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shitty-marvel-fan732 · 4 years

Text

Is That...?

Title: Is That...?

Pairing: Loki x Avenger!Reader

Requested?: Yes! @wolfiegal98 I hope you like it love!

Word Count: 6,200 ish

Warnings: Cursing, fighting, mentions of past death

Summary: Loosely follows the plot of Thor Ragnarok. What will happen when the reader finds out that Loki has actually been alive for the past 4 years? Angst and Fluff.

Author's Note: I sincerely hope this makes sense 😂 I picture the reader to be a mutant in this, capable of controlling the air, water, and fire around her, but it's not really explained well because this was already like 6k. P.s., its not my GIF!

“Stephen?” you called curiously, not moving to get up in the slightest. In all honesty, it baffled you that after almost a year of studying under him that you still had nearly no ability to navigate the Sanctum, but it felt like there was little you could do to change that. As much as you enjoyed spending time with the good Doctor, you absolutely loathed trying to find anything in this maze of a building -- you'd figured out pretty quickly that it was much easier to simply yell for him rather than attempt to find anything yourself.

“In the front.”

You yelped as the disembodied head of your mentor popped momentarily through one of his glowy, orange portals before disappearing again.

Forget trying to find your way around this place, you’d never get used to that.

Rolling your eyes, a wave of your hand produced a gust of wind that weightlessly lifted you from your seat and carried you to the front.

"You know you don't have to scare the shit out of me every time I--"

Your complaint died in your throat before you managed to finish your thought. The wind that’d been carrying you died down immediately and your feet landed on the floor with a light thump.

Standing near Stephen was a certain blond-haired Asgardian. He was holding an umbrella, and wearing what you could only imagine was an outfit meant to help him blend in with human beings -- as if that were possible. You blinked, brain taking only a split-second to process the sight in front of you before your face cracked into a huge smile.

"Thor!" you greeted happily before launching yourself into the god's already open arms. Thor chuckled amusedly as he embraced you tightly.

"Hello to you as well Lady Y/N," he grinned, flashing his thousand-watt smile down towards you. You grinned as you pulled yourself out of his arms, feeling thoroughly surprised and delighted.

"Where have you been? It's been, what like 2 years?" you questioned breathlessly as you punched him squarely on the arm in playful irritation. He only grinned wider, body not moving an inch as you hit him.

“Eh you know, here and there,” he shrugged. “Saved a couple of planets from destruction, things like that.”

“Still modest as ever I see,” you giggled.

“Yes, and I see you’ve been working on things since I've left,” Thor complimented. “Your control is quite impressive.”

“That’s not all I can do either,” you teased smugly. Thor chuckled amicably, one brow raised in interest. It was true, working closely with Stephen for the past year had not only massively helped you learn how to use your powers, but had led you to actually discovering some you’d never known you had.

"Anyways. Thor is here to locate his father," Stephen interjected. "I was just about to send him on his way."

Your brows immediately dipped into a frown, eyes raking over the men in hopes that their faces would yield some sort of explanation. Though Strange's face remained impassive, Thor's expression at once became more solemn.

"Odin's here? Like on Earth?" you questioned curiously. Thor merely nodded, eyes casting downwards as if to purposely avoid your gaze. As your mind ran wild with the new information, you internally wondered what the Asgardian king could possibly be doing on Earth. Moreover, you didn't understand why his presence would cause Thor to require Stephen's help. Eyebrow raised in suspicion, you crossed your arms and urged the men with a silent look to explain further.

"Yes, in a place called Norway apparently. It's kind of a long story," Thor drawled. "One with many more questions than answers I'm afraid. I should probably be going to fetch him now."

Stephan nodded waving his arms nonchalantly and opening a portal, but you remained still, wondering what it was that they both knew that you were missing.

"And I suppose I'll be needing my brother back," he finished, looking towards Stephen expectantly.

"Your what now?" you choked.

"Oh yeah, right," Stephen hummed.

He waved his hands above his head and another portal opened. You heard screaming coming from above, and not a second later a man fell straight out onto the Sanctum's floor with an echoing thud. Your jaw dropped.

It couldn't be.

"I have been falling for thirty minutes!" the man roared from the ground, fists clenched and posture rigid.

If you weren't so thoroughly consumed by your complete confusion and the small, futile feelings of hope growing within your chest, you might've laughed at the familiar voice's indignant cry.

"Is that…" you managed to ask weakly, your body completely frozen as your brain worked in overdrive trying to make sense of what you were seeing. The man stood slowly to his feet as you vaguely heard Thor and Stephen talking next to you. It felt like all the breath in your body had been stolen from you, unable to believe the sight before you.

It was him.

Loki, the god of mischief, stood just a few feet from you, huffing and dusting himself off.

Loki who'd been dead for the better part of 4 years.

Loki.

"I-- he -- but he's -- what," you spluttered helplessly. Loki's eyes flashed to your face as you spoke. A look of utter shock filtered through his blue-green irises as he caught sight of your frozen form, and his pale face rapidly lost what little color it'd had to begin with. You whimpered pathetically. It felt like your brain might actually be imploding from its inability to process what was happening right now. "You--"

"Darling," Loki breathed, raising his hands in front of him in surrender. You gaped, mouth hanging wide open.

"Uhm yes, quick update Loki is alive," Thor announced with a quick clap of his hands. "And while I'm sure the two of you have much to discuss we really need to be--"

"You-- asshole."

"Y/N--"

"You absolute FUCKING ASSHOLE," you screeched, body suddenly erupting into a kind of fury the likes of which you'd never experienced. "YOU LET EVERYONE -- LET ME -- THINK THAT YOU WERE DEAD FOR FOUR FUCKING YEARS, AND YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO SHOW UP HERE NOW?"

You could feel your powers surging to the surface, the unbridled rage practically begging to be set free as you crossed the large gap between your bodies in mere seconds. Too livid to even let your natural instincts take over, you simply begin pounding your fists against every available inch of the now-cowering god's body.

"What in FUCKS name are you even doing here, you lying, evil piece of SHIT?" your fists pounded relentlessly against Loki, primal screams of pure anger ripping from your throat as you did. Eventually, you felt your body being pulled away, a giant pair of hands gripping your waist tightly.

"Alright now, that's probably enough," Thor's booming chuckle broke through the rhythmic, deafening pounding of your racing heartbeat in your ears. He caged your body against his with seemingly very little effort, expression wholly amused at your reaction.

You thrashed wildly against his hold, rage still searing through your every pore like a wave of molten hot lava. Your irses began to turn red and your fingertips sparked with little bursts of flame. Falling still for only a moment, your hands darted out, grasping one of Thor’s forearms tightly as your palms glowed with a brilliant, vibrant blue. Thor growled in pain as your heated skin gripped his flesh, arms instantly releasing you as he cradled his burnt limb gingerly.

"Since when can you do that?" Thor demanded, looking very much like he was in shock.

Smiling smugly, your hands became engulfed in flames and you turned your attention back to Loki.

"Told you I'd learned some new tricks," you growled before lunging towards Loki. You only made it a half a step before an invisible force held you in place.

“How many times do I have to tell you Y/N, no fire in the Sanctum!” Stephen scolded sternly before a flick of his hand sent you, Thor, and Loki straight through the portal.

You landed with a soft thump and found yourself rolling across grass, any sight of the Sanctum completely gone. Groaning a little at the pain in your side from the way you'd fallen, your eyes roamed over the field with confusion.

“You can come back when you’re done with your little tantrum,” Strange’s voice echoed in your head from afar. You huffed in disbelief as your surroundings became clear.

He’d sent you to fucking Norway.

“Y/N,” Loki called quietly.

Residual anger bubbled up in your chest once more at the sound of his voice. You turned to find him standing a few yards away, hands raised in surrender once more and handsome features cautiously scanning your face.

“I must explai--,”

“Loki.” Thor cut his brother off sharply, staring towards the cliff. Loki’s eyes travelled to meet his brother’s gaze, breath catching in his throat once he noted Odin’s seated form on a large rock near the coastline. Thor began to walk purposefully over to his father, but Loki's attention turned back to you. You huffed loudly as you stared furiously into his pleading eyes, your body not moving an inch. After a few moments of intense eye contact you cocked your head towards Odin, indicating that he should proceed. Loki nodded tensely in thanks before striding off to where his father and brother sat.

Letting out a massive sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair once you were left standing alone. A tiny flash of guilt started to fill your tummy as you watched the men murmur amongst themselves. Deciding it was probably best to give them a little privacy, you turned away, awkwardly fiddling with the rings on your fingers as you waited for them to finish speaking.

Your mind felt like it was practically buzzing with thoughts as you tried to process everything that'd just happened. Thor's abrupt reappearance, the fact that your mentor had basically banished you to Norway, the nagging question of why Odin was even on this planet, and of course there was the small detail of Loki being back from the dead.

Again.

Though you probably should've been trying to figure out what kind of otherworldly threat could've brought the Asgardian king down from his golden palace, you found the majority of your thoughts turning to his adoptive son.

Along with Thor, you'd been tasked with escorting Loki back to Asgard after the battle of New York to ensure his unhindered return. Finding yourself wholly fascinated by the entirely new and exciting planet, you'd stayed for much longer than anyone thought you would. You were so interested, in fact, that you ended up staying on Asgard for almost a year. The team back in Stark Tower thought you were crazy for staying as long as you did.

If they only knew how you'd been occupying your time in Asgard. They'd probably would've had you committed.

You wound up spending large portions of your time with a certain prisoner -- a fact that you hid from everyone for a long time. At first it was simply to ensure that it was indeed still Loki within his cell and not another illusion, but over time it evolved into something else entirely. Something more.

He started to help you learn about your powers, even showing you that you could do more than just manipulate the air. Together you explored your control over fire and water in small doses, and in turn, you became someone he could talk to -- to pass the time with. The more you learned about Asgardian culture the more time you spent down with Loki, talking about anything and everything you could think of. It wasn’t long before you found yourself harboring a secret crush on the exiled prince, slowly but surely learning to trust him and him you. You were never truly sure if he felt the same -- true he referred to you as his "darling" or "pet" more than your own name, but you could never be sure he wasn't tricking you. As time passed you fell more deeply in love with the god, and you questioned his affections less and less. The two of you never discussed your relationship aloud, but something deep in his eyes told you he just might return your feelings.

You stayed in Asgard so long that you were still around when Jane became possessed by the Aether. You and Thor worked together to free Loki from his cell, and later you wound up on Svartalfheim in an attempt to save Jane’s life.

You’d fought alongside them, and watched helplessly as Loki died right before your eyes. For all he taught you in the past months, your skills were just too weak still to stop the chaos that was raging around you.

You weren’t strong enough to keep him safe.

You’d clutched his hand as he groaned in pain, the cascade of tears falling from your eyes blurring the horrific sight. Even so, the image of his motionless, frail body lying on the ground had been burned into your memory ever since.

You returned back to Earth immediately after that, all interest in Asgard gone. You’d spent the last few years trying futilely to distract yourself by working with the Avengers, which eventually led to you studying under Dr. Strange. You trained everyday, fighting to gain some semblance of control over your abilities and determined to never let anything like what happened in Svartalfheim happen again.

Your head began to ache from the seemingly constant torrent of questions flowing through your brain. How had he survived? Why had he tricked everyone into thinking he was dead? Where had he been all this time? And most importantly, why hadn’t he come to see you?

A pang of rejection ripped through your chest as your brain fought to reconcile Loki’s actions with the sweet, caring man you came to know on Asgard. Surely you must have been mistaken-- a silly girl falling for the handsome god's tricks like a fool. No one who cared for you would leave you like that.

The low, rumbling sounds of thunder booming overhead brought you out of your thoughts. You were on your feet in an instant, body tensing and eyes flashing over to the brothers. A fleeting rush of confusion washed over you as you noted Odin’s absence, but you weren't given much time to think about it.

Thor and Loki stomped towards you with their gazes trained on something behind you. A bolt of lightning and a flash of green enveloping them respectively, the two of them simultaneously donned their battle gear. You rolled your eyes.

"So dramatic," you mumbled to yourself as you turned to face whatever it was they were heading towards.

-----------------------------------

"YOU TINY AVENGER!"

Your head snapped up instantly, body tensing as you were abruptly ripped out of your sleep by Hulk's roar. You groaned, rolling to your side and thrusting your sweaty face deeper into your pillow. Sleep had never come easy to you, and even though your dreams for the past 2 weeks had all been the same gut-wrenching memory, that didn't make your abrupt wake up call any more welcome.

You'd found Bru-Hulk almost immediately after arriving on Sakaar, seeing as the bifrost had spit you out straight into the colosseum in the middle of one of his death matches. You, having very little knowledge of how the bifrost mechanics worked, had absolutely no clue where you were.

To say you'd been confused was the understatement of the millennium.

Disoriented and probably concussed from your not-so-graceful entrance, you weren't left with much time to acclimate yourself from your surroundings before two guards had tackled you to the ground and stuck some kind of taser in your neck. Terrified, you'd tried to fight back, but you were too weak; one press of button later and you were incapacitated in an instant.The pain that seared through you from that wretched torture machine left you unable to do anything other than writhe helplessly in the dirt. Your screams of utter agony were enough to finally pull Hulk's attention away from his fight. He'd gone into a rage as soon as he realized it was you, turning on the guards instantly.

