want to explain the AU so you can understand. And i know it won't be the perfect, well designed thing I built in my head, with all the write prose and all the little extra fancy things, but I'd rather you have it imperfectly than not at all.

Here you go, part one of ???:

(Sam: he/him

Dream: he/him

Punz: they/he

just to make sure.)

When things get bad for Dream in prison, he offers Sam sexual favors in return for better treatment, food/blankets/etc., and Sam agrees to this, regardless of the terrible ethics involved. Its not a great situation, for like, Obvious Reasons, and the consent is very much dubious here. Sam's possessive behavior is at its peak, and even if there ends up being less torture as part of the deal, it doesn't change that things are still fucked up.

When Dream escapes prison and finds Sam during Daedalus Arc, after scarring Sam, Dream offers to meet up to have sex again next week, out of a need to feel in control, to prove how he was Totally Not Traumatized he was and how he was absolutely fully capable of consenting to it, and the two continue their sexual activities.

However, Punz, who has been in a comfortably open relationship with Dream since before prison, bristles at the idea of Sam taking advantage of Dream, of the severe power imbalance still being a problem, and comes with him to these sexual encounters to protect him and keep Sam from pushing Dream's boundaries. They set up some rules, and if Sam breaks any or steps out of line, Punz will stab him with a special, gaudy blue knife that has 'Communication' engraved in its handle.

"He tortured you!"

"Technically it was Quackity who did the torturing." Dream corrected him, meticulously sorting his inventory. Their base felt suffocating, tiny, and he wanted to be done and gone already, but Punz seemed ready to fight him the whole way.

"Don't give me that shit," Punz snapped. "Sam let him in, he starved you half to death, for God's sake, Dream, he r-"

"It was not." At breakneck speed, Dream turned on his heel and hissed. "I said yes. Don't you dare say I didn't."

"You weren't in a position to say no." Punz said fiercely. Something dark and angry crushed their heart in its fist. "You didn't have any choice-"

"I had a choice!"

The world seemed to stop moving, the air stale. Dreams breaths were shaky, heaving, and Punz realized with a lump in their throat that Dream was trembling from stress.

"I had a choice." Dream repeated. "And it was mine. Not his, not anyone's. I'm going to see him again, and that's my choice too. Not yours."

They could stop him, a little voice in the back of their head murmured. They could stop him and- and keep him safe. Prevent anyone else from hurting him again. They could say the right words that would cause him to falter ("for me." Punz had once pleaded, and Dream bent, as he always did) and then Sam would never touch him. They could even kill the creeper hybrid, to be sure. They would destroy the entire server with the Plan, and Dream would finally be safe.

But.

Dream needed this. Whatever he said, whatever he thought, he'd been denied agency for so long. The thought of them being the one to take it away, his friend, when they were supposed to be the one person on the server who he could trust… it made them feel sick.

Dreams trembling faded, and he straightened up, before he throwing his cloak over his shoulder.

Punz made his decision. "I'm coming with you."

"What?"

"I'm your backup, and your mercenary, and your partner. If Sam has a problem with it, just say you rehired me."

At the very beginning, the rules are this:

No Kissing. Punz doesn't think Sam deserves kisses, and they're vicious about enforcing this. Kisses are for Punz alone, and Sam is incredibly jealous.

No marks. Sam has tried to leave hickies or bruises, but it was quickly shut down. When he argued this, Punz told him that he could leave marks when all the marks (torture scars) he already made on Dream were gone.

No cuddling or aftercare. Since Sam insisted that the sex didn't mean anything, clearly that means he doesn't need to be involved in taking care of Dream after. Punz will take him away and they can be the one to hold Dream. (Not that Sam longed for that. He doesn't feel more desperate each time the two leave him behind. Of course not.)

The most obvious one: what Dream says goes. Sam isn't allowed to Override Dream and insist his way is better, and he isn't allowed to take whatever he wants without asking. If Dream needs a moment, or would like to change positions, or even just say he'd rather not, Sam must listen. Punz will make him listen.

And so every week all three of them get together, usually at the prison, and have sex. Its a very complicated, unhealthy dynamic, for a lot of different reasons.

Punz, usually able to gauge what Dream wants/what would make him comfortable, is left blind, because Dream is always a little uncomfortable here, always stressed, and Punz can't fix that. They're trying their best, and they know that Dream could shut down and be unable to express himself if the wrong button is pushed, but in the beginning its a mess. At some point he micromanages where Sam puts his hands, pushing and arguing with him over whose allowed to say where Sam can and can't touch, and neither of the two argue that it should be Dream.

It doesn't help that Punz is jealous. They don't want to be, especially not in this situation. But Sam's possessiveness of Dream, the way he taunts about knowing Dream in ways nobody else possibly could- it sets off that part of Punz that has always been so self-satisfied with his place as Dream's most intimate companion, the other half of his soul.

(Its the server's second stupidest dick measuring contest where they accidentally objectify Dream in the process, while they also compete to see who Dream likes more.)

Sam, on the other hand, is constantly having to reckon with the fact that he wasn't actually as good as he thought he was. Punz doesn't let him get away with spewing the same lines of crap and insisting he's always right. Sam also considered himself A Good Lover and good at getting Dream off (the only one who knows him, who knows him Best), and his ego takes a fucking hit when Punz corrects him. When Punz points out that certain things were actually harmful/not enjoyable, its hard for Sam to accept because it means he fucked up and made assumptions in his head and Punz rubs each of those in.

Sam tries to defend himself by pointing out that Dream went along with it, and which leads to Punz pointing out that he didn't have much of a choice/wasn't in a good situation to make that choice at the time, and that's the one time it nearly comes to blows between them before Dream speaks up to tell them both to knock it off.

(Sam discovers One (1) kink that Punz doesn't know about and he's so fucking smug about it despite fucking up literally everything else.)

(No matter how many wins Sam thinks he gets during their weekly time together, Punz still gets to take Dream home, do aftercare and keep him safe. Sam hates how much he wants that too, despite the fact that according to his own weird moral code he shouldn't.)

And as much as this is most definitely causing more issues, it does leave Dream actually feeling more in control of his situation.

He gets so much praise now! This is basically therapy but better! He even gets aftercare with no torture. He's getting good dick and most of his kinks are getting hit, truly luxurious for a cDream. He's a lot more confident and content, and he isn't constantly on the defensive, because if Punz says he didn't deserve what happened to him, even if its just a single person, Dream doesn't have to fight to prove that he's a person deserving of basic human decency.

But the Most Important Thing That Makes All This Take The Turn It Does: At first, Sam thinks that the proper solution to all of this is to get Dream all to himself again in his prison where he belongs and not fixing his behavior any more than what he needs specifically to get there.

However, during an very short period of time where Sam is able to be with Dream without Punz there to scrutinize, Sam attempts to do stuff like how he used to before Punz, to prove he doesn't need him, that they don't need him.

But now he knows, he knows that Dream isn't actually into a lot of the things he was trying, or at the very least he likes other things more. He had it proved to him, and he's aware that things can be a lot better. Dream's clearly nervous, anxious, and not super into this, and Sam can tell, and now all he can see are all those little signs that he's fucking up, and it's getting into his head.

In the end, he can't even get himself to go through with it, because now it feels wrong and he can't ignore that. He makes an excuse, and he's frustrated and aggressive, but he doesn't try this again without Punz there.

Mentally he can justify it as Punz would kill him if he did. This is just a matter of self-preservation.

But quietly his plans adjust to not just needing to get Dream under his control. He'll need to get Punz too in order for things to be perfect.

#communication knife au #awesamdrunz #there are parts of this that are words that Sif wrote because a lot of the stuff was us rotating together #she gave me full permission to use them before I even asked dkfjghdkfgh<3 #Sif is one of the best rotation friends genuinely. we love and cherish Sif in this house

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therese-lokidottir · 5 months

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There's one thing that literally wromg on screen and it's very obvious, like there's no justifying at all but of course they trying justify it and it make showrunner look stupid and cruel

It's even mobius and loki first time in theater room and well it's lead mobius saying na d blame loki for frigga dead and say loki existence is nothing but for step stone

That is literally cruel and torture and showrunner specially Waldron had nerve calling it 'therapy ' and make loki 'look into mirrors' to realize his sins and mistake (loki literally know and understand his sins and mistake, he no need anyone and everyone rubbing it on his face). Seriously season 1 scenes it's filled with stupid and cruel scenes

Seriously what the f&*- wrong with Waldron, I know he didn't watching previous films but seriously? Every single his 'writing ' literally bad, boring and stupid. Waldron make joss wedon and Russo brothers look like the best writers and prosucers in world

Loki literally know and understand his sins and mistake

And the thing Loki does understand he did wrong. You see it on his face when the reality of the situation hits him.

So, here's the problem with Waldron entire premise. Everything about the show says he has no choice that he'll be killed along with his entire timeline if he choses to do good but then still places all the blame on him for doing wrong.

Mobius judgment and shaming is really twisted when you think about it because from Mobius perspective, what he fully and unquestionably believes is Loki is just acting out what is written for him. It's not his fault it's the timekeepers intent for things to happen that way. Either Loki has free will and could have choice differently or he has no free will and no one has the right to judge him.

Loki didn't kill Frigga, not just in the way others have explain there is no way take the stairs to the left where enough to lead the monster to the room place and Malakath already was there. But in the way this Loki never got to the point and with the tesseract, that moment probably never would have happened. The TVA killed Frigga, this version of Loki who onscreen family and home is gone because of the TVA.

Loki doesn't admit wrong because he doesn't want to buckle to Odin, someone who has done worse and refuses to admit wrong himself. It is a personal conflict at that point and Loki has never been confronted by someone he has wrong in a significant way.

Thor, Volstagg and Sif threaten to kill him, he doesn't object or defend himself. He gets it. Jane punches him, he's more amused. Again, no excuse to people he's wrong in some way, Loki accepts that hate. The family stuff is a conflict because his family also screwed up and he refuse to be the only one who admit wrong.

Peter lost his uncle because of his inaction. Tony suffered torture and say his own weapons used against the US and civilians. These are both inciting moments for them to be heroes, but it's not therapy and the people doing these things are the villains.

Again, what sense does it really make? Mobius: Hey, you're an evil loser only good for causing harm. Now help up catch a someone so we can go on unimpeded annihilating universes and killing people. It's not therapy it is in every way cult indoctrination because all it does is tear Loki down and say the only path forward is obeying the system that isolated him.

Like, Raganrok wasn't a particular good redemption arc either but what it shows is Loki doesn't need this. He doesn't have to have his mother death shown to him and collared and beaten to change. There can be other paths for him to be a hero. True, either is through torture and shame but TR at least it was about saving live and that was it. He saved Asgard he accepted Thor as king no objection. So, yeah, wasn't necessary for Loki to change he was always capable of saving lives and giving his to protect his loved ones

#asks #anti mobius #dumb walnut #loki series criticism

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worstloki · 1 year

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Thor, rambling while Loki reads: --and yes, we are brothers, but I would kiss you if you asked!

Loki, suddenly much less interested in his book: What?

Thor: What?

Amora: *'sneakily' watching with her head peeking over the librarian's desk* HE SAID HE WOULD KISS YOU IF YOU ASKED.

#been finding the option of competitive fair play and sportsmanship supportiveness so much better as an option for everyone #like sure Amora is dying to bang Thor and Sif is trying to be a good friend while also vying/hoping for his interest #and sure Loki is somehow winning the contest with little idea he's taking part #but that doesn't mean they all have to fight!!!!#Amora being like 'well if i can't have him then im voting for Loki' while Sif and Loki joke about Thor's 'obvious' crush on one of them #Loki: *pointedly @ Sif* and to NO ONES surprise Thor has made off for the night with a stunning fair maiden with dark hair and blue eyes #Sif: it's OBVIOUS he's like this for *you*#Loki: nah ur just mad that im right about this. and the fact that he'd rather never confess than begrudge your warrior bond or whatever #Sif: he likes guys too -there's no way to explain that away with me! YOU'RE a shapeshifter making it doable to his...salacious imaginings :#Loki: what if he has a type. maybe he likes us both? that would explain the time he--#Amora: if i wanted i could make clones too yknow -_-#Sif Loki Amora with sometimes Lorelei showing up and lowkey thinking it's a fun time to cheer the others on in gaining Thor's attentions #Fandral too one day he's red faced and all 'shame on my family line' but he's taken a seat at their table reluctantly and gone #''his arms. right?''#and there are just nods of solidarity around the table #idk #something of a wholesome Thor fanclub which Loki is attending because Sif is CONVINCED his type isn't her but is Loki #and Amora who thinks it would be wicked hilarious for the bros to get it on #Fandral: wait I thought Loki was just sitting here to stop people bothering your table. and because he's a loner #Loki: Fandral FINALLY. Fandral look me in the eyes. tell them Thor isn't in love with me #Fandral: you?! I'm hoping he's into blond T-T #Amora: *fist over her heart* respect T-T

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lokiinmediasideblog · 2 months

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Loki + Odin=Marvel!Loki

This is part (2/3) of a series.

This is the most obvious "equation" out of the three, being that all Norse myth adaptations have an Odin and Loki (unlike say, the lesser known Skadi), so they both have high visibility.

Marvel's version of Loki (mostly referring to the comics but some of this applies to the MCU to some extent) is some weird mixture of myth!Loki, myth!Odin, and sometimes the Devil because Christians decided Loki was "the Norse devil" (by this, I mean original Earth-616 Loki being the "God of Evil" and referring to himself as "Satan" in his very first appearance (Venus comics)) that has until fairly recently become more Loki-like (i.e. reincarnation and onwards).

Odin and Loki are quite similar in the myths (They're both SHIFTY BASTARDS and partake in "female interests" to different extents). So it works out especially when Marvel's Loki is raised by Odin.

Marvel!Loki's similarities to Odin:

Myth!Loki is not a master sorcerer (that's myth!Odin) and is merely a shapeshifter. Myth!Loki can shapeshift themselves and others in the myths which is a common ability of the Jotnar. But is not shown to do seidr or seek it out. That's Odin. I am basing it from the Lokasenna where Odin and Loki are arguing over who's more "argr." Basically going "oh yea, well you're gayeyer" at each other. Calling each other slurs. Odin calls Loki argr for giving birth as a woman for "8 winters" and Loki calls Odin argr for practicing seidr and disguising as an old woman. Loki’s shape-shifting is not considered “seidr” and it’s just something Jotnar do all the time. Seidr pertains especifically to clairvoyance magic and rituals, according to Jackson Crawford's video on it.

In the comics, Loki sacrificed himself for himself (to reincarnate and try to break out of predictability). In the mythology, Odin sacrificed himself for himself by spearing himself and hanging from Yggdrassil for 9 days, to gain knowledge (see the runes for Galdr). In the MCU, Loki sacrifices himself for others multiple times to the point where it's a meme. But the thematic elements of self-sacrifice and resurrection are there, and his final sacrifice is associated with a tree.

Loki in the myths is more of a Looney Tunes character sort of schemer. He schemes, cheats, and lies, but it's usually for a short-term goal such as saving his ass from all the wacky situations he ends up in through his fault or by being scapegoated. Not very Machiavellic. He's not plotting to rule take power. Though he may engage in malicious pranks and the occasional murder (Balder). Though aspects of this may still apply to Marvel!Loki.

Marvel comics Loki is associated with corvids. Magpies rather than ravens. But it's interesting his animal that carried a copy of his soul was also a corvid.

However, there are still plenty of similarities with myth!Loki.

Loki is a scapegoat. In mythology, Loki is the only one that receives punishment for misdeeds, and its always disproportionate (mouth sewn shut, horse impregnation, bound by the entrails of his son as a snake drips burning venom on his eyes, etc). This is similar to how the Thor Comics written before 2012-ish expect you not to find Loki sympathetic and add thought bubbles of Loki thinking evil things while being punished to show it was "deserved". He is portrayed as a sympathetic scapegoat and villain within the MCU.

Loki is an outsider. In mythology, he's one of two deities speculated to be associated with the Sámi people, and a Jotnar that was brought into the Aesir fold through a blood oath with Odin ("blood brothers). Some speculate Odin did this to try to prevent Ragnarok, plus Loki was his shifty buddy for a while. In Marvel, he's a Jotun that was adopted into Asgard.

Loki doesn't fit conventional Asgardian gender role standards. Despite Marvel's retcon, it was quite obvious Asgardians had gender expectations (e.g. Thor lashes out at being called "princess" and nearly starts a war over that insult, Sif being a shield maiden being a huge deal, Loki's magic being dismissed as "tricks" and less important than battle in deleted scenes (grain of salt bc deleted scene)).

Loki is closer to his mother. It has been state by John Lindow that Loki's use of a matronymic surname indicates an absent or inadequate father. In the MCU, his adoptive mother taught him magic and is the parent he's closer to. This is not the case in Marvel comics, where Frigga/Freyja (they can't make up their mind how to name her) rejected Loki (*Blood Brothers aka Loki (2004) was so influential to me*). And tried to force them into a villainous role post-reincarnation.

I think the MCU's Sif and Loki dynamic is weirdly similar to Loki and Skadi (and I elaborate on the previous post 1/3).

Loki causes Ragnarok in some way. In Marvel comics, Loki does still kill Balder and cause Ragnarok often. In the MCU, he technically also started Ragnarok, but it was to save the rest of the realms. In the mythology, after escaping his torturous punishment, he leads the armies of Hel against Asgard on a ship made of nails.

Odin and Loki are considered to be similar in both the MCU and the myths. In the mythology, they were considered to be so similar, it was speculated Loki may be a hypostasis of Odin by Folke Strom. In the MCU, Hela remarks how similar Loki is to Odin.

Lazy Citations:

Loki's Wikipedia article (last screenshot)

Jackson Crawford's video on seidr.

Laidoner, Triin. (2012) The Flying Noaidi of the North: Sámi Tradition Reflected in the Figure Loki Laufeyjarson in Old Norse Mythology. SCRIPTA ISLANDICA.

#mcu!oki #marvel comics #comics!loki #comics!ikol #norse mythology #mcu!odin #comics!odin #myth!loki #myth!odin

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anuninterestingperson · 3 months

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Isiloop?

(ask meme here) fullgame isat spoilers including two hats below the cut

ok so. a fun fact about why i started playing isat specifically when i did lol. is that i was planning on playing it, but in that nebulous adhd sort of 'i want to play this, who knows when it will happen though!' way, and what actually gave me the motivation to start last november was that i saw a post implying that loop was gay for sif. i played the prologue right before isat, so i knew isa had a thing for sif and i shipped it immediately, but i also always had an eyes emoji set loop's way.....just in case, y'know.......and loop says SO many vaguely fruity things about sif lol. but i was like ok isafrin canon, i'll write something for that. but i couldn't think of anything until somebody on isatcord (i think jokingly) mentioned isa/sif/loop and at first i was like 'yeah sure haha' and then i was like. wait. no. no that works. that works very well actually. oh my god that works SO well. and i have been lost in the sauce ever since

my favorite thing about sif and loop together is that they are the people who uniquely have the most power to hurt each other but also the most power to help. like that moment in the touch therapy sequence where loop reaches out to sif when nobody else can, when sif tells loop that they don't need to talk they can just sit together and then they sit silently....it's such a good dynamic.....sif and isa are obvious, they're both so sweet and they can do so much for each other. help each other know that they are both loved no matter what! and then loop and isa, god there's so much angst there because loop knows the isa they shared everything with is gone but isa is still isa, and isa has so much love to give and would have so much to give to loop in particular....all together i just think they would heal each other so much you know? sif and loop know each other and their circumstances better than anybody else can, isa loves them both, and they both love isa enough to help him with knowing that he deserves that no matter who he is or how he changes or doesn't change. head in hands there's just so much love there it makes me emotional

apparently 'sloopis is a shitty shipname' is an unpopular opinion now???? what have i done. /hj ummmm idk what else might there be 🤔 idk! i think it's a new enough ship it hasn't had much of a chance to accrue a lot of bad opinions hahaha

#isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #isat two hats spoilers #ask meme

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ninjahiccups · 1 year

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The Songbird of Asgard

Chapter 2: Empathy

Now on AO3! here

New OC INSERT VERSION!! here (for those of you who prefer oc's, also has picture of OC if you want it)

Words: 14k yowza

Warnings: swearing, Odin being Odin, Heimdall being Heimdall. You being sassy

Edited while I have the flu so be weary of errors lmao

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Blurb: Odin gets you started on the special assignment he brought you to Asgard for, but not before Heimdall drives you crazier than he already has. Of course, he's the one who is escorting you while you do you work, so things get messy.