It'd been 2 weeks since then, and with no signs of either Thor or Loki you'd essentially turned into the Hulk's personal babysitter. Apparently he was too big to be fit with one of those taser-disc things and his tantrum didn't end after he'd dismembered those guards. Evidently Hulk had thrown a fit -- in the way only he really could-- and wouldn't stop until some man called the 'Grandmaster' allowed you to stay with him. In exchange for your new home, you'd been tasked with calming him down whenever necessary.

Which, you'd quickly learned, was pretty much a 24/7 job.

Grumbling and cursing under your breath, you flung your legs out of bed and stomped into the next room in a huff. You were fully prepared to give Hulk a piece of your mind, but the sight of another person in his massive room was enough to stop you dead in your tracks. Sitting next to Hulk on the steps that led up to his massive bed was a figure that made your stomach flutter with hope. Unsure and not trusting your eyes, you spoke up as you cautiously approached the pair.

“Thor?”

He turned his head at your call, a look of utter shock taking over his features as he recognized you.

"Y/N!"

He jumped to his feet, making quick work of the small space that separated the two of you and immediately pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

"I can't believe you're here, I was so worried when I saw that she-beast knock you out of the bifrost, you have no idea," he breathed, face buried deep into your neck. You could only squeak in reply. His arms were wrapped so tightly around you that speaking wasn't exactly possible.

"Thor," you wheezed. "Can't...breathe."

Thor let you go instantly, sending you a sheepish expression as you coughed and tried to catch your breath. You doubled over and put your hands on your knees as you fought to regulate your breathing. Thor apologized, clapping a hand on your back in an awkward attempt at comfort. After a moment or two you straightened up a little bit and opened your mouth to dismiss his apologies, but Hulk beat you to the punch.

Literally.

A single swing from him was all it took to send Thor careening into the far wall. He crashed into the structure so hard that you felt the floor rattle beneath you, before falling into a heap surrounded by chunks of the crumbling plaster. Your jaw dropped.

"THOR NO HURT FRIEND," Hulk roared, stepping in front of you protectively. You quickly sidestepped his giant frame and ran to Thor before crouching down.

"Hulk no," you scolded. "He wasn't hurting me on purpose, he was just surprised! Are you okay Thor?"

"Perfectly fine," he groaned, standing quickly while swiping some of the remaining wall debris from his shoulders and stretching out his neck. "Unfortunately that's not the first time he's done that today."

"Hrrmph," Hulk pouted, stomping his foot. "Thor no hurt friend."

"It's okay buddy, I'm okay," you soothed, hand rubbing small circles on one of his massive arms.

"Yes, well," Thor grumbled, clearly miffed that your attention and sympathy had been stolen from him so quickly. "Regardless, Y/N we have to get back to Asgard as soon as possible. Hela will destroy everything if we don't stop her."

You nodded tensely. A shiver ran its course down the entire length of your spine at the mention of his demonic sister.

"Obviously, but I have absolutely no idea how we're gonna do that," you replied solemnly, crossing your arms. "My knowledge of inter-world travel begins and ends with the bifrost, and since I'm assuming that's out I have absolutely no suggestions."

Thor grinned.

-----------------------------------

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever been a part of,” you mumbled to yourself as you fiddled around with the controls of the ship that Valkyrie told you to get. You'd been sitting in the cockpit for an insane amount of time waiting for Thor. You'd gotten separated from him and Bruce in the massive parade after the whole Quinjet fiasco, but thankfully Valkyrie had found you later and given you the rundown of their plan.

A plan which seemed questionable at best, seeing as you'd been waiting for the past hour for a certain blond-haired god to show up.

Huffing in irritation, you poised your fingers above the controls and started the massive engines. You were about to fly off in search of your moron friends when you heard a commotion down below.

"Get help please!"

Your brows furrowed in confusion at the sound of the familiar voice’s cry.

"Thor?" you questioned to yourself quietly, heart rate picking up speed as you anxiously darted off the ship. "Thor? Is that you, what's happening?"

"Ahhh Y/N!" he grinned widely as you approached. "Perfect timing, I see Valkyrie has given us the same task."

You rolled your eyes.

"Actually I've been here a while now, what took you so lo--," you cut yourself off as you noticed Loki sprawled out on the ground behind Thor, paralyzed as one of the obedience disks tased him constantly. "Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me."

Thor followed your gaze to his brother curiously, as if he'd forgotten he was even there.

"Ah, yes. I found out Loki is also here. Surprise?" he ventured chuckling. "However since he seems to only wish to do us harm, I've elected to leave him here."

You glanced down, a pang of guilt striking you deep in your stomach at the look of pure agony etched across Loki's handsome features. You'd be lying if you didn't also feel a little bit smug at his evident discomfort, but even with all the pain he'd put you through you couldn't help but feel a tiny twinge of sympathy. His eyes locked onto your face, the blue-green orbs teaming with shock and a glimmer of an emotion you couldn’t quite place. He rolled his head desperately towards your frozen body as a wave of deja vu overcame your already overloaded mind. You stared deeply into his pain-ravaged expression, a single thought piercing through your chest as you studied his eyes.

He hadn't known you were here.

"At any rate, I imagine now would be as good a time as any to take our leave," Thor interrupted your mental musings. "Which was the ship she told us to get?"

You numbly pointed to the ship behind you, unable to tear your eyes away from the face of the man you'd thought dead for the second time in less than a month. Thor looked between you and his adoptive brother thoughtfully for a beat before comfortingly clapping a massive hand on your shoulder. The kind gesture was enough to snap you out of the daze you'd been in, and you shook your head to try and clear the tyranny of thoughts rumbling around in your brain.

You began walking robotically towards the ship, but Thor's hand gripped your shoulder harder, forcing you to stop. You looked up at him with a questioning glance, confused.

"I know we aren't exactly the closest of friends," he started, awkwardly clearing his throat. "But, as someone who's a bit too familiar with loss, I think some closure is in order here, hmm?"

You opened your mouth, eager to refute the insinuation, but Thor raised his hand to stop you before the words could come out.

“I’ve seen the way you two look at one another. Please, for your sake, say your piece now because it's the last chance you may ever get.”

Your mouth clamped shut. Swallowing thickly, your eyes darted from Thor's stern yet compassionate face to Loki's paralyzed form and back. You nodded once.

Thor smiled softly at the two of you, rubbing a small circle against your shoulder with his hand before jogging away. You took a deep breath and crouched down beside Loki's still twitching body.

"There's so much to say," you started, looking off into the distance. You knew the moment you looked at him that it’d all be over, and so you stubbornly turned your face away from him and fixed your gaze on the far wall. "I honestly don't even know where to begin. Mostly I have a lot of questions. How could you forget me so easily? Why would you just let me think that you were dead? D-did you ever care about me?"

Though his body was still completely immobilized, Loki's eyes were locked onto your face with rapt attention as you spoke. With each pained word and crack in your voice a sharp pain like a knife stabbed through his heart and drove itself deeper and deeper.

"Even if you could answer I doubt it'd mean anything," you continued, swiping a lone tear from your cheek. "I spent 4 years thinking you were gone. 4 years of grief and misery that I thought would be the worst pain I'd ever feel. But I was wrong -- knowing now that you were out there all that time, and that you didn't care enough about me to stick around? That's the worst kind of pain. The gnawing, hollowing ache of knowing that you love someone who's never going to love you back."

His eyes had never been wider as you paused briefly and let out a sob. Tears slipped down his cheeks in a mirror image of yours, and his body began twisting, desperately trying to get closer to you. You couldn’t see, but his fingers were twitching and clawing at the ground in a futile effort to connect his skin to yours. You sniffled and wiped your nose as you shakily stood to your feet, completely oblivious to his desperation. You started to walk back to the ship, pausing only for a moment to turn and make one last statement.

"I'm not going to wait, and I'm not going to wonder why anymore. Because the truth of it is, I'm just a stupid girl who fell in love with a liar. And I know I’m always going to love you, but I refuse to let you define me any longer."

-----------------------------------

You grunted in pain as the sword of one of the many undead Asgardian warriors sliced through your arm. Scoffing, you thrust your flaming fist straight into its stupid, skeletal face and sent it flying off of the bridge. Gently touching your fingertips to your bicep and grimacing when you pulled them back bloody, you turned to face Heimdal.

“There’s too many of them,” you cried, conjuring a gust of wind that knocked a group of the soldiers flying into the water below. Heimdal didn’t answer, too busy fighting to keep some distance between the Asgardian crowd and the army. Wiping a bloody hand across your forehead, you noticed the soldiers that you’d knocked into the water starting to claw their way back up into the fray. Groaning, you closed your eyes and concentrated until the water below became wild. The waves began thrashing around furiously, the tallest one knocking the skeletal bodies back down into the storm below.

Exhausted, you fell to your knees. You weren’t used to using your powers on this kind of scale, and you hardly ever exercised your control over water. Much preferring to use fire or wind, you'd never tried to manipulate an amount of water so large before. Stars danced in front of your eyes and you felt weaker than you had in years. The thudding vibrations of running boots and the clanging of swords filled your ears as you panted, and for a moment you lost all hope.

Until a firm, yet gentle hand placed itself under your chin, forcing you to look up.

"Now, now sweetling," a low voice practically purred in your ear, and you felt yourself being lifted up from the ground. "This is no place to rest."

You looked up to find the blueish-greenish eyes that'd haunted your dreams for the past 5 years staring down at you.

Loki.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight, a shiver running through your entire body at the sensation of being in his arms. The way his eyes bored into yours, it felt like you couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. You were locked into place, utterly mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. He raised a hand, fingers hesitating for only a split second before they nimbly swept a piece of your hair off of your face. You couldn't help but lean your face into his palm that rested on your cheek, allowing yourself to forget everything else that wasn't the feel of his skin on yours for just a moment.

But only for a moment.

You were abruptly brought back down to earth-- or rather Asgard you supposed-- with a sensation like an earthquake vibrating upwards from your boots and the low-rumbling sound of thunder filling your ears. You straightened up in just enough time to see Thor launch himself into the fray, massive surges of lightning engulfing him. You grinned, the sight of your blonde friend looking more god-like than he had in weeks caused a surge of energy to roll through your body like one of his bolts of electricity. Suddenly re-energized and ready to fight alongside your blonde companion, you hopped to your feet. Sending Loki one last determined look, you ran head first into the battle, fists ablaze.

Savagely ripping through soldier after soldier, your red eyes were focused completely on the fight all around you. You almost didn't hear Loki as he yelled over the din of the battle.

"I did it for you, you know," he grunted as he too slashed through the seemingly never-ending torrent of Hela's army. "Staying away. It was what I thought was best."

"Seriously? We're going to do this now?" came your incredulous reply, reducing two of the soldiers into balls of flame before gaping at Loki. He kicked another off of the bridge before shrugging.

"The last two times haven't exactly been ideal either."

Humming angrily, you turned away from him and continued your attack, intent on blocking him out. Loki clearly had other plans, inching his way forward until the two of you were practically back to back as you fought.

"I was a war criminal, a prisoner and helping that mortal wasn't going to change anything. What sort of life was I to offer you had I stayed?" he reasoned before turning you forcibly around to face him.

Despite the fight still raging all around you, you paused and looked at the god in front of you. You were staring each other down, your glare meeting his distressed and pleading gaze as if the two of you were the only ones in the world.

"You expect me to believe that? That you lied to me, that you left me because you cared?" you spit out, hot tears spilling from your eyes as you spoke. Expression crumbling, Loki reached out and tried to connect your hands, but you jerked yours away before he could, your palm instantly erupting into flames.

"You deserved better than that, better than me. You still do," he murmured. "I destroy everything, everyone around me. I couldn't bear the thought of bringing another person I care for so dearly down with me."

You tried with every fiber of your being not to let him get to you. You reminded yourself of all the pain and misery he'd caused you -- futilely dredging up memories of all the nights you'd spent crying yourself to sleep. You squeezed your eyes shut as if not seeing his face would make it easier to resist. Your hands slowly started to extinguish as they shook, your anger fading to sadness that rolled into a tight ball in your chest that felt like it was going to suffocate you.

"I ca-can't...you--," you blubbered incoherently. "I can't do this now."

You turned away once more, but this time Loki stopped you by grabbing your hand desperately. The icy temperature of his skin caused what little flame was left behind to fizzle out with a small cloud of smoke. You gasped at the feeling, but didn't make any moves to remove your hand from his.

"You asked how I could forget about you so easily, and the answer is really quite simple: I didn't," he continued breathlessly. "I couldn't. You filled my mind each and every day that we were apart, and it was only the thought of you that made the days bearable. I checked on you, often. I needed to know that you were doing alright, needed to prove myself right-- that you were, and will always be, better off without me. I know I’ve given you absolutely no reason to believe me, but if you come away from this embarrassingly honest conversation knowing only one thing, I need it to be this: I do love you, my dearest Y/N. I love you more than I can rightly express aloud, and I’ll spend the rest of my miserable existance ensuring that you never question that again if you’ll allow me. ”

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you at his admission, and the hand that wasn’t currently entwined firmly within his flew to cover your mouth. As soon as the words left his lips you felt all of your anger, all your stubborn resolve vanish from your chest in an instant, the feelings quickly replaced by a wave of love the likes of which you’d never felt before. A choked sob left you as you searched his face frantically, looking for any twinkle of mischief or the slightest indication that he could be lying.

His expression was firm, mouth drawn in a sort of dazed smile as he gazed down at you, lovingly. Brows raised and forehead adorably wrinkled with anxiety, he waited patiently for you to respond. You searched his eyes with your own, almost getting lost in the sea of emotion that ran through them and idly wondered if yours looked the same. He looked so hopeful, so sincere, and you felt the warm feelings of your chest expand and grow at an incredible rate.

“Y-you...you love me?” you managed to murmur, gaze still locked firmly on his face as you worked intently to memorize his features. His lips quirked into what was quite possibly the most beautiful and honest smile you’d ever seen, and his hand gently lifted to your face. Rubbing soft circles into your cheek with the pad of his thumb, he answered so quietly you almost missed it.

“More than I ever thought possible.”

Unable to physically stand the distance between you for another second, you carelessly crashed your body into his. Arms winding their way around his shoulders to anchor themselves, you connected your mouth to his, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He responded just as quickly, both hands now cupping your face as his smooth lips worked fervently over yours. The two of you were pressed together so tightly it was almost painful, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on anything outside of the feeling of his kiss. After wondering for so long, the feeling of his skin on yours was indescribable. Your fingers threaded through his dark, curly locks as you struggled to pull him impossibly closer to you, and you shivered in pleasure at the low growl your actions seemed to pull from his throat.

After an indefinite, but altogether too brief length of time, you were forced to pull away from him -- panting and working intently to catch your breath, you settled for leaning your forehead against his as he did the same. For all the time you’d spent manipulating the wind to carry you around, you swore you’d never felt more weightless than you did in this moment. You couldn’t erase the dopey smile that you were sure was stretched across your face right now, but you didn’t care. Especially once you opened your eyes to find the same, love-struck grin plastered across Loki’s handsome features.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that,” he chuckled breathlessly. His voice was lower than you’d ever heard, and he sounded so uncharacteristically shy that you couldn’t help but lift yourself on your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Not sure if it really needs saying at this point, but I love y--,”

“Oi, lovebirds!,” Valkyrie interrupted, shouting from across the bridge. “If it pleases the two of you, perhaps you could come help now?”

Loki cleared his throat, a pink tinge dusting across his cheeks as he noticed his brother and Valkyrie looking at the pair of you with teasing expressions. You couldn’t help but giggle at his evident embarrassment, gazing adoringly at his reddened-features for a split second. Threading your fingers through his confidently, you tugged him along and the two of you left to join your group for what you hoped would be the final battle.

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sinnhelmingr · 3 years

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Since I'm watching the superior 1940 version- How would Hel fit in Jane Austen land? // @withinycu

Oh boy.

Okay so getting into the nitty gritty of world politics at the time, her native Denmark is uhhh going through it. It’s the final death throes of Denmark-Norway, the British have come and wrought absolute havoc, an alliance with France is in its infancy as a result, and the Swedes seem to be having a better go of it. Everything is going to shit. It’s marvelous. The nobility is about to get shitcanned in the next forty years depending on when we define the start of an Austen-style story. The pressure is on, I’m sure.

Lea, born into the prestigious pre-Reformation lines of Bolvasmithr and Ulveskog, found that prestige rather tarnished during her early childhood. Her parents were lain low by a series of misfortunes that precipitated a fall from grace and polite society. Her absent father has been, as Lea understands it, away for more than a decade escaping such scandal and, it is whispered, charges that might be brought against him. Those same society gossips will crow about the mercy and kindness of her father’s dear old friend, the Baron of Valhalla.

That the Baron ruined his blood brother’s standing is without question within Lea’s mind. That he would use her as surely as he used and cast out her brothers for what little he could bleed from the stone of their inheritance is taken as absolute certainty. While Lea had a brilliant education and showed a marked devotion to the feminine arts, she decided young to play the spinster. Once she could negotiate her own emancipation from her godfather’s country estate, she escaped southward on the continent, taking a Grand Tour to rival those of the highest born nobleman of her time. Of course, this is not what she called it, and was simply an excuse to move from coast to coast in the interests of her fragile health. She has not returned to Denmark-Norway in the decade since.

She’s an avid patron of the arts and sciences, a bright mind hiding beneath a fashionable frock. The consummate lady to obscure the Byronic character beneath, she proves a talented musician and hostess. She’s one of those proto-feminists who does not deny the rightness of the womanly arts while still demanding that a lady’s contribution be taken seriously as more than window-dressing for a husband’s estate. She’s also a staunch atheist in an era where religion is starting another upswing. She loves to break out the fact her mother’s name is purely Pagan in origin to see what each society she crosses will make of such facts.

Yes she is ugly and sickly, no that is not why she is unmarried. She’s in possession of certain facial and muscular deformities that give a rather gaunt and rigid quality to her left side, accompanied by afflictions of the nerves and heart. That she is still alive is testament to her spite, that her godfather receive nothing of what is rightfully hers. Catch her covering up as much as possible and rocking a veil like a vestal virgin.

Despite this, she has several close... correspondences with ladies across the world, from Sussex to Naples and a fair few locations inbetween. She’s pretty clearly gay coded except we can’t say that, it’s an Austen-derived work.

So her stereotype in more romantic works is possibly the poor wretch that our bucolic-raised protagonist nurses and proves her goodness to through her actions towards this wretched, spiteful shrew of a sinner, or the snappy spinster that makes sport of our young society lovers only to deliver an impassioned third act speech about her wasted life or lost love and a protagonist realizes they don’t want to be this ugly foul lady in their old age.

(mind you lea is only in her early-mid thirties.)

other good alternatives include: the madwoman in the attic, the mysterious benefactor of a down on their luck protagonist who was once kind to her, the patron of a poor artist who loves a lady of means and maybe teaches him how to behave in proper society to fake it til he makes it, the dangerous mysterious figure who turns out to be heroic and is warning the leading lady away from a false love, or the mystery that blows into town with what seems like a terrible and cruel plan against the poor baron only to break out ODIN AIN’T SHIT HE DEFRAUDED MY PARENTS AND SOLD MY BROTHERS INTO DAMNATION to reveal him as the villain all along!

I am sure there is a way to make her a palatable romantic lead as a defrosting ice queen broken bird who chooses to let karma get the Baron before she wastes another moment of her life on his cruelty rather than her own salvation, all before delivering a god-tier anguished declaration of love to her romantic interest. I just don’t know how to slice it.

#aumeme;#withinycu

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

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Himmeløyne [1/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Words: 4995 | Warnings: Violence | Translations in Italics

A/N: So I’ve had this fic in my WIP’s for like a year now. I wanted to finish the rest of my projects before starting this one, but... Oh well! The dialogue is in Norwegian but this is strictly for the opening chapter because it sets the scene and I didn’t anticipate how much work it would be to try and write in two languages. My translations are a bit shoddy! Like and Reblog, and don’t be shy to ask to be tagged!

NOTE: Thanks to the amazing @mejohanssonwrites for helping me with the translations! I have made slight alterations to the Norwegian dialogue and I cannot express how much I appreciate someone taking time to help me and my little blog along! You the best xx.

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~Trønsberg, Norway 1065AD -A Hundred Years after the Battle of Tønsberg

A glimmer of magnificent colours spilt through a hole in the sky. When the glass like visage ended, a man dressed in glimmering armour -adorned with a two-horned helmet and a sweeping cape- stood at the centre of a runic pattern that had been scorched into the earth.

In one hand he held a stave and in the other, an ornate box carved from wood. There was a small symbol carved into the box: eight arms spread outward from a circular focal point.

With a shimmer of brilliant light, the man’s otherworldly clothes dissipated, only to be replaced by humble rags. The man stepped away from the cliff face, making his way downhill to what appeared to be a small fishing village.

~Trønsberg, Norway 1265AD

You and your mother lived in seclusion, away from the rest of your Nordic tribe. Your little stone and wood hut was built close to the village cliff face, overlooking the frosty glazed tundra’s -a view you had spent hours marvelling at since childhood.

You loved spending hours imagining trekking up those dangerous snow-covered slopes in order to get to the summit where, in your mind, you would shout out to the heavens and the stars and they, in turn, would hear you and thunder back words of praise and acknowledgement.

Your life was a hard one. Everything you had, from the furs you slept on to the fish you ate, you had either earned through hard sweat or fought for.

This life, this simplistic life, was not for everyone. This hard life had calloused your hands, making it so they would not bleed as easily, and it had worked your legs to the point you could fortify yourself when a sword crashed against your shield. Barely into your mid-twenties and your life had already sharpened you to a bleeding edge. You were a survivor, but you were also an outsider since birth.

Your mother was a crone, one blessed with foresight. Her abilities presented themselves when she read the future in the raven bones and spoke in tongues as a conduit to the stars. Many respected and feared her. They believed her to be a sign of divine intervention, declaring her a blessed one -proof that the heavens were not empty and Odin looked down on you all.

As will all power that evokes otherness, with such important responsibility came a deep reverence. Worse yet, a stigma. Despite being a part of the tribe, the both of you were also apart from the tribe.

Being one from her blood, you had inherited an ability all your own, though it was much weaker. It presented itself as a sixth sense. Beginning with a tingle that would rush up your spine and then finishing with the draining of blood from your cheeks. On restless days, dark days, your blood would sometimes turn to ice in your veins, prompting shivers to chatter at your teeth. It was an early warning system, a deeply disturbing sense that warned when danger was near. Where your mother read raven bones, your body fortold of the rising of a bad omen.

These abilities usually affording you some fearful glances, sometimes coupled with rigid nods of respect. Everyone in the village kept a safe distance from you and your mother, unless they sought you out of their own volition seeking guidance and sage counsil.

However, this wasn't all that was special about your bloodline -about you. As odd as it seemed in face of premonition and foresight, what stood out about the women in your family was the colour of their eyes. The colour of your eyes.

Azure was the colour of your eyes. The colour of the sky, clear and strikingly bright. It was this notable trait that afforded the women of your family the title of Himmel Kvinner; Women of the Sky -even though it was a title sparsely used. Instead, your family had adopted the name Himmeløyne. But your eyes were different than the women of your family, just slightly. A ring of gold enveloped your iris. It had an odd behaviour to it. some days it shimmered and glowed like something otherworldly, almost molten. Dancing as though the gold was alive with wondrous secrets.

Your mother used to say she could see the whole universe in your eyes. Something you shared with your father. A man you never knew. But that wasn't all he had bestowed upon you. You didn't resemble many of your kin with skin less fair and hair less tame. Whenever you asked your mother about him she would say he came from the heavens and that he had loved her an eternities worthwhile in a mortals world. She had told you he was quiet and stoic, a man whose truest thoughts were never spoken aloud but realised with his gaze alone.

The day began like any other. You had spent the early mornings fishing by the stream, and once you had scaled and cleaned the fish you went on your way to gather wood for the fires. While wondering the woods you ran into a familiar group of curious children who made sure to keep a good distance between you and them.

Like hunters eyeing a prized elk, they followed you from one edge of the woods to another, tittering from delight at getting to steal a glance of your face. On occasion, you would let the children get close before scaring them with playful shouts. They would scream and run for cover behind large tree trunks, shivering one instant only for laughter to follow abruptly afterwards. It was a secret game you played with them. A game you hoped would allow them to grow out of their fear of you. As a child, you had hated being seen as the witch in the woods. Children could be mean, and fear could be a terrible teacher. An unpleasant memory from those years and the scar above your brow ensured you'd never forget the power fear could have over people.

As you bent down to pluck some wildflowers growing next to a berry thicket, you heard the voices of several men making their way into the village from a successful hunt. Cautiously, you ducked low, hiding behind the thicket -not because you were afraid they'd see you, but because you wanted to know what they talked about when they weren't aware of your presence.

"I kveld skal vi spise som konger!" One of the hunters exclaimed proudly.

Tonight, we shall feast like kings!

"Ikke hvis Olav får hendene på villsvinet først! Han er større enn Inger! Og hun spiser for to! " Another said with a hearty laugh.

Not if Olav gets his hands on the boar first! He's larger than Inger! And she's eating for two!

You recognised who they were talking about. Olav was the chief's oldest son, as well as his burliest. Even though you'd never been invited to a banquet, your mother had, and from what you knew from her stories, the hunter's rendition of Olav was spot on. Feeling courageous, you peeked over the thicket until your nose tickled the line of leaves where the bush stopped.

"Ja, men han gjør absolutt ingenting! Han bare spiser og driter. Vedder på at han ikke klarer å få’n opp for kona!" The tallest of the hunters said, his hand rubbing at his groin mockingly.