And somehow, after you two nearly beat each other to a pulp, you manage to understand who he is.

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You didn’t bother to think about where you were going. All that mattered was getting far enough from Heimdall to pretend he had been wiped from existence and would never be seen or heard from again. For a bit your irritation faded to make way for worry, thinking you had gotten lost in this totally new part of Gladsheim. You soon stumbled across what looked like another training ground, the main field in a wide ditch dug next to the path you followed. This one was different, with better equipment and reserved for the elite warriors, if looks were anything to go by. Valkyries, which was obvious thanks to their wings, and Einherjar with much heavier armor, likely captains, you guessed. And then a few others that were completely different. Two men, one blond and tall with a heavy rectangular sword and a shorter, red-haired man with a diamond shield. Sparring with them was a third man, not much taller than you and, unlike any other on the field, wore no armor. His bare, tattooed chest was all he had to stop the oncoming attacks from the other two. You leaned on the wooden fence at the edge of the ditch, focusing on their fight.

You very quickly realized exactly who this loner facing the duo was. The largest one slashed his sword across his exposed chest, a deep gash forming and almost immediately fading, the receiver giving no indication that he had felt a thing. It had to be Baldur. You watched closely, noting his speed, precision, and carefully studying how the spell that had been placed on him worked.

All this would be very useful, should you need to defend yourself at some point.

"Finished already?" You recognized Sif’s voice, straightening your stance and turning to greet the older goddess. "So. How did it go?" Her tone was teasing, like she had expected the outcome all along. That would explain the apology she gave last time they saw each other.

You shook your head and sighed, placing your elbow on the fence and resting your chin on your hand, and grumbled, "I've never been so close to strangling someone in my life."

"What did he do?"

"Name calling, talking about how much better he was, how I wasn't welcome. Just annoying overall."

You didn't expect Sif to have no reaction. Was the treatment you received not appalling by Asgardian standards? "So Heimdall was actually fairly well-behaved then."

You gawked back in shock, standing up to get a good view of Sif’s face to determine if she was joking. And she wasn't. "He's like that to everybody? I thought it was because I was an outsider."

"Well, I'm sure that's part of it. But it's nothing new."

"And he gets worse?!"

Sif nodded and gave a tired sigh. "That's Heimdall."

You wanted to scream. The idea that this behavior was constant was…completely unacceptable to you. "And everyone is just okay with it?"

"It's certainly not enjoyed by anyone," Sif clarified, keeping a close eye on the duo fighting Baldur below. "But no one retaliates."

"Why not?"

"There's nothing they can do."

You huffed, hands gripping the edge of the wooden fence tighter in malcontent. "Because of his rank? That's ridiculous," you fumed, anger returning at full speed. "If he gets away with it then it's no wonder he keeps doing it."

Sif, still watching the fight below and seemingly disappointed that Baldur was winning, shrugged at your logic. "His rank is the least of everyone's worries." That was right…he was a "mind reader," as Sif had put it. But so what? "It's best to just stay out of his way and ignore what he says."

"He definitely deserves something for being an ass." You muttered to yourself, "I'm glad I knocked him off his mount."

The comment was just loud enough for Sif to hear, and she chuckled at it. "If only…" She laughed for a few more seconds before realizing you were not. She ripped her eyes from the combat field and met your confused expression. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"That's impossible." Sif waited for you to admit it was a prank, facing you fully when you didn't. "That's impossible. His foresight allows him to see every move someone makes before they make it. If you did something to harm him he would have known and countered it. You really managed to do that?"

You shrunk, almost feeling sheepish. You were even more bemused than Sif. If Heimdall had known you were going to pull on Gulltoppr’s reins, leave, and react accordingly if he went after you, then why would he allow it? He couldn't have been pretending, not with how livid he was. You had some suspicions, but not enough information to come to any concrete conclusions. "Well…he was riding his gradungr, and it doesn't have foresight, right? Maybe he couldn't stop it in time even if he did see it coming." A half-baked excuse, mumbled like a child describing the imaginary fiend that stole from the cookie jar.

Your explanation was no more convincing to Sif that it was to yourself. Regardless, Sif let it go. "Perhaps that would be the reason why…still, the fact that you did hit him is impressive. As long as I've known him I have never seen anyone lay a finger on him." Sif’s expression grew dire. "Which is why you should be especially careful with him from now on. He won't take that slight against his perfect record lightly, and Heimdall is the last person anyone should make an enemy out of."

The unease Sif expressed was concerning, but you still didn't feel like it was enough to let Heimdall’s "colorful" language go. If he wanted to be a jerk to every living thing then he should expect to have it blow up in his face eventually, and you certainly weren't going to let him have his way. Although, you should refrain from going as far as harming him from then on.

"Alright, I trust you know how to handle him better than I would," you relented.

"Good. He definitely won't forget what happened, but maybe you can at least keep him from targeting you further." Sif watched the training ground again, finding the duo sitting on the ground, exhausted, while Baldur laughed hysterically at them for something. Sif motioned for you to follow her and started for the hill leading to the grounds below. "Enough of that. Come, I want you to meet my sons."

Heimdall couldn't remember the last time he'd been this irate.

Nor could he remember thr last time he'd be hit, but you managed to do that too.

Heimdall watched you, observing the elite training field again. This was the third day in a row. What were you looking for down there?

He'd expected to find out by now, having been poking and clawing at your blank mind ever since the tour went awry. To his annoyance, he had yet to make any progress. All he had to go on were things he'd heard from other people regarding you, and all that information did was convince him you were much more of a threat than you wanted everyone to think. Heimdall had listened to the minds and gossip surrounding you, finding that gods and craftsmen alike thought you were rather pleasant and harmless, incapable of causing any trouble for any of them. Like the fools they were. Sif and Thor had conversed with you many times by now. That oaf, even in his constant drunken state, also thought you were fun and a joy to be around. You'd even met Baldur and Thor's idiot sons, all three of them having similar thoughts (although the latter's thoughts were more…useless, mostly concerned with your appearance). Even the servants unanimously adored you, practically tripping over themselves to assist you with anything, just for an excuse to speak with you, and overjoyed that one of the gods didn't treat them like the servants they were. Pathetic was how Heimdall saw it. Painfully pathetic.

What he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out was why. Why were you being so friendly with everyone you met? What were you planning? What did you hope to gain? Popularity? Worship? Status? Information? And why would you want any of that? If only he could see into that conniving little head of yours…find out what trick you were trying to pull. What you were hiding…

It was like you could hear his thoughts. You tore your eyes away from the valkyries battling below and began looking around. Looking for him, specifically. You'd done this before, seeming to know he was nearby without seeing him. It irked him, to say the least, that he had no clue how you were doing that.

Watching from a distance was getting him nowhere. Time to take a more direct approach…again.

It took almost no time at all for you to spot him as he came out from behind a wall and headed for you, making no attempt to hide his hatred. You displayed yours as well by scowling at him. You had some way of tracking him, you had to.

"I'm starting to think you don't actually do anything around here."

How Heimdall wanted to drive his sword past those wretched lips and pierce the back of your throat. Instead he smirked, knowing that your ignorance would put you at a disadvantage. "How kind of you to show me how clueless you are. If you knew any better then you'd realize I am the reason this realm is intact."

"By practically stalking me? Doubtful," you countered with crossed arms.

"I am simply protecting Asgard from the likes of you."

"Someone who is minding their own business?"

"Someone who is hiding something."

You threw up your arms with an exasperated sigh. "And how would I do that? Isn't knowing that supposed to be your 'job?'"

Heimdall ground his teeth together, holding back his desire to douse you in bifrost, show you what happens when you rub your immunity in his face. But no, that wouldn't redeem his previous failure. "My job is to sniff out anyone who is a hazard to Asgard, and I think you might be." You only raised your eyebrows, unimpressed. "Clearly you have a way of knowing when I'm keeping my eye on you. Maybe you have some ability you're keeping from the All-Father, hm?"

"Or maybe I'm just smarter than you?" Before Heimdall could protest such a blatant lie, you elaborated, "Whenever you're around everyone looks annoyed, scared, or nervous. And everyone in the vicinity is one of those things. Including me."

"Don't be so ashamed. You can admit you're afraid of me."

"I'm definitely not afraid, but I am obscenely irritated."

Again, Heimdall had to hold back his need to show you that you definitely should have been afraid of him. "Because you know I'm onto you? Because I know your little 'everyone loves me' gimmick is a lie?"

"And when have I ever said something like that?"

"You don't need to, you're showing it plain as day. Quite moronic of you, by the way."

He could see that you were losing your patience, getting close to the point that you would normally find some way to get away from him for as long as possible. "And what makes you so sure that I'm after something? I came here at Od--All-Father's request."

"And you're using it for your own gain!"

You snarled at him, "What gain? And why do you care so much? Why do you want to hear it from me when–"

You stopped, the pieces in your head falling into place. Heimdall didn't say anything either. Something was there. He felt something.

He saw just a sliver of your mind.

It was faint, and not nearly potent enough for him to see anything but it was there. There was a way to get past your defenses, make you leave yourself vulnerable.

That was it. He had to make you angry.

"You can't read me."

Your words prevented him from smiling devilishly at the revelation, instead sneering at your mockery. "How presumptuous of you."

"Really…?" You paused, staring into his eyes and saying nothing. Heimdall opened his mouth to ask if you were finally going to shut up and confess to your treachery when he heard it.

"I ought to pluck out those stupid golden teeth and shove them into your eyes."

His retort came to such a sudden halt that the words piled up into a boulder in his throat. Your thoughts. He heard them. But only for a second until your mind was blank again. The barrier around you was back in place, and no matter how hard he scratched at it there was nothing more than silence.

You knew he heard you, your eyebrows shooting up at his reaction.

"You can only read me if I allow it," you contemplated aloud, no trace of contempt in your voice. It was simply a fact you were stating.

Heimdall felt his face curl into the most vicious grimace he had ever made in his long life. You were toying with him. "Don't act like you didn't know," he seethed.

"I didn't, actually. But now it makes sense. That would be why I was able to hit–"

"You didn't do anything to me!" What happened after you stormed off was a fluke, a mere sham produced by his lack of knowledge of your magic. That wasn't worthy of being addressed.

"Don't want me to say it in front of everyone here, I see." Heimdall intended to bark at her but was interrupted again. "So is that what this is? A temper tantrum?" You gave him a feigned pout. "Whining because I'm not an easy target like everyone else? Challenge is good for you, you know."

Heimdall took a deep breath through his nose, holding back every single muscle in his body from lunging at you and wringing your neck for speaking to him in such a way. "If you truly didn't know, then you do now. So stop it."

You took a breath, reeling in your own emotions. Heimdall raised a brow slightly, expecting her to be angry. "Is that really what all this is about? If you wanted to read me that badly you could have just asked."

How many times had Heimdall felt his comebacks be sapped away in an instant during this conversation? He'd lost track at this point. You would just…let him in? Just like that? You didn't care?

…No. No, that wasn't it. It couldn't be. You must have had more fine tuned control over what he could read from you. This was just a ploy to appear innocent. Even so, he couldn't believe you for one very specific reason.

"Oh really?" He drawled, dropping his voice to a low growl. "Then why aren't you letting me in now?"

"I said you could have, not that you can."

Heimdall took a brief step back and laughed. "You mean you're just choosing not to now?"

"Absolutely," you said matter-of-factly. "Now that you've antagonized me and pissed me off, I'm not going to let you have what you want. I couldn't let you have something you don't deserve, after all."

Heimdall prided himself on being a calm, in control, and collected man, capable of handling anything that came his way without problems. But you were going to make him lose his temper and discard whatever sense of composure he had in him. "So you do have something to hide, then."

You seemed to feel the same about him, your face contorting into a fierce glare. "I'm not going to repeat myself. Maybe you should use your own eyes and brain instead of letting the foresight do everything for you."

The muscles in Heimdall's hands flexed, his fingers begging to curl around the hilt of Hofud, and he moved his arms just a tiny bit in the blade's direction. Then a raven fluttered down to them. It landed on a fence behind Heimdall, eyes firmly planted on you. You let out an exhale full of relief, murmuring a "thank you" to whatever offered you a way out of this predicament. You moved to pass him, arm seized by his firm grip when you were at his side. He leaned down closer to your face, his glowing violet eyes reflecting in your irises. "If you think you can hide from me forever, you can't," he hissed at her, displaying all of his antipathy.

You glowered right back at him, looking as intimidating as you possibly could. Which, as much as you disliked it, was hard considering he was so much taller than you. "If you think you can bend me to your petty will…" she leaned in even closer, their noses nearly touching. "...you can't." You yanked your arm free and stomped off to the raven.

Heimdall only let you go because Odin needed you. But nothing could impede his thoughts. Thoughts of how much he despised you, how he loathed your sarcastic remarks and how you matched his every insult with one of your own. How he absolutely detested that you refused him something he needed.

How he abhorred that you made him look so flawed.

You found yourself in Odin's study, the god standing behind his desk. Huginn, who had teleported you there, flew to Odin’s extended arm and faded into his tattoos. His eyes met yours with kindness and patience, offering a warm welcome before he even spoke. You were beginning to feel bad for being so suspicious of his intentions, considering how magnanimous he had been thus far. The stories you had heard must have been exaggerated. “Good to see you! How are you feeling? Adjusting to Gladsheim?”

You gave a shallow bow to show respect. “I’ve been doing well, and I’m feeling much more comfortable now.” For the most part, you thought, still boiling over your talk with Heimdall.

Odin nodded, smiling brightly. “Glad to hear it. Are you, perchance, comfortable enough to hear a bit about that project I brought you here for? If you still need time I can give it to you.”

“No, I think you’ve given me plenty of time. I’d be happy to help.”

His bright demeanor diminished just a touch, like he was about to drop some bad news on you. “You’re really comfortable enough to go forward? There’s nothing in Asgard that’s making you have any second guesses?” You didn’t reply, not wanting to confirm what he was most likely referring to. Your silence, however, did exactly that. “Heimdall still being…himself?”

Your eyes went to the floor for a split second. “He’s been…difficult.” As much as you would have loved to rat him out for his behavior you still felt that would be going too far. You couldn’t put him in that kind of trouble just because he was a pest. Even if you really did want to.

Odin’s voice softened. “I know, he can be a lot. He’s very observant, perceptive…but just fails to see the bigger picture sometimes. As hostile as he is, it’s all for a purpose. He really does love the realm, and everything in it. He wants to protect it from any kind of danger, and keep everyone safe. He’s just trying to do his job…even if he tends to try too hard. At the end of it all, his work is very important, and he keeps that in mind every day.”

You felt your heart sink, realizing Odin had a very valid point. As insufferable as Heimdal was, he was only fulfilling his duty. After all, you had suddenly appeared in the realm, immune to Odin’s ravens, unknown to everybody there, and a complete mystery that he couldn’t figure out as he was expected to. The more you thought about it, the more you recalled how frustrated he was during their tour, and how much more he had grown since. It was no wonder learning that you could actively deny him access to your mind was so…suspicious to him. So unreasonable. Maybe you had been too hasty, too vengeful. Maybe you should be more forgiving. Perhaps if you did he would be at least a little more bearable than he had been.

It still wasn’t enough to convince you to leave yourself open to his foresight, but you would at least try not to fight back as fast.

“Speaking of important work…” Odin broke you out of your thought process when he reached a bookshelf behind him, picked something up, and threw it in your direction. You caught it, turning it around in your fingers to see what it was. Based on your completely inadequate knowledge, it was just a rock with runes carved into it. Though it had to be part of something bigger, since the shape of it was long and curved, with smooth edges and had the runes etched neatly into the falt surface. “What is it?”

“Do you feel anything from it?”

You returned to the stone, assuming he wanted you to find an answer there. You closed your fingers around it, noticing the spark of magic beneath them. Traces of a protection stave, actually. It was incomplete, but the piece was calling out to something, pulling you towards whatever it was yearning for. “I do…it’s like it wants to go somewhere. But it’s very vague…I can’t pinpoint exactly where it needs to go.”

Odin grinned like a proud father. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for. What you’re feeling is that piece trying to find its kin, but because they’re in other realms it can’t get an accurate read.” He waved you closer, spreading out the papers that littered his desk. You took a closer look, finding an illustration of a sculpture, which appeared to house the piece she held in her hand. It was part of an arch that was planted on a ring-shaped base. In the middle of the apparatus was a clear gem, and inside that gem were nine tiny crystals, all balanced on an image of the world tree. It was a representation of the realms, you concluded. “This here is an ancient relic. Based on my research, this was forged when Ginnungagap split into the nine realms, and kept them completely separate, at first. At some point a primordial being – my bet is on Ymir – broke it to allow travel between the realms. Since then the pieces have been scattered, and I want to find them.”

The anxiety surrounding Odin’s intentions roused once again. You looked up from the notes and drawings, doing your best to contain your fear. “You want to seal the realms?”

“Not now.” Odin waved a hand like he was waving off a fly and not dismissing what could potentially be an incredible influx of power. “There’s already measures in place to keep just anyone from traipsing around the realms, like travel runes and Tyr’s temple and such. I also have some of my own tools, but none of them are enough for Ragnarok.”

“Ragnarok?”

“Ragnarok. It doesn’t just happen out of nowhere, you know. Armies across the realms are foretold to rise up and prepare for a battle right here on our doorstep. If the realms were sealed, no one would be able to make preparations suitable for a battle of that scale. It will give me some time to find an alternative to Ragnarok, find a much more peaceful and less apocalyptic way out of it. A way to circumvent what has been considered inevitable.

“The problem I’m having is that my research has only led me to the general location of the other seven pieces of this tool. Exact locations have been almost impossible to nail down. I had suspected that, since you have such a strong affinity for protection spells and magic, and this is just an anchor for what is essentially a protection stave, I thought you would be able to sense it. And you can. Which means you can find these pieces, I can reconstruct this device, and have the option to use it, should Fimbulwinter come.” Odin ended his monologue, looking to you for a response.

“That’s…a very good plan,” you said, once again feeling that you had misjudged the old god. Everything he was doing was to avoid what was supposed to be the end of everyone. And now…you were going to be a big part of that. Of helping everyone avoid a terrible fate.

“I told you that you’d be promoting peace if you came to Asgard,” Odin added, softly. “You can start that now. If you’re willing.”

Your entire life had been spent trying to help, but having no idea how to assist others in a way that mattered, that actually made a meaningful difference. With this, you had purpose. You could be something. “Yes, of course I'll help!” you exclaimed, forgetting who she was speaking to at that moment.

Odin’s smile grew even wider. “That’s a wise choice, my dear. You’ll be doing a lot of good with this.” He let you feel the thrill of your glorious task, letting you enjoy the idea of the eventual fruits of your service to him. Once you had long enough, he went back to business. “This may be a simple task, but I don’t want you to go alone. I have no idea if these pieces might have attracted anything, or what kind of ‘natives’ might give you trouble, so I’ll send some help to go with you. That way you can focus on finding what that stone is looking for, and he can take care of the danger for you…” Odin paused, his expression growing terse and domineering.

You heard the study door open behind you, keeping your eyes on Odin as you listened to the light footsteps approaching.

“Heimdall,” Odin acknowledged as the young god came to a stop at your left.

You have got to be kidding me, you whined in your mind.

“I’m sending you to Muspelheim. There are two pieces there in vastly different locations. Muninn will take you to the first, and once you find it, to the second.” Odin extended an arm, the aforementioned bird materializing from the ink and perching on his desk. “You keep your eyes peeled for those relic pieces, let Heimdall handle anything the realm throws at you. Pretend he’s not even there if you want, nothing will hit him anyway.”

From the corner of your eye you witnessed the prideful smirk Heimdall wore at Odin’s compliment. He looked more like he had been declared the greatest god alive with such a strong reaction.

Odin looked between the two younger gods before him. He refrained from sighing at them. The way you looked at each other reminded him of two children who were being forced to make up after squabbling over toys. “The two of you clear on what you’re doing?”

You both affirmed with a “Yes, All-Father.”

“Good luck then.” Odin’s eyes went to Heimdall, stern and unforgiving. “To both of you.”

You didn’t miss the miniscule twitch of Heimdall’s brow at the comment. As if he felt like he was being scolded.

The ravens shrouded you, leaving you two alone in silence. Until Heimdall said haughtily, "I do hope you plan on trying to do this right, stray."