Yes, because he does absolutely nothing! All he does is eat and shit! I bet he can't even get it up for his wife!

The hunters laughed.

A stout hunter with braided red hair turned and huffed at the joke, his tone slightly wistful, "Hva jeg ville gitt for å stikke den i henne." He sighed as though he were some forlorn lover.

What I would give to stick it to her.

The rest of the men playfully slapped his back and bellowed in laughter.

With the hunters now ahead of you, you decided to sneak after them. Their strange comradery and energy drawing you near them. You wanted to hear more, to see more, to know what it was like to live with them, not just near them.

"Forsiktig nå, Bjørn, sånn som du holder på kommer du til å bli far til halve landsbyen!" The youngest hunter teased.

Careful Bjørn, at this rate you'll father half the village!

The red-haired hunter -Bjørn- grumbled something like an insult and stomped over to the younger, smaller hunter. He looked as though he were about to throw his fists at the blonde boy, but instead, he wrangled him in a headlock and ruffled his short curls roughly. The young hunter protested against Bjørn's large arms, but his grip seemed impregnable. The rest of the men laughed as they watched their two friends tousle about.

You gasped in shock, setting your half stocked basket on the ground and trotting near a large tree to get a better peak. A scamper of tiny feet sounding out behind you.

After a few tumbles on the ground, the younger hunter finally yielded and tapped Bjørn's arms, "Jeg gir opp! Jeg gir opp!"

I give up! I give up!

Bjørn released his grip and staggered to his feet. Patting the young hunter with a satisfied grin on his face, "Ikke alle kan være like kjekk som deg, Baldrick. Det er derfor vi har stygge sønner; for at du ikke skal stjele alle damenes hjerter."

Not all of us can be as pretty as you, Baldrick! That's why we have to have ugly sons to keep you from stealing all the women's hearts!

"Ja, ja!" Baldrick sighed in annoyance. His cheeks were red with defeat. He kicked the dirt around him as the men continued their trek.

Yes, yes!

That had been enough excitement for the day. You stood out from behind the tree and went to retrieve your basket. As you picked your basket and turned to leave, your foot stepped on a twig and the crunching snap it made echoed around you. You gulped, afraid that maybe the hunters had heard you. A thought that was instantly confirmed when the sound of their laughter and banter faded behind you. Surrounded by dead silence, you remembered something your mother had said when she had caught you stealing berries from the winter stores, "Hvis du ser skyldig ut, er du skyldig. Selv om du ikke er det."

If you look guilty, then you are guilty. Even if you aren't.

So, you straightened your spine, relaxed your eyes and pulled a sweet smile across your face, turning to face the men as though they had been the ones to disturb your walk. You tilted your head slightly and strolled to another patch of wildflowers.

The men gave you a nod out of courtesy and continued walking, albeit much quieter than before. You noticed the youngest hunter -Baldrick- sneak defiant looks your way, smiling more and more each time. When you smiled back, he beamed with a toothy grin that he tried to hide from the rest of his company. You felt your cheeks begin to grow hot and you didn't understand why.

The sound of children giggling behind you alerted you to the fact your little friends had returned. Feeling a little mischievous, you hooked an eyebrow up and turned swiftly in an effort to spook them.

"Raaaaah!" You shouted.

The kids screamed just as expected and scattered away from you with bubbly laughter. You watched them run to the group of hunters.

A young lass, around four or five, stopped for a moment to give you a clumsy wave.

You paused, holding your breath.

That was the first time anyone had regarded you so openly... so warmly. When the child waved at you, there was no fear in her eyes, only genuine happiness.

Reluctantly, you smiled back at her, slowly picking up your arm to wave back. When Baldrick looked back, possibly to sneak another look, he saw the young girl standing still and waving at you, his grin returning. He held out his hand and called after the little girl, "Sigrid, kom."

Sigrid, your smile grew. That was your mother’s name.

The little girl was ushered out of her daze and trotted after Baldrick, taking his large hands into her two small ones. Soon the group of children and hunters disappeared from your line of sight and you began to make your way back home with the supplies you gathered. All the while, an odd feeling began to settle inside your stomach. It made your nerves tingle and your spine shiver.

When the sun was at its peak, you had decided to go down to your favourite cavern. There was a hidden hot spring there and you were in need of a bath. As you were preparing your satchel with the necessary herbs for aroma, your mother walked into the hut with a worrying expression on her face.

"Mor er alt okay?" You asked her with worry clearly showing on your usually stoic face.

Mother, is everything okay?

The lines on your mothers face creased as she smeared on a pained smile, her eyes on you but her thoughts elsewhere. She placed a reassuring hand on your cheek and a warm kiss on your forehead.

"Ja, kjære, alt kommer til å ordne seg ,"she said softly before she took her leave and sat on the furs by the fire. The embers casting bright colours onto her aged face in a splendid kaleidoscopic show.

Yes, my daughter. Everything will be alright.

There was that feeling gnawing at your stomach again. It made you unsteady and lightheaded. The world seemed to tilt about like a boat swaying helplessly against the unforgiving waves of the sea. It was the feeling of dread. The feeling of a bad omen approaching.

Thinking yourself simply more wired than usual, you had cast those unwelcome feelings aside. You took solace in the fact your mother had shown no signs of fear, only distraction. And if the crone of the village was not in a panic, then there was no reason for her daughter to be.

She took out her black leather pouch filled with raven bones and runes and tossed them onto the floor. As her slender, wrinkly digits hovered over the bones, you caught a glimpse of the Ægishjalmar branded onto her forearm. A brand you now bore too. You asked her once what its purpose was, why it was carved into the door of your house, all she said was that it protected the source of your power. A rite of passage.

With your mother focused on the task at hand, you thought it best to leave her be. Now was not the time for interruption, not while she was summoning her powers of foresight.

You grabbed your stave and an extra cover of furs as you made your way out of the hut. Before you were out of earshot, you heard your mother whisper to herself once more, " Ja, kjære, alt kommer til å ordne seg..."

It was a steep climb to get up to the cavernous space where the hot spring was hidden. Not many knew of it, which meant it was the perfect place to be alone with your thoughts. As you made the climb, something strange occurred, a powerful surge rippled below your feet, shaking the trees and the dirt around you. In the distance, a bright blue light flashed. It came from the same direction as your home. When you looked back to get a better view, you were relieved to see nothing amiss. Still, something felt odd.

It must have been my imagination, you thought when everything had returned to normal. You kept on your way.

Once inside the dimly illuminated cave, you stripped off your clothes and poured a handful of herbs and essences into the bath waters to fill the air with the sweet yet earthy smell that you loved. You then slid your aching body into the waters, letting the heat untangle all the knots and tightness from your muscles. With heavy lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the lines of your brand absentmindedly.

The silence in the cave was almost euphoric. The feeling of letting all worries and burdens go turning you lighter than air -retirement from the uneasy feeling that had been slowly building inside you all day. Before long you had lost yourself in that feeling and you fell asleep within the waters. You would not awaken until your skin pruned and the aurora touched the evening sky. Realising just how much time had passed, you grew nervous and began to hastily gather your things.

"Mor vil bli misfornøyd," you whispered to yourself knowingly.

Mother won't be happy.

Just before you reached the exit of the cave, something green and bright caught your attention. You followed after it, unable to ignore the urge to know what it was. When you got close enough to see, you realised it was a snake. Small and unthreatening.

It had curled itself into a knot, unable set itself loose. Its scales were the most brilliant shade of green you had ever seen. Darker than the pine forests to the south of your village, yet somehow, also brighter than the summer grass that grew on the lower fjelds.

Without much thought for your own wellbeing, you picked up the snake and helped it uncoil itself. It's slippery form twisting itself playfully around your open palms. You let out a soft laugh as you watched the colours from the night sky dance and bound off its shiny scales as though it were made of crystals.

"Du er så vakker, lille grønn," you told the snake, knowing full well it did not understand the common tongue.

You are so beautiful, little green.

The snake uncharacteristically lifted its head and stared straight into your eyes. Its eyes seemed to mesmerise you because you had lost all sense of time. Sound had been blocked out of your ears and all light had been leeched away from your vision, leaving only the bluish-green colour of the snake’s eyes in your vision.

It wasn't until you heard a thunderous noise echo through the cavern that you broke free from the trance. Fear and panic once again took root in your stomach as you scurried to race after the sounds of screams and battle cries and shields breaking.

The snake tightened its grip on your hands. It was terribly strong for such a small, inconsequential creature. You mustered all your strength and pooled it around your bound hands. The snake's scales cracked and strained against the tension.

The sounds of the battle in the distance grew lower and lower with each passing moment. Your mind kept going back to that look on your mother's face and the last words she spoke before you left.

Ja, kjære, alt kommer til å ordne seg.

You fought against the snake's grip even harder. Twisting and turning your wrists and arms and elbows, trying to find an opening. It felt futile.

Another thunderous crash echoed through the cavern and this time the screams that followed were louder.

Who did those screams belong to? Was it the pretty faced Baldrick who made your cheeks flush earlier? Perhaps it was the stout and burly, Bjørn wielding his trusty axe as he rushed forward with a resounding battle cry.

Your heart was racing, your palms sweating and your chest constricting.

What was happening in your village? Were you under attack? Was your mother safe?

All you knew was that you needed to stop speculating and find a way to loosen the snake’s hold of you. Almost as though your unspoken desires had been heard y the gods, the snake's grip seemed to be falter. Using anger and fear to fuel your strength, your muscles broke free from its coiled form. However your freedom came at a price. The snake had opened its jaws, extended its fangs and sunk them into your flesh. Warm venom oozing into your veins like honey.

If the venom was poisonous you couldn't tell. Not just as yet. You threw the snake back where you had picked it from and raced back out of the cavern. You ran down the slope as you saw grey smoke crawl over the treeline. You raced passed the trees, seeing a myriad of broken shields and bloodied snow. Ash grew thicker and hotter the closer you got to the village. An ember flew into your eye and scorched it. Ignoring the pain, you kept racing passed the longhouse where you saw the entire village afire.

For as far as the eye could see lifeless bodies covered the white snowy ground, blood and soot turning it a sludgy consistency. They appeared to be struck down by frostbitten wounds. Your mind went numb, unable to process the carnage and death spread out across your feet. Sagging and limp, your body began to grow heavy. It was unclear whether it wwas from the venom or seeing this horror unfolding around you.

Shrouded by the wall of flames, you saw giant men wielding jagged swords that looked nothing like steel. Their weapons buried themselves within the helpless villagers you had once wished to have known better. You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to turn to stone in the very spot.

You had to keep going.

As you forced your legs to work, you instinctively began to search the faces of the scattered bodies in the snow; searching for all the faces you had grown to know the names of. You held your breath in anticipation of the sorrow that would follow once you saw their faces. Would it hurt more than what you felt now? Could it? After all, even if you never broke bread with any one of them, or traded jokes after a day’s work, they were still your people and you were one of them. You always had been. And now… Now they were all dead. When everything seemed to be at its bleakest, a spark of hope lit up inside you. Maybe, just maybe, not all of them were dead.

You raced to the edge of the cliff face where your hut was. Your legs beginning to waver and shake helplessly. When you got over the hill between the village and your hut, your blood went cold as you helplessly watched your house burn to the ground. A scream rippled out from your lungs, piecing the eerie quiet that now hung over your village.

Utterly defeated, you fell to your knees. The venom began to take effect, making its way into your heart. Your arm clenched around your left breast as the world began to spin around you. Your vision blurred over and your body felt like a sack of potatoes falling onto the soft snow.

Ja, kjære, alt kommer til å ordne seg...

As you began to lose consciousness, a giant with blue skin walked towards you. He looked upon your chest and when he realised you still drew breath, he raised his sword and buried it into your right lung. When he removed it from its temporary home, a pool of blood spurt from your body as you felt your lung fill with your own blood, drowning you from the inside-out.

The pain was beyond excruciating, but somehow it was nothing compared to the feeling of loss that clung to your entire body.

Your head rolled lifelessly to the side. Unable to close your eyelids, you were forced to watch in eternal silence as the flames continued to devour your home. Your lungs were on the verge of collapsing when, suddenly, a beautiful collage of striking colours rained down around you. It was like being under a melting rainbow. And despite the fact the tips of your fingers were bluer than they had ever been, you felt warm.

Memories came to life around you. The image of you and your mother drinking ale beside the fire. The young girl, Sigrid, waving at you with a tender smile. The hunters laughing as they carried their boar to the village. You as a child with blood running down your face from where another child has thrown a rock at you. The green snake coiling around you.

And then… everything went black.

~HEIMDALL

Heimdall, the ever watchful eye, stood on his observation platform. His sword placed firmly within the bridges helm. As he watched over all nine realms he sensed strange activity on Midgard. He focused his sight, conjuring the dark magic’s to help him better see what was unfolding. When he saw the familiar wisp of Jotun magic leave its tell-tale tear within the seams of the universe, Heimdall's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his breathing turned purposeful.

The Frost Giants had travelled to Midgard, but Heimdall could not see where to. His sight was obscured by something, by another source of magic. Asgardian magic.

It was disconcerting, the fact he had never sensed this magical signature until now. It felt primaeval, ancient. Where ever it came from, it had managed to stay hidden for an unknowable amount of time.

Why is it making itself known now? He wracked his mind for answers it could not possibly have.

A garrison of royal guards came riding down the bifrost accompanying the Allfather and his youngest son, Loki.

"My King," Heimdall bowed as he still gripped the hilt of his sword.

"Heimdall, open the bifrost, the Jotun’s have attacked a village on Midgard," Odin ordered. Beside him, Loki rubbed his wrists, faint markings hidden beneath his long sleeves.

For all of Loki's cunning, Heimdall could tell that he was bothered by something. His eyes looked out into nothing, his presence whole fully distant from everything around him.

"But my King, I have seen no such attack," Heimdall said.

"But you felt it, yes?" Loki asked, his inquisitive eyes possessing knowledge he should not have, "The shift in the realms when they used their magic to travel to Midgard?"

Heimdall eyed the dark prince with a weary expression. "Yes…" was all he said before he sheathed his sword completely into the hilt at the eye of the bifrost and turned it clockwise.

The bridge between realms ripped the seams of the universe open and trailed a path of magnificent colours down to Midgard.

Odin and his guard stepped through, but he had not permitted the young prince to follow. Heimdall watched quietly as the young prince paced from one corner of the room to the next. His eyes squinted in deep thought while his eyebrows furrowed in silent anger. Every now and again, Loki would rub absentmindedly at his bruised wrists. Soon the All-Father returned and the bridge reopened.

Odin's head hung low, his eyes weary. The smell of smoke clung to his cloak. He looked to his son with what seemed to be regret and then he looked upon Heimdall's face. His face spoke volumes without uttering a single word. With a heavy hand placed on Heimdall's shoulder, he finally said: "Close the bifrost."

When the last of the Kings Guard crossed through, he did as his king commanded. Heimdall noticed one of the guards carried a young human woman in his arms, wrapped in the Allfather's cloak, barely alive. Her light was fading and her life would soon be forfeit. Heimdall felt his magic warded off by her own.

She was the one who had obscured his vision. Something about her felt familiar.

"Get her to the healers," Odin ordered his guards. They complied with no delays. In his peripheral, Heimdall noticed Loki let out a breath of relief as a small smile fought to make itself known. He hid it beneath a clenched jaw.

Heimdall had an uneasy feeling about this.

As soon as the girl was removed from his vicinity, the shroud that obscured part of Heimdall’s sight disappeared for good and it was like his eyes had been reopened.

Then he saw it.

The destruction previously unknown to him. All the carnage, the death… It was sickening. The soldier in him felt it was his fault, like he had failed in his duties to protect all those people.

"No," was all he had the strength to say as sorrow filled his eyes and he sunk to one knee, staying anchored only by the grip he had on his sword.

~ODIN

"Will she live?" Odin demanded to know from the healers.

They were looking over the young woman’s body, a curtain of gold hovering around her as they tried to heal the wound caused by a Frost Giant's blade.

"It is too early to tell. It is unheard of for a human to survive such injuries, but we found traces of a paralytic in her body. It appears the venom slowed her heart rate and kept her alive long enough for you to bring her here for healing," the head healer informed the All-Father as she bowed respectively and took her leave to join the other healers.

Frigga joined his side, a look of wonder on her face. "There was much commotion in the palace today. Everyone is whispering about the human their king brought with him from Midgard." Her lips parted in question as she brushed her hands over her husband’s arm.

"That girl, I sense something powerful about her. She may yet survive this," Frigga said softly before turning her head to look upon Odin's face. "And you, my husband, what troubles you so?"

Odin slowly blinked his one eye, a weak smile on his lips, "Nothing you need worry about." He said before placing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Your proud brow says otherwise," she pressed, running a finger along the lines of his forehead. "Tell me."

Odin sighed, "The Jotun’s… they attacked Midgard. Loki, he- they almost discovered the location of the tesseract."

"The girl, “Frigga took a deep breath, "That's why Heimdall couldn't see the attack. She's one of them isn't she?"

Odin glanced at the unconscious woman hovering in the air, "She is the last."

One of the healers made her way towards the Allfather, her expression grave, "Allfather, Queenmother… There is something you should know. The girl, she's- she's not entirely human."

<<Chapter Two>>

Permatags: @electroma89 @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @lokis-butter-knife If this isn’t your cuppa tea, lemme know and I’ll untag!

#Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #reader insert #marvel imagines #loki imagine #loki imagines #tom hiddleston #thor #asgard #Himmeløyne fic #scribescribbles #loki #marvel fic #some norwegian dialogue for the dual linguist in me

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laureviewer · 4 years

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God of War (2018): A Review

Warning: HEAVY story spoilers

I’m not trying to sell you a game. I want to give you an in-depth review and analysis of the story, characters, gameplay and all other aspects of this brilliant game, spoilers and all. I want a discussion. So, dive in and see what I really thought, no holds barred.

King of the Norse

‘I don’t want it’, says the Jon Snow of the God of War franchise, Kratos. He doesn’t want to be a god, he doesn’t want to interfere or help in others’ lives, he doesn’t want his son to know his past—or to remember it himself, for that matter. But this fish-out-of-water story of a Greek god living in a Norse world forces him to accept his past, present and future.

The story is blissfully and tragically simple. A man sets out to spread the ashes of his recently deceased wife and mother of his son, Atreus, and to honour her by doing so on the tallest peak in all the realms, as was her request. This aim seems completely achievable: you can even see the peak of the mountain in the distance as you set off. But if I know anything about journeys, it’s that they are never that simple. A mysterious man who can’t be hurt attacks Kratos, for reasons unknown. The mountain may not be their final destination after all. And a man and his son set out on a journey that is as much about their relationship as much as it is about fulfilling their loved one’s final wishes.

A (Reluctant) Man of the People

If you’ve read enough of my reviews by now, you’ll know that open world is one of my favourite video game tropes. GOW isn’t quite open world but still enough to sink your teeth into. In fact, the open world elements adopted by the game makes finishing it a lot more doable than traditional giant open world games, like Skyrim or The Witcher 3 with their hundreds of side quests all over the map. There are side quests in GOW, sure, but they are called ‘Favors’ (which melds well with the overarching theme of gods and sacrifice in the narrative) and fall into five sub-categories for a total of only sixteen favors: dwarfs, wayward spirits, dragons, realms, and Valkyries.

However, even though they aren’t technically counted as favors, there’s a multitude of other tasks to complete, such as closing Realm Tears by fighting elite monsters, collecting artifacts and lore about the world, and killing Odin’s spiritual raven spies. I’m not going to 100% the game or anything, but I love searching every corner of the map to complete that satisfying checklist of things to find.

However, I did find my anxiety spiking a few times with the fact that you don’t have all your powers at once. Sure, it’s useful when the lack of powers blocks you out of places the story doesn’t want you to get to yet, and it’s quite nice to go to old familiar places and uncover new areas and collectibles, but I was always wondering whether I was missing something, and whether I should just wait to go back to exploration areas when I actually have all the powers I need. Obviously there needs to be room for progression, but some puzzles couldn’t be solved without specific powers. Sometimes I wondered whether I was simply not doing the puzzle properly. It all became clear as the game progressed, but even so, I’m sure I spent more time than I should have done in some areas attempting to complete an area that couldn’t be completed. It often made me less willing to comb the area as I could never be sure if I had more to find than first apparent. This also made finding high level enemies another trigger to my must-complete-everything-while-I’m-here mentality. Thankfully, the map always logged where Realm Tears were if I couldn’t quite beat them yet. I only wish the map would do the same for Winds of Hel or other power puzzles that I would pass mournfully on my way to defeat a dark elf or two.

The actual favors encapsulate the very best of what GOW 4 has to offer: fetch-quests for your friends in the form of wisecracking dwarfs; helping the innocent such as allowing lost souls to find peace and freeing giant dragons (though you’d have thought they’d stop trying to attack you long enough to realise you are trying to HELP them); and incredibly challenging battles that help the realms and prove your worthiness simultaneously.

Sure, half the time Atreus instigates helping the innocent: Kratos, true to form, insists that helping others is experience for his son, or useful in gathering resources for their journey. Though, perhaps sometimes he doth protests too much, particularly when pushing back against helping the mysterious Witch of the Woods and the dwarfs. He claims that they are useful, and thus performing tasks for and not making enemies of them is helpful in achieving their goal, but we see his heart thawing the more time he spends with Atreus. We see you, Kratos, learning to love again even as it scares you. And it’s endearing, if not often very frustrating. Which leads us on to…

Atreus and the Struggles of Parenthood

Atreus’ empathy is also often his fatal flaw. He wants to help everyone, while Kratos wants to stay out of many conflicts, stating that one rarely knows the full story and thus cannot take sides—a definitive sum of the lessons he learned in his regretful past. As an ancient being—hey, James, how old is Kratos? You don’t know? Two thousand or something? Fine I’ll Google it. It’s uncertain but probably around 1050. Damn—he obviously has much more wisdom than a young boy. He is right when he advises Atreus to keep out of the war between the light and dark elves in Alfheim, though he’s not opposed strongly enough to not kill them as they get in his way. It’s less of a moral dilemma for Kratos, and more of a ‘we don’t know enough to make a judgement’. Atreus, we can tell at the beginning of the game, is going to eventually make Kratos more sympathetic, more caring towards other beings. Perhaps even more benevolent than any of the Aesir Norse gods, save Tyr. Though, that isn’t exactly hard.

And, then, you get further in the game. At first, you understand: Kratos is a dick to Atreus. He didn’t care to spend time with him while his mother was alive, and it shows. He refuses to tell Atreus he is a god, and that he is a god in turn, and the conflict of his body and mind being conflicted in what he truly is ends up being the reason for Atreus’ ongoing illness. It’s Kratos’ fault, and sure, he doesn’t know this until it’s nearly too late and he fixes it, but even so. All Atreus wants is to be loved and to make his father proud.

Until later, when he finds out he is a god and goes full diva. The game made me feel about Atreus the same way as I’m sure many parents feel about their children—though, full disclaimer, I’m not a parent, so don’t @ me. My friend says you always love them, and you want what’s best for them and make allowances for them, but oh my god sometimes you really don’t like them. This definitely happened with Atreus. From telling Sindri, one of our dwarf friends, that he is sick of dealing with ‘little people problems’ and making him sad, to saying to Kratos that they are gods and so can do whatever they like, dash the consequences to anyone, to killing a son of Thor against Kratos’ wishes for pure vengeance, made me question my role as a father. Even the little mutterings of ‘whatever’ whenever Kratos wants him to shoot an arrow at a target and one point in the game had me breathing out some mutterings of my own: ‘little shit’ and ‘goddamn I hate you’ were frequent curses.

And yet, by the end of the game I liked him again. Why? It wasn’t his fault. It was his conflicting body and mind; perhaps even the ‘trickery’ side of Loki was finally coming out. Maybe he was going a little mad with all the voices in his head. Plus, he saved my arse so many times in battle with his crazy shock arrows that I needed him. What? I didn’t say I was a perfect parent.

You know what’s really impressive? How this game makes Kratos a likeable character. In previous games (which, full disclosure, I never played) he seemed to be a vengeful man with no thought to anything but his own rage. Now, he has something more to live for—his son, and to honour the memory of his beloved wife. You really understand why he does the things he does. You believe he is trying to be a better person. You know the one thing he really wants to do is scatter his wife’s ashes, and will stop at nothing to fulfil her wishes. You may say he’s stupid for not wanting to tell Atreus the truth, but not only is he ashamed, but he also knows that Atreus may mirror his actions. This brings a duality to the secret that is so interesting that at times I wondered whether Kratos should tell Atreus, considering they don’t have the best relationship in the first place. The dichotomy between Kratos and Atreus is brilliant, and serves not just to humanise Kratos, but also fully makes me believe in their rocky bond as father and son. They are real, and honest, and the perfect grounding to such a profound adventure.

The rollercoaster of a narrative journey GOW took me through was nothing short of outstanding. And that’s even before we get into the Norse lore.

A Norse’s Life for Me

The conflict between Atreus and Kratos mirrors a theme that runs throughout the entire game throughout the franchise: that of a son killing his father, god against god. And this extends to the version of the Norse lore GOW has created. Favors and story quests alike see the struggle between children and their parents, and it is incredibly satisfying to see Kratos and Atreus overcome that and start to become ‘better’.

As lore that I wasn’t very familiar with, save the depictions of Thor, Odin and Loki from the Marvel universe, it was fascinating to hear the stories from Mimir, the hilarious disembodied head, and to glean them from the lore markers dotted around the realms. It was a great idea to do this from the point of view of Kratos, who does not know the lore and cannot read the language, and Atreus, who has an affinity of language and has been told many stories by his native mother. It’s a natural means of storytelling without it turning into a boring exposition dump. And who doesn’t love story time while rowing around the Lakes of Nine? Apart from Atreus at the beginning, I guess, when his only storyteller was straight-talking Kratos. Spoiler alert: his stories aren’t great.