You didn't answer, choosing instead to purse your lips and hold her tongue.

Heimdall’s eyes went to you, still looking straight into the ravens around them. Refusing to look at him. It was then he noticed your usual tied back hairstyle revealed your ears, showing a golden cuff on her cartilage that was split into two pieces. They were elegant, the metal intertwining into X shapes on the longer bottom piece, and a simple diagonal slash through the smaller top one. Heimdall typically didn’t bother wearing jewelry, usually keeping his ears bare as they were then. But if he did wear something on his ears he wouldn’t mind that piece at all.

Perhaps he could take it from you when he finally had permission to get rid of you.

The deplorable heat of Muspelheim greeted you after the ravens dispersed. You tried to contain her wonder for the new realm, knowing Heimdall would have something to say about it. "Fascinated by rocks and fire? How stodgy," you could hear him say in the uppity tone that was unique to him. You wanted to improve the tumultuous dynamic you two had, now that you had some fresh perspective on the horrid man, and the first step to that was avoiding anything that would provoke him into taunting you. Which was a lot, unfortunately. Her silence upon their entry was enough to do so without a problem.

"Have you given up already? Can't even find an old rock?"

You momentarily shut your eyes and clenched your teeth, brushing off the comment. "I was trying to concentrate," you lied. It was enough to get him to quiet down for a moment, thankfully. The pull of the magic within the stone coursed underneath your fingertips, but something else was different now that the other fragment was nearby. You held the piece up, and closed your eyes, opening them after altering the magic you felt. And before you, appearing to your eyes alone, was a blue trail of wispy light, begging your to follow. "This way."

"It really took you that long to find a general direction?"

How you hated his hasty judgements. "I've found an exact direction, actually. I'd like to see you do this on your own."

Heimdall tutted at you, "That is not what I was asked to do. Or are you trying to shirk your responsibilities already?"

You rolled your eyes, choosing instead to focus on the pull of the magic in your hands. Your pace was slow, not because you didn’t know where to go, but because you were taking in the sights. Sure, the realm was blisteringly hot and the lava was hardly welcoming, but there was a certain beauty to the realm of fire. Even if you were working on something at the time, you still wanted to enjoy the freedom you had.

Of course, Heimdall didn’t agree. “You said you knew exactly where to go. So why are you moving slower than a snail?”

“You mean you never take in what you see when you’re traveling? I’m certain you must have seen some incredible things in your line of work,” syou replied, doing your best to ignore his impatience.

“Why would I? It’s nothing compared to Asgard anyway.”

You were taken aback by the statement. You’d already forgotten just how passionate he was about his home. Probably because he only ever showed it for a split second before he became an ass again. “Well, I would rather take my time and appreciate the things I don’t see every day.”

Heimdall released a melodramatic groan. “It sounds like you just want to waste everyone’s time. How petty of you.”

You felt your patience thinning. Again. “It sounds like you are just rushing for no reason.”

“Oh, it isn’t for nothing. Why would I wait around here with you, of all people. I’d rather jump off these cliffs than take my time with you nearby." He smirked when he saw your shoulders grow taut, knowing you were getting angry. He wondered how fast he could break whatever control you had over that mental wall of yours.

You said nothing.

Faster than he expected, to his glee. “Have I made you mad? Are you upset because I don’t pretend to like you as everyone else does?”

You snarled over your shoulder, “I don’t want your approval. If anyone here is mad, it’s you. Still so upset that you can’t beat me.”

Heimdall took a few quick steps until he was in front of you, glaring down at you. He didn’t take kindly to her referring to his inability to read you as being beaten. “Careful what you bark, stray,” he hissed, finding only stubborn rebellion in your gaze. “You never know who will bite back with sharper teeth.”

You gave a fake chuckle. “You really should look in a mirror when you say that. Just about anybody has a harsher bite than you.”

Heimdall’s spiteful look morphed into amusement, grinning and laughing at your bold words while he held his hands out like he was trying to calm you down. “How ferocious of you. Really, it’s adorable that you think you can do anything to me.”

“I’d rather be adorable than a walking provocation waiting to get his ass beat.”

The requital he had prepared never came. A presence interrupted him, one that required his attention more than your insult did. He looked to the cliff on his left, making you do the same, but with no clue as to what he was looking at. Until a rumbling growl came from that direction. Heimdall sighed, shoving you to the closest rock wall carelessly, much to your chagrin. “Stay there, stray. Don’t get in my way.”

He nonchalantly strolled toward the precipice as a large hand reached over. The hulking figure hoisted itself up, revealing itself to be a fire troll. A variety of other smaller beasts accompanied it, prompting you to wonder where they all came from. Heimdall, however, was unphased. As much as you despised the man, you grew worried that his overconfidence might get him severely injured if you just sat by and watched.

The troll charged, all while Heimdall brushed some dirt off of his sleeve. Without even looking up, he sidestepped the troll, withdrew Hofud in one swift movement, and slashed the troll’s leg with his blade glowing a blue light with rainbow accents. Bifrost, you noted. A hefty looking draugr, stumbled over to him while his back was turned. It launched fire at him, which he effortlessly detected and spun around to deflect it, not even watching as it flew to a third draugr and knocked it back off the cliff’s edge.

You watched closely, finally understanding why Sif was so shocked that you managed to knock Heimdall off of Gulltoppr. Nothing, not a single enemy, no matter how strong or swift, got even close to harming him. Even when it was close, it was only because he allowed it, like he was mocking them by showing how easy it was for him to remain untouched. You watched him glide across the ashes, exacting quick, simple, and precise strikes that would kill enemies in one or two hits. You were, to say the least, very impressed. Not by the foresight itself, but his mastery over using it to his advantage and supplementing it with hints of bifrost magic. Even if it did little for your opinion of him.

You still weren't a fan of him handling it by himself, though at that point it was because you knew he would point it out once he was done. In the end you accepted that reality, choosing to study his power and moves intently. It would be useful one day. A good card to add to your deck.

It was over quickly, and as expected, Heimdall had not even a hair out of place. He sheathed his sword and sauntered back over to you, still standing where he left you. He actually looked pleased, for once. “Well, apparently you are capable of obedience after all.”

You wished you had left him alone and went after the artifact on your own.

You ignored him, swiftly returning to the path only you could see. You would enjoy the sights some other time, when Heimdall wasn’t there to ruin it.

He made a few comments on the way, all of which you ignored, shutting out anything he said. You could swear he was being pernicious on purpose.

Heimdall was beginning to lose patience. There had to be something he could say that would trigger that loss of control again…

Not far from where Heimdall fought the fiery gang of monstrosities, you arrived at the mouth of a cave filled with lava. In the center of the opening, far from reach, was the top of a boulder poking through the red tides. A flat stone much like the one in your hand was on it. That was it.

“Well?” Heimdall pestered.

“You mean you don’t see it? It’s quite obvious, really,” you bit back, mimicking his pompous tone.

“I see it, you imbecile. I was asking how you were going to get it.” You only grit your teeth and took a breath, reminding yourself that you were trying to be civil. “You can’t, I see.”

You raised your hand without answering, curling your fingers until a fist-sized golden ball of swirling light formed in front of you. It drifted into the cave and over to the relic piece. The globe surrounded it, and when the orb rose again the piece came with it. It delicately floated back until it was over your open palm, disappearing and letting the piece fall into your hand. Without taking time to think about it, you turned to Heimdall, challenging him to insult your capabilities again.

He hummed, tepid. “At least you can handle that. You’ve already proven to be helpless.”

You wrapped your tense fingers around the newly acquired stone and thrust your hands to your sides. “You’re seriously calling me helpless after you told me not to interfere? Did you want obedience or independence?”

“Both would be nice.”

You swore under your breath as you hurried away from him, moving to meet Muninn, who had landed near them when he saw that you were ready to find the next target. The flurry of feathers engulfed you again, quickly dropping you off somewhere. You didn’t pay much attention, too busy trying to get away from Heimdall.

It was obvious you were getting worked up, but Heimdall still felt no crack in your defenses yet. He had to push harder. “Careful now, stray. Wander off too far and you might run into something you can’t fend off. You’re much too helpless to do this without me, after all.”

You growled to herself. The last piece was close, you could see that. But you weren't going to end this with Heimdall so pleased with himself. There was a ruckus across the small plateau you had made your way to, behind a gate formed by crossing metal beams. It sounded like more draugr, among other things. Why there were so many behind the gate, like they were waiting to be called, you had no idea. You didn’t need to.

Your hand flicked out toward the gate, your magic barrier forming above it and pushing it down until it fell. The enemies rushed out toward you. Heimdall shouted accusingly, “What are you doing?”

“Oh dear, how clumsy of me! Surely you can handle this, right? I’ll just wait over here.” You meandered to a boulder that was just the perfect height for you to sit on, crossing your legs like you were about the enjoy a peaceful afternoon.

Heimdall loured at you, knowing you were making him fight these things on purpose. He couldn’t even do something to make you pay for it. The rowdy draugr were attracting attention. More of them on the nearby cliffs above them had been released when the first gate opened, and they were itching for a fight. He took out one draugr quickly. Then two, then three. Four, five, six, seven…thirteen, fifteen, eighteen…

There weren’t this many when he started, and he saw no more approach. Then one simply fell from the sky and nearly scraped his cheek with a spike on its leg. Heimdall looked up, catching sight of one of your barriers disappearing from above.

You, like a little rat, were pushing more down to him.

His eyes flew to you, his rage evident. You smiled innocently, waving at him. “Was that me? Sorry about that!” You weren't even trying to hide your horrendously false sympathy in your voice.

“Get over here and take care of this!” He commanded, hurling bifrost at a nightmare that was aiming for him.

“Me? Oh no, I’m much too helpless to handle something like this. But you can take care of it by yourself, can't you?”

Heimdall snarled as he stabbed through another draugr, hearing more land behind him. You were still bringing more to him.

And more. And more. Not just a few at a time anymore. You were pulling in several of them all at once in a short time, leaving him surrounded constantly. He had no choice but to take more time getting rid of them, having to dodge much more often, His head started to pound, the multitude of stimuli overwhelming him. He was forced to use realm shifts to land hits on anything, relying on the slowing of time to give him the edge he was so accustomed to.

You kept watching, studying. You were surprised that he was so in tune with bifrost that he could use its properties at will. Difficult to nail down how that worked, but effective enough for you to take time to understand it. You would need that too.