Monster Visuals

Rowing across the Lake of Nine is when the story really opens up, bad stories or no. It’s here where you see the true beauty of the story through the stunning appearance of the World Serpent, who is as colossal as the name suggests, though not as scary. From there, using Tyr’s Temple (probably the best Aesir god out there), Kratos and Atreus slowly unlock the various realms, from the fiery homeland of the fire giants, Muspelheim, to the green-tinged Norse underworld, Helheim. Each realm has their own aesthetic, their own monsters, and their own story. While Midgard is bound to be most players’ favourite, due to how much bigger it is and its role as the central point of all the realms, my second favourite is Alfheim, land of the light and dark elves. As the first one to visit after Midgard, its purple hues, sparkling waters and chirping critters make it seem like a mystical world of potential. The fact that the elves are in constant war, doomed to continue for as long as both races live, is both desolate and a fact of life. Even an apparent paradise is rife with issues, and yet beauty can still be found in the worst of situations.

The realms are very cool, though if I were still in massive open world/RPG mindset, as I so often were, I’d wish that Niflheim and Muspelheim were more than just extra challenges. It would be cool if there were story-led reasons to go there, rather than leaving it to chance if the player gets there in the first place by finding their language cyphers.

The way the camera works doesn’t just give the incredible graphics the time they deserve, but also artfully serves the emotional highs and lows the story wants to hit. It gently guides you to some of the most awe-inspiring events, such as when a giant shows up or when you are fighting a being twice your size, to reflect the intensity as well as making sure you don’t miss them. But the best use of it is at some of the most tense and poignant moments of the game, such as when Kratos is reflecting on his mistakes and travelling to save his son. The camera doesn’t leave his face for lengthy periods, and this, along with the haunting crescendo of siren-like voices singing in accompaniment, really makes you understand what he is feeling, even though no words are said. You are forced to sit with him in silence and in relief. In pain and in quiet. It’s profound. I love it.

The visuals also shine in true GOW fashion: in battle. The place in which this really stands out is in the battle with Baldur at the end, when Freya is trying her utmost to intervene by animating the colossal corpse of a dead giant. While I thought this battle wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, it didn’t actually matter to me in the end as much as it did in other games such as Final Fantasy XV. The battleground kept changing, Baldur’s powers shifting between ice and fire was really interesting as it meant Kratos having to change his own weapons as needed, Baldur’s increasing insanity and glee at the fight, and—best of all—the giant was always in the background, being impressive and foreboding. Awesome.

The Art of War

The combat in GOW is some of the best I’ve ever experienced. I’m quite used to the hack and slash of RPGs, where the name of the game is simply to hold down R1 and wait for the cool combo moves to bloom out of the angsty protagonist. Okay, fine, it’s never that simple. But in God of War, almost every move counts, especially in the boss battles. Learning to trip monsters, discovering which ones will fall and which ones will not, where their weak points are, and navigating flying or digging enemies means that a lot of the battles mix it up every time. The skill trees that branch off as you upgrade your Leviathan Axe and Atreus’ Talon Bow makes that combat even more visually impressive with chained combos and other ways to fight. This system doesn’t give you as much freedom as many other games, though. Eventually, you’ll get enough experience to unlock every skill, and you’ll want to. Each one will help you in a fight. This is great in a way as I truly felt powerful by the end, and wasn’t worried about neglecting a skill for another, but means the combat is more linear than it could be. Maybe this is necessary as you have to think about combat in other, potentially smarter ways anyway.

Later in the game, you don’t just have to think of the attacks, but you also have to think of the elements of the monsters you are fighting. Do I want to use the ice-imbued axe that spins perfectly in the air and comes back like Mjolnir comes back to Thor? Not in Helheim I don’t, where the monsters are hardcore Ice Queen Elsa stans. Damn, I’m used to using that thing. Alright, time to break out the fiery Blades of Chaos, which you only get halfway through the game but old players will definitely get excited over like a member-berry in heat. Unless you are fighting volcanic draugrs, that is.

The fighting is made even more exciting with the brutality of pressing R3 once an enemy is stunned enough to be grabbed. The animations have Mortal Kombat-esque levels of gore, and as Kratos is an absolute beast, it’s believable as well as disgustingly fun. Want some extra stunnage? Then remember to use Atreus’ arrows, which can interrupt and stun even the biggest of beasts. He saved me more times than I can count. It’s one of the best uses of a sidekick character I’ve ever seen. Why? It’s not just the very useful skills he has, but crucially, HE CAN’T DIE. With memories of a well-intentioned but suicidal Lydia running in front of my sword and taking a fatal wound in the middle of an overpopulated dungeon, this is brilliant. Thanks, Skyrim. Plus, can you imagine having to be Kratos mourning over his dead son every time they lose in battle? Bit morbid, even for a game with this much gore and emotional impact.

Brok and Sindri aren’t just there to crack jokes and bring life into the world. They are also master blacksmiths who work on your Axe, Blades, and armour. The levelling up system is quite different from other traditional games—EXP doesn’t level you up as soon as you get it, but you can use the EXP to buy or upgrade armour, enchantments and talisman that, when worn altogether, give you an overall level. The simple act of replacing a level 7 chest plate with one that’s level 3 can lower your overall level from a 6 to a 5, making you less able to deal with those pesky high-level enemies. As such, it’s a massive variable, and one that players need to consider seriously not just as the game progresses, but also from battle to battle. Runes that you can slot in your armour can increase your frost or burn damage, increase your resistance to ailments, improve your runic attacks, give you extra burst of skills on hits or kills, or even more specific advantages. Some that I found most helpful were 5% less damage from Valkyries which, if you’ve fought one, you know how much of a game changer it can be!

This necessitation for learning the combat and doing it well means that the satisfaction level of defeating a big old boss who you’ve been dying to for the last hour is at well over 9000 (I’m looking at you, Valkyries screaming Valhalla! at me every three seconds). And, now I’m confident enough with it, that means I’ll be continuing with the post-game combat challenges for just a little while longer. This, combined with the beautiful graphics, gripping story, anti-hero and loveable side characters, the revolution of Kratos to multi-dimensional character, and a world brimming with lore and knowledge, makes this game one to remember.

What can I say, I’m obsessed.

#game review #gaming #god of war #godofwar #kratos #atreus #norse #norse mythology #odin #thor #games #review #video games

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brightlycoloredteacups · 5 years

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Nearly Dead

Series: Brynhilda’s Saga

Warnings: Violent Imagery

Taggin: @anunhealthydoseofangst @novumlibellum @tiyetiye @salimahbicharara-comun @sammi-faye

Brynhilda looks over a cliff, waves crashing into the rocks. She remembers this cliff, the one near her home. She played here with her brothers while her parents sat and watched in delight. She wraps her arms around herself. “What do you look like mother?” she whispers into the wind, “I can’t remember.”

“Well, I look like this, I think.”

Brynhilda starts, turning around. She stares into hauntingly familiar green eyes. Long black hair cascades over a brilliant red dress, full lips are pulled into a gentle smile. “Mother,” Brynhilda breathes, aware she’s speaking her mother’s language. “My Brynhilda,” She says, opening her arms. Brynhilda rushes to her, letting out a laugh. She can hardly believe it, to see her mother after all this time...Brynhilda squeezes tightly, never wanting to let go. “I’ve missed you.” Brynhilda admits, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You and father, and my brothers.”

“Well maybe if you turned around, you wouldn’t miss us at all.” Came a snide comment. Brynhilda turns from her mother, looking to see five blonde boys staring at her. Her crying worsens, her brothers and father all join in the hug. “I am dead, aren’t I?”

“Well,” her father says, pulling back from her. “You’re nearly dead.” Brynhilda frowns. “What?”

“You are walking in a place between life and death,” He explains. “Your soul is in the balance.” Brynhilda considers his words. “What do I do?” she whispers, not wanting to know the answer. “Tell me what to do.” Brynjar smiles at her. He leans down and presses a kiss to her brow. “If I did that, my Brynhilda, I would be selfish, I’d take you with us.” Brynhilda sniffs, damning the man, “You know only you can make the decision, my daughter” Camila says, wrapping an arm around Brynhilda’s shaking shoulders. Her parents take her to the edge of the cliff. Instead of a sea of water, she sees the men that rose with her from her grave. They’re all looking at her expectantly. “These are our ancestors Bryn,” Her eldest brother tells her. “From the dawn of time to now, to you.” Men, women, children, all of them, grouped in the vast nothingness of the dreamspace. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Brynhilda admits, she is wracked with sobs now, “I don’t want to be in pain anymore. I can’t, I can’t go on like this. I’m so sick of being miserable!”

“Aw, shit little sister,” Brynki, the youngest of the boys punches her arm affectionately.

“You’re making the rest of us cry.”

Brynjar takes her shoulders in her hands, looking at her with pride “We walk beside you, in life, in death, always. Pain is nothing more than a temporary state.”

“So is happiness.” Brynhilda whispers, thinking of the wasted time she spent with her family, thinking of Ivar. Brynjar’s face softens, he’s going to say something more, but Brynhilda shakes her head. “I just want you to know that I love you and miss you, every day. The ache in my chest has nestled there permanently. But,” A chant begins, low, powerful, simple. Get up, get up, get up. Brynhilda wipes at her face, takes a deep breath and calms herself. “I am Brynhilda Brynjarsdottir, I am no weakling, I must live so that I may see Boggvir dead. This is what I vowed to Odin. We are a family that never goes back on their vows.” Her family moves away from her, smiling, proud. “Best not to start breaking them now, especially not to the All Father.” Her father says. “Allah keep you safe,” Her mother says. Brynhilda nods, trying not to choke. I will see them again, but now, it is time to get up, get up, get up.

Brynhilda awakens, violently choking on smoke. She cries out weakly, something burning her hand. Sitting up, she pulls her hand to her lap, Ivar’s pendant, heated by the flames burns her. She drops it, unable to withstand the pain. She whimpers, looking around her, no way out, there’s no way out. The flames are too fierce, even for me. A beam falls too close for her liking, she scrambles away, not forgetting Ivar’s necklace.

This is an enemy with no weak points, she realizes. I will die here after all, my vow meaning nothing. A slow bubbling anger settles in her belly. She will die without getting her revenge. She will die a coward, burned alive by Eylaug of all people. Eylaug, the disgusting pig. He will boast about her death, he will get glory. Her rage builds. It builds until she begins to shake. It builds until it fogs her mind. It builds until it blinds her. She’d be damned if she let Eylaug claim her death. She cocks her head back, letting out her signature screech, and runs towards the door, she refuses to go out this way.

Lagertha approaches the building on fire. “What the hell is going on here?” she demands. “The fighting is finished, why are you burning someone’s house?” Eylaug looks at her, making her skin crawl. He is a man that should be put down as soon as possible. She can hardly wait until her alliance with Boggvir comes to an end.

“We have lain to rest a wraith,” Eylaug tells her, throwing his hands out, proud. He spies the Sword of Kings in her hand and bows, adding, “Your majesty.” An unhelpful reminder of just what he did for her. “Brynhilda is dead!” He yells, turning to his men. None of them look as joyful as Eylaug, “We have done what no one said was possible, we have killed Brynhilda the Death-” he is cut off by a terrifying scream.

Lagertha watches as whoever it was trapped within the flames bursts forth in a shower of embers. The wretch is nearly naked, black from soot. She looks about wildly, huffing, green eyes landing on Eylaug. “By Odin,” He whispers, truly terrified. She cocks it’s head back and unleashes yet another unearthly screech, then charges.

Lagertha watches in horror as she tackles Eylaug to the ground, a man easily three times her size. Some men manage to find the courage to react. They rush her, grabbing the back of her shirt and throw her into the air, away from Eylaug before she can do anything more than stun him with a punch to the face. She lands by Lagertha’s feet. Looking up at the newly ordained queen, half crazed. Lagertha raises her sword ready to defend herself, but she’s outmatched by the sheer strength of this animal. It can’t be human, Lagertha thinks as a powerful kick knocks her to the ground and steals her breath. I will die today, this beast will kill me. Lagertha is proved wrong, it seems the girl only cares about the men that trapped her, she turns towards them, poised for battle.

Eylaug is screaming orders at his men, readying them for a fight. Lagertha motions for her own people to stand down, this was not something she wanted to get involved in. They all watch the bloodbath in amazed horror.

It is a sight to see. A sort of peace settles over the woman. You were born in battle, made by the dwarves, a machine to wreak havoc on Midguard, Lagertha thinks, impressed by Brynhilda. She strikes with the deadly accuracy, cutting down man after man. When her sword is not enough, she uses the rest of her body, moving to and fro, avoiding axes and arrows. Her fists more than enough to snap men’s necks. None manage to touch her.

When there are no more men left to attack, she throws the sword to the side, staring at Eylaug. Through the smoke, Brynhilda smiles, her prey is vulnerable, she moves in for the kill. He lets out a terrified scream that chokes off into nothingness as she beats him with her bear hands. It’s disgusting, it’s violent, it’s poetic justice at its finest. When she is done, Eylaug’s head is nothing but pulp. She slides off him, throwing her head to the sky in a sort of reverence, unleashing one last powerful scream.

She turns to the last surviving man, a man too terrified to raise his weapon. She approaches him. He throws down his weapons kneeling, but before he can beg for his life the thing grabs him by the front of his shirt and speaks, “You will go to Boggvir,” She says, “You will tell him Brynhilda yet lives, despite the attempts on her life, and you will tell him I am coming to rip his still beating heart from his chest and eat it. He better pray to the gods for mercy, I will have none.” The man whimpers, nodding. She throws him away. He scampers, leaving his weapons behind, wanting to get away from the the demon as quick as his legs will carry him.

Brynhilda straightens, looks about her, and reaches for the Sword of Kings. Lagertha approaches her. She holds to sword up, distrust plain in her eyes. “That is my sword,” Lagertha states plainly. “It’s in my hand,” Brynhilda counters. The soldiers behind Lagertha ready their weapons. “I could have you killed,” Lagertha continues, hoping to persuade the haughty young thing. Brynhilda merely laughs, then says “You can try,” her men ready their arrows, still she is unafraid, Lagertha liked her. “I’ll tell you what,” Brynhilda says. “You find my weapons and armor, and I will give you your sword back.”

“You don’t make demands of the Queen of Kattegat!” Astrid said, stepping forward. “I make demands of whom I wish. My effects. Now.” Astrid takes another step, but Lagertha stopped her. There was something in the child’s eyes that told her she’d kill the entire town if she had to. “You heard her, find her things.” Lagertha orders, the men hesitate. This is not a woman she wants to make an enemy of. “Now,” she reiterates. Her men disperse. “You look hungry,” Lagertha says, smiling. “Let me get you something to eat.”

Brynhilda has bathed, her things have been returned to her, and now she stands uneasily in front of the new queen of Kattegat. She notes with irritation she hasn’t been fed at all. “Who are you?” Lagertha asks. Brynhilda refuses to answer. Astrid steps up, irritated with her, “Your queen-”

“I have no queen,” Brynhilda informs her calmly. Astrid growls, grabbing her sword. “I’d snap your neck before you could even land a blow,” Brynhilda threatens. She’s in her element, danger surrounds her. She is delighted to see the look of irritation on the new queen’s face. Astrid makes to rush at her, but Lagertha calls her back. Good, at least someone knows what they’re dealing with.

“Where are you going?”

Brynhilda crosses her arms, refusing to answer. “This would go a lot smoother if you simply answered me,” Lagertha tries for a third time. “For you maybe.”

“I could have you locked up.” She points out. “I just barreled my way out of a burning building and killed a man three times my size with my bare hands, what makes you think you could lock me up?”

That’s it, the look of fearful doubt settles on this imposters face. Could Brynhilda be contained? So far it didn’t seem so. Best not to push my luck, she thinks. No one will come for me if I get into anymore trouble. “I get it,” Brynhilda says, pacing, never turning her back on the queen or the people that surround her. “You want to know if I’m going to cause trouble for you. Despite you aligning yourself with Boggvir, I won’t.” Lagertha opens her mouth, no doubt to say something smart, “I will leave you in peace,” Brynhilda interrupts, “so long as you understand that if you get involved you will die.” Lagertha chances a laugh at this. “I have an army, you fight under no banner.” I’m playing a dangerous game here. I’ve never been good with my words. “There are men that would follow me,” Brynhilda says, sounding much more confident than she felt. “And you are a new queen. People here loved Aslaug, do you think all of them would rise up to help you, the usurper?”

“Queen Lagerther-” another blond woman starts, Brynhilda has to interrupt her. “Enough of this talk!” She barks. “I am leaving, with or without your permission. Get in my way, and you lot burn with Kattegat.”

Lagertha smiles at her, a placating smile. She doesn’t think I’m a threat, I’d love to see her head on a pike. “Really now, what is one small girl with no army of her own going to do?” Brynhilda smirks, “I’m going to conquer a kingdom.”

All things considered, Brynhilda feels lucky. The town was attacked, and she survived, she was nearly burned alive, but she survived, and the new queen allowed her to leave mostly unmolested.

She sits in her cabin, looking at the friends she’s managed to make. Rhona, Vigdis, Sigrid, the healer, how odd to think of these girls as friends. True friends.

They’ve had a trying day, so they sleep away the hours. It’s just as well, Brynhilda goes weak for Rhona’s crying. “I will watch over them,” The healer tells her, cracking open an eye. “You’d better, I’d come back to strangle you if you didn’t.”

“You aren’t used to having friends are you?” Brynhilda smiles. “Not good ones, no.” The old woman chuckles. “Go,” She says. “I will tell them of your love in the morning.” Brynhilda nods, looking at the girls one last time. “Tell them,” Brynhilda stops, unsure of what to say. She wasn’t used to having people that would worry over her. “Tell them I will be back, one day.” With that, she slips into the night

Ivar cracks open an eye, bright sun nearly blinding him. Well, he thinks, smiling, I’m alive. He pats himself down, just to make sure. His hand closes around the trinket Brynhilda had given him. A troll cross. He didn’t know what the hell a troll cross would do for him all the way in England, but it obviously meant something to her, so it was dear to him.

Ivar smiles at the thought of his love, she was going to shit herself when she found out his mother was wrong. His mother would be happy, and he would be able to prove to his brothers he wasn’t some useless thing that had to be carted around all the time.

He half remembers the storm that took them, by surprise. His father had warned all of them that there was a chance it would happen, but no one really believed him. Ivar blamed the boats, they were shoddily made in haste for the journey. But what boat can the most hated man in Kattegat get with so little money?

Ivar looks and shakes his father’s leg, eager to get going. He finds he can’t keep the smile from his face. He made it to England, he will live to see his Brynhilda, and most importantly, he will be able to kill a Saxon for her. He had a feeling things would go well here.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #ivars heathen army #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x oc #ivar x brynhilda #brynhilda

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 6 years

Text

You’re My Bodyguard, Not My Owner. (Chapter 35 - FINAL) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

Note: This is the final chapter of You’re My Bodyguard, Not My Owner. It’s been amazing, and I want to thank you guys for supporting this story as much as you have. I love you all. x

You awoke with a jolt, eyelids flying open as you hastily scanned your surroundings. You were still in a standing position and from what you could see, you were settled slap-bang in the middle of some sort of three-dimensional square with walls that glowed a brilliant blue.

Your gaze steadied on an unintelligible figure a little distance away from you, and you squinted to try and decipher who it was. The first instinct you had was to call out Brendon’s name, but you realised that the possibility of it being him was zero to none.

However, as soon as the figure started towards you, every semblance of possibility and impossibility went out the metaphorical window.

“Dad?”

“Hey, snowflake.”

An incredulous giggle leapt up and out of your throat as your eyes began to water. “It’s really you?” you choked out, voice thick from the lump in your throat, “You’re here?”

“I’m here,” he smiled softly, reaching out to touch your cheek as reassurance, “It’s so good to see you, little one.”

You opened your mouth with the intention of saying something in response, but all you could manage to get out was a strangled cry; you flung yourself onto your father, wrapping your arms around his neck and gripping him tight.

He returned your embrace, wrapping his bigger arms around your shaking frame and resting his head on top of yours, mumbling soft shushes into your hair.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, his own eyes now brimming with tears, “I’m so sorry about everything. I wish that we could’ve done things differently, but-“

“Don’t, dad,” you interrupted, shaking your head gently as you pulled away so that you were looking at him, “You don’t have to explain yourself. It took me a while but I-,” you paused, sighing, “I understand. I understand why you did what you did. You just wanted what was best for me.”

Your father smiled weakly as he cupped your face in his hands. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. (Y/N), all I ever wanted was for you to have a good life, and I’m sorry that things worked out like this.”

You scoffed. “Things were always going to work out like this. You can’t tamper with destiny, dad.”

“Believe me,” he chuckled before placing a kiss on your forehead, “I know. And I also know that destiny could not have chosen a worthier recipient of such magnificent powers than you. Snowflake, I am incredibly proud that your mother and I raised such a wonderfully strong woman, but I am even prouder of the person you have become over these past few months, and I have no doubt in my mind that you are ready for this.”

“What if I screw up?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, stroking your hair, “You will screw up. Numerous times. But from your screw-ups, you will learn and you will grow. And you will rise up stronger than ever before.”

A stray tear trickled down your cheek and your father wiped it away with his thumb. “I wish you were there to help,” you spoke softly.

“I wish that too. More than anything. But, (Y/N), you have people out there who care about you. You have family. And you will learn just as well from them as you would from me.”

Your face crinkled as you knitted your brow. “Family?”

“It’s time, snowflake.” Your father took a step back, inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes. “All-fathers, obsecro vos,” he waited a few moments before continuing, “Before me stands Skadi, Goddess of Winter and of The Hunt, daughter of Vili, and niece to King of Asgard, Odin. Bestow upon her her birthright, and grant her use of her abilities, so that she may make good on Asgard’s promise to defend mankind, for as long as they need defending. Guide her so that she strays not from the path of goodwill, and let the light of Asgard shine upon her always. Ad honorem. Dictum factum.”

Before your father’s words had even properly sunk in, you felt a warm sensation crawling its way throughout your body and when you looked down, noticed a bright blue illuminating your veins as you felt the power pumping through them. It was a feeling unlike any other – you felt invincible. You felt all-powerful.

You felt like a god.

Soft, awe-filled breaths left your mouth as you felt yourself become rejuvenated, and you shut your eyes to better focus on the ecstasy of it. When you re-opened them, you noticed that your hair had undergone a dramatic change, too – a transformation in color from your natural shade to a sharp platinum one.

With wide eyes, you looked to your father, who smiled back at you proudly.

“Good luck, snowflake. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered as you fought back another onslaught of tears.

“It’s time to wake up now, (Y/N),” he spoke, “You’ve gotta wake up.”

Your vision started to blur and you could hardly make out the features of his face. Shaking your head, you staggered forward to try and get closer to him, but he started fading. “Dad? Dad, what-“

“You’ve gotta wake up, (Y/N),” he repeated, voice sounding awfully pleading. “You’ve gotta wake up.”

Everything faded into black yet again and a moment later, you felt yourself being shaken.

“You’ve gotta wake up, (Y/N),” Brendon implored, hands working to rouse you awake, “You’ve gotta wake up.”

Your bodyguard’s frowning face was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes, and you offered him a weak smile. “Hi.”

He closed his eyes and breathed out in relief before cocking his head slightly and looking at you. “Hi.”

The vivid lights from the lab illuminated his face in a way that made him look angelic, and you – still delirious from hopping between dimensions – decided that now was the perfect time to comment on it.

“You look pretty,” you cooed, reaching up to touch his cheek.

He stifled a scoff and cocked one brow. “Thank you; so do you. I like the hair.”

You let out the most girlish of giggles and turned your head to the side; Brendon then carefully gathered you in his arms and lifted you onto your feet. Once you were up, you had a view of the entire lab and its surroundings, the sight of which sobered you up instantly.

“Woah,” you murmured, looking around at the hoard of Hydra agents lying lifeless on the ground, “I did that?”

“You sure did,” Spencer piped up, walking over to grab your arm and guide you towards the Tesseract, prompting you to pick up the cube and place it into the briefcase he was holding. Once the cube was secure, he led both you and Brendon out of the facility. “Indirectly, of course,” he elaborated with a tilt of his head, “They all went down as soon as you touched the cube.”

“Is everyone else okay?” you questioned in concern.

“Yes,” Brendon answered, “and they’re en route to the quinjet as we speak.”

The three of you made quick haste of getting to the jet, but when you arrived, were immediately met with panicked voices yelling across all of the vehicles.

Corvey was standing just outside one of the side entrances to the base, and waved you over when he saw you, needing your help with an injured agent.

“I’ve got it,” you said to the two other males, running over to Corvey as they made their way to the others.

“What’s happening?” Spencer quizzed, skidding to a halt in front of the jet your team had arrived in and peering inside at Coulson, Nat, Maria and Aaron.

“There’s a bomb,” Maria informed, rubbing her face in frustration before correcting herself, “Four bombs, actually. One on each quinjet we brought here.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.”

“Can we disarm them?” Spencer asked, entering the jet along with Brendon.

“There’s not enough time,” Brendon shook his head as he noted the timer on the bomb that indicated five minutes was left until detonation. “We have to get them out of the jets.”

“Okay, and then what?” Nat threw her hands up and frowned hopelessly, “Even if we get it inside the base, or wherever, five minutes is not enough time to get everyone into the air and out of here.”

A tense silence fell across the jet as everyone wracked their brains for a solution to the problem. A moment later, Brendon spoke up.

“Help me gather all the bombs onto this jet,” he instructed, rushing out to get the explosive from the neighbouring jet and bring it back to your one.

“Wait, what’s your plan here?” Coulson hurried after your bodyguard, holding out his hands.

“There’s no way everyone survives if we leave them on the ground. So, I’m taking ‘em up.” Brendon grunted and bit on his lower lip as he collected the weighty contraption in his arms, his muscles straining under the burden.