You paused your study to revel in the exasperation showing on his face, brows furrowed and gnashing his teeth at everything in sight.

“You knew there were a bunch of these guys around, didn’t you? Maybe you should have paid more attention to them?” you goaded. He didn’t humor you with an answer, too busy picking off the draugr much slower than he would have liked. “I thought I should point that out. The god of foresight can’t also be the god of hindsight, can he?”

You guffawed openly when you saw him bear his teeth, swearing profusely to himself.

Heimdall lost track of how many he killed, nor did he know how long he spent clearing out your mess. Eventually, thanks to the fact that you stopped provoking him, he ran the last draugr through, finally sheathing Hofud again. He swiveled to lecture you, finding no one in the place he last saw you. A part of him panicked, knowing Odin would be very displeased if he let you fall into a pit of lava or some other stupid trap on his watch. He approached the boulder you sat on earlier. He jumped when your head popped out from behind the rock wall next to it. “Are you done?” The sickeningly fictitious sweetness was dropped when you droned, “Took you long enough. It’s this way,” before disappearing again.

Heimdall stalked after you, fury overflowing from him. He caught up to you, finding you ducking behind a black pillar erected next to a wall. What made him so unbelievably enraged was how much you had managed to get to him. It was his plan to anger you enough for you to drop your defenses, instead you had done that to him.

Unacceptable.

You started to catch him up on your search. “The piece is–”

You gasped when an arm was slammed into the wall so hard that it cracked the stone. It was directly in front of your face, forcing your back to meet the wall. With the pillar on your right and Heimdall’s arm blocking your left, you were boxed in. With a very, very furious god glaring down at you. “Do you think this is a game, mutt?!” He roared. “Do you want me to remind you what we’re here for?! Or do I need to do everything for you?”

Your mouth opened, ready to tell him he would be lost and clueless without you. You held your tongue when you realized he was panting heavily, eyes slightly misted over with exhaustion. For the first time, you saw him slightly unkempt. His hair had a few stray strands over his forehead and there was a black streak on one of his cheeks. Compared to his usual pristine appearance, he looked terrible. More than that, he looked so, so frustrated. Like the frustration was making him fall apart.

It was then you remembered what Odin said earlier. Heimdall was doing his job, and he did an excellent job considering you released a horde of draugr and you didn’t have a scratch on you. Meanwhile, the god who couldn’t be touched was dirty and out of breath. You looked down, thinking you may have gone a little too far. You looked back up, reaching a hand up to his face slowly. He caught you by the wrist harshly, glaring down at you with a hatred so hot that all the fires in the realm around you couldn’t hold a candle to it. “You have something on your face,” you said softly, showing you weren't joking around anymore.

Heimdall pushed your hand away without a word. You sighed, finding his constant battle against any sort of cooperation tiring. “Right side.” You pointed to her own cheek, then ducked under his arm and went on your way. Heimdall rubbed his face, and sure enough, a black glob of ash was left of the back of his hand. With your mind closed, he could only assume you wasn't trying to help – you were reminding him that he had been touched.

He stormed back to you, ready to holler at you again. His fury was never unleashed, however. He was too perplexed by you leaning into a wall, peering into a hole gouged into it.

“It’s in here,” You said, having moved on from the spat.

Heimdall shook his head. “Great. Now get it.” He was done with you and the day as a whole. The sooner you were done and he could get away from you, the better.

You began walking away.

“Where are you going?” He growled.

“If you bothered to look inside you would see that it’s very deep, and the opening of the hole is too narrow for it to be pulled out from here.”

Absolutely not. He wasn’t going to let you have an excuse to find a way to humiliate him all over again. You were finding a way to get that damned piece out now. "What, you're just going to leave it there?"

"I'm going to see if there's another angle to approach it from, which you aren't."

Fine. If you weren't going to listen, then he would find a way to make more progress than you had during your escapade. He came up with something that could earn him a ticket into your mind.

Heimdall sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Giving up so easily. How pathetically useless you are."

You came to a stiff halt, every muscle in your body coiling up with tension.

There. He found it. Just as he suspected after your reaction to being referred to as helpless. "Oh ho ho, have I struck a nerve? Sorry, stray, but sometimes the truth hurts." He watched your hands curl up, fists shaking. But he still found nothing in your head. You had to be close. "It's no wonder you have to be shepherded around. You clearly don't have any value if you're left to your own devices."

He'd done it. You had lost any reason to hold in your rage. Except he didn't feel any path into your mind. Instead he felt a huge hand collide with his chest.

Heimdall fell on his back so hard that he somersaulted onto his knees. Before he could look up he was forced back again, this time by a clap of thunder so loud that the soundwaves sent him flying. He landed on his feet and the soles of his boots scraped against the ashes until he was stationary, shielding his eyes with his elbow to keep the black dust out of them. The only one who could have done that move was Thor. But how did Thor–

He looked up and didn't find Thor. Only a shadow of him. And that shadow was a golden duplicate of him, filled with swirling magic that looked exactly like your barriers. The fake Thor was translucent, allowing him to see inside. He could see you, puppeteering from the inside, as if the form you conjured around yourself was a shell. You had truly lost your temper, revealing an ability that no one could have guessed you had up your sleeve. In a way, he had accomplished one of his goals without even needing to look into your mind.

There was one problem. He was wrong. Angering you didn't break the defenses in your mind. Perhaps, looking back on their conversation, he had felt your mind open because you were speaking of your belief that he could already read you, subconsciously lowering your defenses. Not because he made you angry enough to shatter them. Your comment of not being the god of hindsight annoyingly popped into his mind.

None of that mattered now, though. He had an angry goddess that could mimic the abilities of others ready to fight him.

And he had to defend himself without his foresight.

Still, he wasn't willing to let you think you had him cornered. "Soooo, that's what you've been hiding. You don't have any original material for me?"

Your voice echoed with the faint sound of Thor's. "Shut UP!" You threw out a hand and hurled a bolt of lighting at Heimdall, who just barely dodged it in time. He noticed, however, that yours was weaker. Slower. Not as potent. He wanted to taunt you for your inferiority, but considering he couldn't judge if you were holding back he found it wiser not to.

You lunged at him again, fist aiming for his jaw. Thankfully Thor's form was as large as the real thing was, making it slow enough for Heimdall to react. He sidestepped it, and drew his sword to strike back. Well before he made contact a golden arm was thrust into his side, knocking the wind out of him and shoving him back. Another punch landed on his stomach, launching him into a nearby wall of black stone. A bolt of lighting zipped to him, only this time he was not fast enough. He moved, but the bolt got his left arm in the process, causing him to growl in pain and shake out the sparks on his hands.

As he did so, your Thor-shaped shield vanished. You stumbled with a hand on a rock to steady yourself. You gasped profusely, exhausted.

Heimdall grinned. So, your mockery was limited. Not nearly as strong as the original, and no sign of a knockoff Mjolnir. And with that short burst you were worn out. You couldn't keep this assault up forever. But he still wasn't satisfied with the information he was collecting. He didn’t know how it worked, why it was possible, how you managed to conjure something like this. He needed more. "That's all you have, stray? You actually had me going there for a second!"

You snarled and another barrier formed around you, this one with wings. You flew to him at the speed of light, seizing Heimdall by his collar. Gna's ghostly golden form dragged him in the dark soot, lifting him up and slamming him down again, letting him skid across the ground until he stopped just before a river of lava. You landed behind him and, as he got up, fired feathers at him. He rolled, but two of them still hit him. One ripping the sleeve of his tunic and the other clipping his shoulder. He felt blood drip into the fabric of his clothes.

Unbridled fury blazed in him. He triggered a realm shift, a commanding "slow down" reverberating across the hot air. He charged at your slowed form, noticing the golden puppet around you shift. It was shorter, thinner. Solid gold indicated tattoos across the source material's chest. When Heimdall’s sword finally landed on your shield it bounced off, not even piercing the aura. Faster than his eyes could comprehend without his foresight, another fist bashed into his cheek. He stumbled back as your concealed figure lunged again, still so fast.

Baldur. That's who you were using now.

Heimdall took three more hits to the chest before he swung his sword at you, metal clanging against the shield and doing as much damage as a brittle stick would to a mountain. You attempted another assault on his jaw but he used a realm shift to step back. He was short of breath as well.

This was asinine, insane, just luck. He was fine without his foresight, you were the one using some kind of trickery to land so many hits on him. The mark of a coward, too afraid to fight him fairly – too afraid to lose fairly.

The form around you shattered again, somewhat violently with shards falling to the ground before fading. You leaned against a wall, knees almost too weak to support you anymore. You gulped in the air like a dying trout that had just escaped a fishing net. The rage Heimdall felt propelled him to you, sword poised for a brutal stabbing. "Bitten off more than you can chew, stray?"

Your fatigue was pushed aside, flaming eyes masked behind a new layer of gold. You dodged his jab, then the following swipe, and the third one. A blast of bifrost hit him in the gut. He wheezed while he tumbled back. Once he regained focus he stopped, staring back at purple glowing lights over the face of her latest puppet as his blood ran cold.

Heimdall. You were using himself. You were using his foresight to read his attacks.

Which he couldn't counter with his own.

No. No no no no NO. Foresight was his, and his alone. Whatever nonsense spell you had couldn't take that from him. He opened his mouth, and prepared another realm shift. But, to his horror, you triggered one first, your voice and a whisper of his own sounding the "slow down" he had used minutes ago. He felt the dread rise in his bones as his limbs moved far too sluggishly while she sped to him. A fist – not Hofud – neared his face but his realm shift finally triggered, allowing him to dash away. Hofud was sliced at you again, which you dodged effortlessly, saying, "Nope!" He threw five more strikes at you, each one met with a "no," "nope," or a "not even close," chuckles making their way into your mimicry. You strafed away from one last swipe and shoved him backwards. You both lost your footing, Heimdall managing to regain it quickly while you fell to your knees, grasping a boulder to lift yourself back up.

Heimdall bellowed, "You think you're special? You think you can outdo me?!" He sprinted to your crumpled form, not even considering what you would do next. He was right to do so because you were too weak to conjure up another being to copy. You raised one hand, attempting to make a normal barrier in front of you to block him. It was spotty. He could break it if he hit it with some bifrost. He let the colorful light engulf Hofud and kept running. He was going to show you exactly who you were picking a fight with.

Just a few more strides.

His weapon reeled back.

"HEEEYYYY!!"

Thunder rang so loud that they may as well have been in the middle of a hurricane. A ball of lighting crashed between them, sending Heimdall back a few steps. Thor – the real Thor – stood tall between them as sparks crackled around him and the hammer in his hand. The silence was deafening as he looked between them, blue eyes landing in Heimdall. "Knock it off!" His voice boomed.

Heimdall’s face twisted into an irate snarl. "You're saying this is my fault?!"

Thor didn't hesitate. "Yeah, I am." A lazy finger was wagged at the shorter man. "I've only seen you look like this when you deserve it." Heimdall sneered harder. Yes, he was covered in black dust, had blood on his shoulder, bruises on his face. He hadn't been this dirty and battered since he was a child, well before he could effectively use his foresight. Being compared to such a lesser version of himself left him furious, ready to kill both of the gods before him without a second thought.

While Heimdall stewed in his rage, Thor came closer to you as you managed to stand up again, voice noticeably less aggressive. "Look kid, I know he's a prick but this…it ain't worth it." He paused, looking to both of you for the next line, said with a much darker cadence. "And don't let this happen again."

You huffed, not from fatigue this time, even if you still had trouble breathing with how tired you were.

"Now," Thor began, letting his loud voice intimidate you into cooperating. "Forget whatever this was about and get the stuff All-Father is looking for."

You growled back, "He knows where it is. I've done my part. He can finish this himself!" You marched toward Muninn, who had just landed on a stone by the edge of a river of lava. "Muninn!" You called. The bird obediently obliged you, teleporting you out of Muspelheim.

Thor groaned. "Great. Where's this damn piece?"

Heimdall scowled back, "I don't need your help!"

He received a hard, stern stare. "If I leave before I know you won't fuck this up even more, I'll be in just as much shit as you. And I'm not letting you drag me down with you..." Thor didn't add the "into All-Father’s disappointment" that Heimfall knew was there.

Heimdall was going to find out how you did these things, find a way into your mind.

With what he'd seen, he had to.

Heimdall stalked out of the great lodge and into the night, practically radiating fire as he pushed past anyone that was in his way. Odin had scolded him. Again. Questioned how valuable he was. He may have uncovered something you hadn't revealed, but Odin was not pleased with his methods, stating they did nothing to help. He'd heard from his ravens by then that you could allow Heimdall access to your mind and advised he take advantage of that instead of "making her shut you out until she beats you to death," as Odin put it.

He fumed at the thought. Once again, everything he had done for his entire life was overshadowed by this one failure, all because of you.

He couldn't stand this, not knowing how long you would make a fool of him before he was thrown out for losing his touch.

How he couldn't bear the thought. He would rather set himself on fire to pave his way to Helheim for dying out of combat than let that happen.

His mind remained on that, the shame of it all, until he heard a pleasant sound. He paused, listening. It was foreign, nothing he had heard in this area before.

It was a flute, singing a calming melody that he'd never heard in Gladsheim before. It was sweet, lulling any listener into a state of relaxation that could ward off any stress of the day. That couldn't have been coming from any of the musicians he knew of. All they ever played were bar tunes or horrible approximations of them while they were drunk. Nothing they ever played was worth his time, but this was…not bad. He looked around, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

In the end he chose not to pursue it, thinking one of the flutists that usually played parties was so drunk they were lucky enough to play something decent. Not worth his time.

He believed that until the next morning.

He heard it again, the melody just as relaxing as it was the night before. It couldn't be one of the tavern players. They would be too hungover to stay conscious at this time of day. He followed the sound, feeling his shoulders lose some tension the closer he got. Before he found it, it stopped, replaced with silence. His steps quickened, already guessing where it was coming from. There was a small gathering area nearby, situated at the edge of the cliff that marked the end of Gladsheim. It wasn't a popular spot, being much too close to the edge for the regular drunkards to frequent without fear of a fatal fall. He rounded the corner of a wall and the clearing came into view, where a familiar head hair tied back with a simple rounded piece of silver and its accompanying pin. You, but no flute.

Not what he was looking for, but he had a bone to pick with you anyway.

He stomped past the wooden fence that was practically made of sticks with every intention of telling her how lucky you were that he didn't have permission to kill you. When he was a few paces in front of you, he paused. You were tucking something into a long, narrow pouch. The perfect size for a flute.

No, it couldn't have been you…

You looked up at him, confused that he had yet to announce himself. Your eyes flitted to the sides for a moment, like you were looking for something you were missing. "Did…you need something?'

Heimdall was brought back to reality by your voice, jaw tightening as his anger returned. "You're really going to address me so casually? Do you have any idea how–"

"I…I know," l you interrupted, holding up a hand, face scrunching into what looked like pain. "And I want to apologize."

Heimdall's thoughts were wiped clean, sputtering out a few noises while trying to come up with a response. You…wanted to apologize? Why now, after all the strife between you two? But even more shocking than that…your mind was open. The wall blocking him was gone, and he could read your every intention when he looked at you. And there was…nothing. You meant what you said, no more or less. He expected there to be some kind of ulterior motive, a trick, some plan to fool him. Maybe even a hint of magic that would hide part of your mind, but he felt the same things he would read from anyone else. He was, for lack of a better term, intrigued, willing to listen instead of speak for once.

Thus far you had no reason to give him any sort of kindness. If anything you owed him the exact opposite, but this time you had to admit that you were in the wrong. As much of an ignorant, pompous, egotistical asshole Heimdall was, he was not an enemy, and you were the one who treated him like he was. He may not have wanted to be your friend, but he never hurt you before. You were the one to cross that line, and that was a misstep that had gnawed at you since you returned to Asgard. In fact, you felt so much guilt for springing to violence like a starving wolf that you had tried to comfort yourself late into the night. You were always one to find a better way to resolve conflicts when you could, and the day before you hadn't tried. That was something you needed to correct.

"And yes, I know you can read me. It's intentional. So you know I'm sincere.

"I'm not sorry for anything that happened earlier in our task, but I am sorry for attacking you. As absolutely horrible and insufferable you were, none of it gave me an excuse to harm you, especially when I knew you were only there to do your job. I apologize, sincerely." You kept eye contact with him as he looked down at you, waiting for him to lash out or ramble on about how your apology was far from enough or something. But he stayed quiet, just staring. You knew why; he was trying to read something from you, and you patiently waited for him to find that you had no ill intent.

Heimdall could see that clearly. What he didn't see was why. Why did you genuinely feel remorse for your actions? No one ever did, they only lamented the consequences, the punishments, the pain of their own mistakes. But this…this wasn't about you. Your concern had nothing to do with yourself or your feelings. No matter how far he dug, no matter how long he looked into your eyes to find some precise thought that would betray these findings, he saw nothing. You really meant it.

He was left nonplussed, knowing all of that.

You were starting to feel awkwardness settle into the stale air between you and stood, tying your bag to your belt. "I don't expect words to be enough, mostly because you are, to be frank, too spiteful to forgive so easily, based on my observations." You smirked at the annoyed frown he gave you. "So, in return, you can consider me in your debt."

Just when Heimdall thought the exchange couldn't get any more bizarre, you threw that at him. And again, you meant it. Every other time someone, anyone, had tried to pay back a debt, avoid a conflict, settle anything with another, he found nothing but selfish reasons behind it all. They disguised it as "setting things right," but really they were always afraid of something, wanting to look like the bigger person. In your case…you actually were the bigger person. He still had no clue how to process it. With your mind open you were so…peculiar. So odd.

"In my debt?" Was all he said, unable to help the look of triumph coming over his face. An idea came to mind.

"Yes. If you need something from me, name it. I'll do what I can."

"Anything?"

You crossed your arms and shot him a dirty look. "Within reason, of course. And nothing sleazy, if that's what you're thinking."

Heimdall scoffed at the idea. "Don't flatter yourself, stray." A beat of silence. "Show me your little copycat trick again."

You blinked at him, totally caught off guard. "Huh?"

"What you did in Muspelheim. Show it to me, tell me how it works."

He planned on having to battle her over the idea. You would, after all, be giving away the secrets to your most powerful ability (as far as he could tell, based on what he was reading), and that was sensitive information to anyone. That reluctance, however, was absent. If anything you were betting on him trying to negotiate an unfair deal, not the other way around.

He'd never seen that before…

"Is…is that it?" You asked, then shrugged. "Sure, if that's all you want."

Silence again, then Heimdall instructed with a much more calm tone than he normally would have used. "Well? Go on, then."

You bit her bottom lip as you paced, wondering where to begin. "Well, for the most part, you are right. It is a copy of other beings. But, at its core, it's essentially a protection stave that is fueled by magic that has been finely tuned to perform a certain way. Instead of just a simple barrier, it wards off danger by actively countering it, thereby making it an offensive defense. Altering the properties of the stave itself is not enough to grant any sort of aggressive abilities, so I have to base those alterations on something. Something I've seen before and understand well."

Once more, Heimdall was baffled at how forthcoming you were with such valuable information. Sure, he was thrilled to have material to present to Odin, but…you really weren't out for yourself. There was nothing to back his assumptions up. He had no reason to doubt you, like he did everyone else.

Catching back up with the topic at hand, he inquired, "So you can only copy beings you've seen? And you have to 'understand' it to use it?"

"Basically, yes. As powerful as that sounds, there's a plethora of limitations to consider. Let's use an example…" You lifted your hands, the gold magic springing off your digits and coating your form until the bright shadow of Thor engulfed you. "Thor's power is rooted in being a god, so that is a kind of power I understand already. I simply channel it to amplify strength, as he does naturally, and I am able to increase my own strength.

"However, this ability is still a counterfeit. Even if my strength is greatly increased, I still can't match him completely. I can't move mountains as he does, and if I tried it would lead to exhaustion quickly. On top of that, I cannot mimic any physical weapons or tools he has, since that isn't a technique or organic magic that I can channel into the stave. If I managed to get Mjolnir from Thor I could use it as he does, but I doubt he would ever give it up." The shell was dismissed.

Heimdall listened carefully, only growing more concerned. You could copy anybody? If that was the case, then by trying to expose you he may have given away too much of himself in the process. "Thor's methods are simple. That's hardly an example."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine then, let's try something only slightly less simple." You conjured a golden figure around you without introducing it, and Heimdall could see why: it was himself again. You giggled at his vexed glare as you dispelled the shield.

His eyes narrowed. He could see you didn't mean that remark…even though it would have made sense for you to.

"I am joking, of course. As much as I'd hate to stroke your already well-groomed ego, your abilities have been the hardest to study and understand, and–"

"And that's why you attracted so much attention in Muspelheim," he snarled.

You were taken aback for a moment, and Heimdall sensed how appalling the idea was to you. "I won't lie, I did use it as an opportunity to get a look at what you could do, but no. I did that just because you deserved it."

This was a perfect opportunity for Heimdall. You were foolish enough to lay all your secrets bare before him, and yet he only felt his frustration mounting even higher. It was all true, every last word. So then why? What did you want?

"I can see that your foresight is heavily linked to bifrost, which is unique. That means I can't alter my staves to replicate it, but bifrost is present in all realms, even if in small traces. I have to channel it from an outside source, which is exhausting on its own. Furthermore, it doesn't seem to be anywhere near the caliber of your abilities. I can't sense any more than I can normally. It's more like…enhanced reflexes than foresight." You paused, waiting for him to ask the question that was definitely on his mind. When he didn't, "I can't look into minds or read anybody. I won't be taking your position, if that's what you're worried about."

The rejection of the notion was a reflex for Heimdall. "It'll take far more than that to replace me."

You shrugged. "Probably. But if there was any suspicion regarding that I wanted to put it to rest. To be honest, I wouldn't want your job anyway."

Heimdall felt his pride surge, well aware that no one else would be a truer fit for his position than he was. Even so, he did feel a pang of relief knowing you couldn’t truly copy him, that his foreight was still his. The thought was short lived, falling behind the confusion engulfing him. Here he was, doing exactly what he had been trying to do for days…and he found nothing of interest. You were telling the truth, you really had nothing to hide from him. But that couldn't be it. No, there was absolutely no way. Asgard housed the most noble of the realms, and if he couldn't find people who meant what they said there, then there was no way in Hel that a stray from Alfheim, of all places, would be the first. He had to ask more. He had to find something in there that you were hiding. Anything.

He asked how you mimicked Baldur. You answered that his invulnerability was a protection spell, so you could pick it apart and recreate a temporary version right away. How it manifested was where you could get "creative," as you put it, choosing to use the copied spell to make a reinforced shield as opposed to reinforcing your skin, which was safer.

He inquired about the physical appearance of the technique, why it was necessary. It was simply an anchor, a physical manifestation that you would associate with your findings and focus on that image instead of everything she needed to think of.

If you couldn't recreate physical objects, how did Gna's form have wings? They may have been metal, but they were an extension of the valkyries, and therefore were a part of them.

Could you copy anything, even other creatures? Not really. The less it is like you, the harder it is to copy, so no using a dragon's or troll's skills. Thor's much larger form was already a stretch.

Was there any other magic you weren’t sharing with him? You could use your magic to heal, much like Vanir magic could, but nothing other than that.

It was all wrong. He ran out of questions so fast and nothing at all had tipped him off. You were…honest. In all his experiences with reading others, Heimdall thought he would never see the day when he didn't have to work hard to pick someone apart. Now that he had that right in front of him…he was relieved. Incredibly relieved.

But it felt wrong. Like he was missing something. Like everything he knew wasn't adding up to that moment.

He scrambled for another query as his gut churned with uncertainty and building frustration. "And you can copy any ability?"

"If I understand it. As you may have guessed, I can also only replicate techniques that I have seen and studied closely enough. So if you or Thor have any hidden moves that I haven't seen, then I can't use them," you replied.

Heimdall couldn't help but break away from his chaotic emotions to scoff, eyes drifting off to the edge of the cliff. "Unless you count stench or belching as an 'ability,' Thor has no advanced techniques."

His eyes shot back to yours as you laughed. You laughed. Even though you knew he wasn't joking. You still found it funny. There was no fear of offending him or Thor, no chastising him for speaking so poorly of a dangerous god. You even acknowledged it was something others would not take lightly, but ignored it. You enjoyed it enough to show it.

…no one had ever found his language entertaining before. No one except himself, of course. You were so…different.

"I've had a few words with Thor by now. And I know for sure that those aren't worth studying," you teased, playing along with the idea because you thought it was humorous. You liked his gibe enough to expand on it. And in a good way. A way he didn't mind, actually, making him smirk at your words.

His frown quickly took back its place on his mouth. He just didn't get it.

You looked around stiffly, waiting for him to respond. "Was…that all you wanted to know?" Heimdall said nothing, still marinating in his own musings about your intentions. You gave him a minute more to consider before you said, "Well, if that's all you needed…" You closed your mind. Heimdall was locked out again. And the worst part was, after this conversation, he wasn't sure if it even mattered. He must have been getting sloppy, assuming he had nothing to worry about. No, no there was something there he needed to track down. There had to be. "I guess I'll be going now."

"What do you want?!" Heimdall hissed at you.

You stopped in your tracks, completely surprised by the sudden hostility. “Pardon?

“What do you want?” He repeated. “What’s your game? What are you playing at?”

Again, you only blinked at him, having no idea how to respond to such an unanticipated question. “Why would you think I’m playing some kind of game?”

Heimdall felt his frustration reach its breaking point. He couldn't take it anymore. None of this made sense. “Because!” he yelled, “You were here, open for me to read, and I found nothing. No hidden agenda, no reason to explain anything to me other than the one you gave, no trace of anything suspect. You have extensive magic, there must be a spell you’re using to block out parts of your mind, doing something to make yourself look oh so innocent, like you aren’t looking to gain something.”

You shook your head, an exasperated sigh escaping you. “Wha– I just spent the last half hour telling you things I didn’t need to explain. I just did something for you and made sure you knew I wasn’t lying even though most others would have gutted you for the things you said. How does any of that convince you that I want something from you or anyone else?”

He didn’t have an answer, because you were right. None of that convinced him that you wanted something. But that couldn’t be true. That couldn’t be true. There was no way. Everyone was the same deep down. Everyone.

Without a valid counterpoint to offer, he only muttered, “You have to want something.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re lying!”

“What makes you so sure that I’m lying?!”

“Because everyone ALWAYS lies!”

There it was. Heimdall officially lost it. He was out of ideas, out of reasons to doubt or search or be weary of anything about you. It wasn’t normal, not for anything with a mind as complex as a human’s. You were stunned at his outburst, having nothing to say as he ranted. “Everyone lies, all the time. Either to themselves or everyone else. People do things only for themselves, are only friendly when it offers them some sort of benefit. They only help others when it makes them look good or gives them power! Nobody is ever completely honest, nobody cares about another more than themselves, and everybody is always looking for something from somebody! No matter how kind they make themselves look, the second they find a way to better themselves they’ll jump at anyone’s throat to get what they want. That’s how people work! And you…!” He growled at you, thinking only of how you had driven him to madness with your treachery. “You are NO different! No one is!”

He had been so consumed with hateful energy that his speech left him panting and drained, like he had just fought every creature in Muspelheim all over again. He wasn’t even looking for a response, satisfied with getting his point across. All he wanted was for you to finally admit that you were just like everyone else so he could move on and be done with the fiasco.

Your soft voice pierced through his cloud of rage. “Has…has life truly been so horrible to you?”

Heimdall’s face, once twisted in fury, went limp with bewilderment. He could barely process what you had said with how unexpected it was. He had no words, or thoughts. He just blinked at you, having no idea what that was supposed to mean. “What?” He whispered, aghast.

But you meant it, and for the first time since your disastrous meeting you felt like you had misunderstood him. You never would have guessed that now, just a week after your arrival, that you would see common ground for them to stand on. That feeling…the feeling of knowing everyone was so focused on their own lives and circumstances that they used anyone to get what they wanted…you knew it too well. You knew how much it hurt. It was no wonder he was so cruel and condescending to everyone all the time. As far as he could tell, just about everyone was terrible in one way or another, and it was a concept that you related to. You had come to think the same about the elves as you got older, believing they were all the same – just making everything into a pawn. Living with that feeling of isolation…it was so painful. It left you feeling so fragile and lonely. You felt like you were never loved, and could never be loved by anyone. To make it bearable for a time, you could always try to convince yourself it wasn’t true, that you were being too hard on them and tell yourself there was some good in the beings around you.

Heimdall couldn’t. He couldn’t even try to tell himself there were good souls out there. Your heart ached for him, thinking that, because of how terrible a life like that is, he wasn’t able to ache for himself.

“I…I had no idea you thought as much,” was all you could put into words.

Heimdall finally snapped to attention at the sad tone of your voice. “Is that pity?” He spat.

“Pity and empathy are two very different things.” Heimdall stared at you, failing to see what you meant. It became no clearer when you opened your mind again, allowing him to see the genuine nature of your words. You wandered over to the flimsy fence and ran your hands along the old wood, voice gentle. “I know what it’s like…to see so much deceit and selfishness in everyone around you. I know how hard it is to keep faith in others when they give you no reason to. It makes you wonder if there’s any good in the world.”

Heimdall, livid at how you received his tirade, growled back. “That’s where you're mistaken. With my foresight I don’t wonder, I know. I don’t have to fool myself into believing in false hope.”

You turned to him, eyes sorrowful. “It sounds to me like you have a curse.”

He had no retort at first. He just stood there, not understanding how the topic took this kind of turn. With time, the indignation of your pity – or empathy, the difference mattered little to him �� sank back in, along with the preposterous idea that his foresight was anything but a privilege. He could always see the truth. The truth was rarely pretty, ever the ugly crone, but he would much rather know than be fooled. He stomped over to you, stopping so close that he could feel your breath on his face, smell the sweet scent on your skin. “You have no idea what my foresight is worth. And you are an absolute fool for thinking you know what it does. Don’t act like you understand what I see. You don’t.”

You looked away, thinking. Your eyes returned to his purple ones, the sincerity still there, but now mixed with resolve. “Maybe I don’t…” You gave him the tiniest of smiles. “...but I can try.”

That was all you had to say. You walked away, leaving him with his cyclone of thoughts.

All Heimdall could do was watch you go, too lost and tired to continue the nonsense you were on about. He could sense that you intended to take his speech to heart. You wanted to prove him wrong.

A small part of him hoped you would.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

#heimdall #god of war #heimdall gow #heimdall x reader #songbird of asgard

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