“Brendon,” Natasha pushed a firm palm against Brendon’s chest after he had set the bomb down in your jet to prevent him from getting the next one, “that’s suicide.”

“Yeah,” Brendon nodded, “and if I don’t do it, everyone else dies and that’s essentially homicide.”

“She won’t let you do this.”

He scoffed, removing his colleague’s hand from his chest and pushing past her. “Why do you think I’m not telling her?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Natasha appealed, following him, “We’ll figure something out.”

“In four minutes? Unlikely. Nat,” he stopped momentarily and sighed, “This is something I have to do, okay? Please just trust me to do it. You know I wouldn’t do some stupid shit like this for nothing.”

Natasha chewed on her bottom lip before shrugging hopelessly and finally resigning. “Alright. Okay. Just know that this’ll wreck her, and you’ll be responsible for that.”

“What the hell?” you mumbled, gazing up confusedly at the quinjet that was hovering in the air. You stood up swiftly and sprinted to your team, keeping your eyes on the jet all the while. “Guys, what’s going on?”

No one answered, which prompted you to finally tear your gaze from the sky to look at your group. After eyeing them, you noticed that someone was missing, and when you realised who that person was, your heart sank.

“No,” you whispered, starting to shake your head, “no. Tell me he’s not on that jet.”

Again, you got no response. Everyone either looked at you with apologetic eyes, or avoided your gaze all together, and you weren’t sure which one made you feel worse.

“No. No. No, no, no, no, no. Brendon, no,” you cried out; the tears were free falling, and your body was trembling, but you didn’t care. “No. Please, no.”

Turning to your team, you shot them a hateful glare. “How could you let him do this? How could you?!”

“(Y/N),” Natasha stepped up, “I tried to talk him out of it, I did…” she trailed off, not knowing what else to say that wouldn’t worsen your hysterics.

But nothing she said could’ve ever worsened your hysterics at that point, because the explosion that resonated throughout the sky did a fantastic job at that on its own.

With a heart-wrenching sob of your bodyguard’s name spilling from your lips, you fell to your knees, open palms hitting the ground with a solid strike that plunged the entire landscape into ice.

Seven days later. A military cemetery, Washington D.C.

Standing in front of the burial site, you stood completely motionless, not even batting an eyelid. The stench of freshly dug soil and the slight scent of rain in the air invaded your senses and made your stomach twist, but despite the sensation, you felt utterly empty.

The funeral had ended well over an hour ago and everyone had already left, except you – you chose to stay. For whatever reason, you didn’t know; sulking by his graveside was not going to bring him back. But neither was anything else, so you figured might as well stay and bask in morbidity as you cursed Hydra over and over.

“I know that you’re immune to cold and all that,” Fury’s voice snapped you out of your trance and you turned your head to watch him trek through the yard to get to you, “but I’ve been told that my specialty hot chocolate warms more than just the body.”

Gratefully accepting the travel mug he held out to you with rickety hands, you brought the drink to your lips and took a sip.

“Mm,” your brow furrowed in shock as you swallowed, “I can see why that is. Is there vodka in this?”

“Maybe,” he responded, turning his body so that he was facing the grave, “Maybe not. But if there was, it would be whipped cream flavour.”

“Noted,” you gave a hint of a smile for the first time in a week, “Thanks, Uncle Nick.”

“I gotcha, sweetie.”

The two of you stood in comfortable silence for a while, both just staring at the abundance of flowers stacked atop the soil.

“You wanna talk about it?” he offered.

“Nope,” you declined, taking a gulp of the spiked chocolate, “Not now, not ever.”

“Fair enough,” he muttered before giving you side-eye, “Just promise me you won’t let it screw with you.”

“I promise.”

Both of you knew that was a lie, but sometimes it was easier to just pretend otherwise.

“I saw what you did at the base,” Fury informed, “Both in the lab and outside, when…”

“When Brendon died?” you finished the sentence he was too scared to finish himself, “It’s okay, you can say it. No need to walk on eggshells around me.”

The Director gave you a sceptical look. “Right. Anyway,” he shook his head lightly to get himself back on track, “Looks like you pack one hell of a punch there, kid. How do you feel?”

“I feel,” you inhaled sharply before answering honestly, “good. Better, somehow. I don’t know, I can’t really explain it… When it happened, it kinda felt like new life was breathed into me. And I can feel the power – it’s prevailing, but not uncontrollable. I think I’ve got a decent grip on it, considering I just got them. Although that grip does falter when my emotions heighten; I’ll have to work on that.”

“Comes with practice, I suppose,” he mused and you nodded in agreement, “Hey, listen,” you raised your brows to indicate that you were in fact listening, “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t offer you a position at S.H.I.E.L.D. How do you feel about being Agent (Y/L/N)? The newer, better model,” he joked and you chuckled along.

“I’m flattered, I really am, and maybe somewhere down the line, yeah,” you sighed, “But right now I think I need to focus on this,” you cautiously wormed the fingers on one hand and a swirl of blue eddied between them, “Ask me again in about a year’s time and my answer with almost definitely be yes.”

“We can work with that,” Fury skewed his mouth momentarily before arching his brows, “In the mean time, though, S.H.I.E.L.D and all it’s amenities are available for your use, if you so please.”

“I appreciate that.” You reached out to hug him.

“Least I can do,” he mumbled, soothingly rubbing your back, “I haven’t exactly been the poster boy for perfect godfather.”

“You did alright,” you grinned, nudging him in the stomach as the two of you started for his car, away from the grave.

He scoffed. “Here’s hoping that from here on out I’m more than just ‘alright’.”

You held up the mug you were drinking from. “I think you’re making good progress already. And it would be even better if you made me another one when we get back to HQ.”

“Easy there, kid,” he chuckled, disarming the alarm on the SUV so that you could both climb in, “Save the binge drinkin’ for tonight.”

You buckled your seatbelt and tossed him a perplexed look. “What’s tonight?”

Fury glanced at you in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

You shook your head to show that you weren’t.

“It’s Stark’s party. Ya know, the one where you’re the guest of honor.”

You groaned and hit your head against the window. “He was serious about that?”

“He’s always serious about parties. It’s one of the only things he’s serious about, actually.”

“Can’t you get me out of it?” you breathed tiredly, “It’ll earn you major godfather brownie points if you do.”

“No can do, sweetheart,” he chuckled, starting up the engine, “No one gets out of a Stark party. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Another groan came from you, and Fury reached over to pat your head in reassurance.

“It’ll do you some good to get your mind off of him for a while,” he spoke lowly with a hint of hesitancy.

“I can’t get my mind off of him. But maybe you’re right,” you shifted in your seat before sighing and rolling your eyes, giving in, “I’ll go. To have one last night of enjoyment before…”

Fury looked at you in surprise. “Before what?”

You smiled gently at the rolling scenery on the other side of the window.

“Before I avenge him.”

END OF BOOK ONE

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villainousvillains · 6 years

Text

Loki x Reader - Meeting the Fiance pt. 2

Requested by @hiddlestoner3059

A/N: Ok lol so “fiance” has a fancy accent on the e I’m pretty sure but I’m just too lazy to deal with that so that’s why that’s happening. Also I cut out some of the dialogue from when Thor is piloting the ship and Loki is being a smartass which is GOLD but I had to I’m sorry. I’m kind of just rewriting Thor TDW but this is fun and of course there will be another part.

Part One Here!

As I stared at Odin, I didn’t know how to feel.

The stories I had just been told gave me… conflicting feelings, and while right at that moment I should have felt scared or intimidated, I didn’t. He looked me up and down, his gaze filled with judgement and I stood there and took it, staring a hole through his head with the same gaze of judgement. Just because he sat on a throne didn’t mean he was free from scrutiny.

“Hello, Father,” Loki greeted, his voice respectful with a hint of insincerity. “This is my fiancee, Y/n. I felt it was about time you were introduced.”

“I should think so,” Odin boomed the second Loki’s sentence ended. I tried to keep the disgusted look off my face due to his blatant rudeness. I knew I was being easily influenced by what Loki told me, and Loki could have given me biased information, but so far I hadn’t been given any reason to think otherwise. Odin turned his head toward me, expecting me to introduce myself. Of course, I didn’t realize this until Loki gave me a small nudge.

“I am Y/n,” I stated, hands cupped in front of me. “I am Asgardian…” I was less sure when I said this. It felt weird to say, and I wasn’t sure that was something people normally announced about themselves. But what else was I supposed to say? I didn’t how this stuff worked.

“And we both know how important that is,” Loki said dryly. I gulped, but was glad he had said something. I wasn’t surprised, though. He seemed to always have a response, which was a helpful skill to have in this situation.

“I assume she is not of any significant status,” Odin said, ignoring Loki’s jabs. “Otherwise she would not be trembling in her sandals.”

“I am not-”

“No, Father she is not of any significant status,” Loki interrupted quickly. I slammed my mouth shut. “Other than that of being my fiancee. Or do you not find that significant?” God, he was tearing him apart. Loki took a step forward, now in front of me instead of behind my shoulder. “Tell me, were you this scrutinizing when Thor told you of his midgardian?”

“Enough!” Odin’s voice echoed throughout the room. Suddenly, I saw how weary he truly looked. “I will not tolerate this disrespect in my throne room! You come in here with this woman I’ve never seen-”

“Of course you’ve never seen her. You haven’t left this room for any reason other than your own-”

Their voices kept getting louder, piling their opinions of each other on top of the other ultin I couldn’t handle it anymore. This may be fake, but I didn’t have to be this uncomfortable while doing it.

“Stop it! Stop it stop it!” I repeated until finally my voice sunk into their thick skulls and they stopped arguing and looked at me, eyes (or eye) wide. Time to sell the part. “You may not approve of me,” I addressed to Odin, “but I love your son enough to deal with that. If I’m not mistaken, Loki didn’t come here to get your approval rather than inform you of our marriage. Thank you for your time.”

Loki looked at me in shock. I began to turn to leave and quickly glanced over my shoulder at him, wondering if he was going to just stand there or storm out with me. He began to follow me, when suddenly I spun back around to Odin.

“Also, I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said sincerely. Hopefully he understood my sentiment despite the bad timing of my condolences.

I turned back around to continue storming out when Loki grabbed my shoulder as he leaned toward my ear. “We haven’t gotten the signal yet; we still need to distract him,” he whispered.

“Oh, shit, yeah.” I opened my mouth to get ready to say something else to Odin when I was interrupted by the enormous palace doors creaking open. Fandral peaked his head in.

“I apologize, Allfather, but I’ve been given an urgent request to fetch Loki and Y/n,” Fandral stated calmly. By the time he finished the sentence, Loki and I had already slipped through the doors.

“That was a long winded way of saying that,” Loki muttered when Fandral caught up to us.

“Right, because you’re always quick and to the point.”

Fandral took another route before Loki could spit out his witty comeback that I had no doubt he had. We continued down a hall so we could meet up with Thor.

“You really got into the part back there,” Loki told me as we walked briskly.

“What? I don’t know,” I muttered. I really didn’t know why that had happened. I just suddenly got mad and I had seen people defend people they love on TV and it just seemed right. “You two were talking a lot, and I felt left out.”

Loki chuckled. “You were quite the actor.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes…” Loki drawled with a small nod. “I was just surprised.”

I smiled to myself. “So, where are we supposed to meet Thor?”

The amusement on Loki’s face ever so slightly disappeared. “Do you hear the fighting?”

I focused my attention on our surroundings rather than me and Loki and heard shouting and swords coming from not too far away. “Yeah,” I replied.

“My guess would be that is where Thor is.”

We sped up to a jog, trying to get to the battle where Thor was most likely about to get a ship. That is, if everything had gone according to plan.

“Into the ship!” Thor shouted at us a soon as we stumbled into the battle scene. He punched out the last guard and escorted Loki through the entrance. He stopped me before I could follow. “Go with Volstagg. He’s going to take you to Heimdall and send you home.”

“What? No! I have to make sure the aether- And I need to-”

“Go! Now! We need to leave and you are not coming. Thank you for your help,” He said sternly before he turned to go into the ship. I started up the ramp, ignoring the directions he had given me, but I felt a hand around my forearm.

“No!” I grunted. I saw Loki’s head peak out over Thor’s shoulder as Thor tried to figure out the control panel. “Loki, tell him-”

“I apologize, but-” Volstagg started before he swept me up and dumped me back on my feet off the ramp. It shut in the blink of an eye and the ship lifted off the ground, crashing into every column in the palace. Frantically, I turned to Volstagg.

“Volstagg, I can help them, and I need to make sure the aether doesn’t get into the wrong hands and-”

“I’m sorry, but I need to take you to Heimdall. Prince’s orders,” Volstagg said, setting off for the bifrost, expecting me to follow. I did, but only because I needed something. I needed a ship.

On the ship

“What was that? You just sent her away? With Volstagg of all people?” Loki snapped as Thor very poorly maneuvered the ship.

“You’d rather her come on this mission? It’s far too dangerous,” Thor reasoned as he ran the ship into yet another building.

“It’s only dangerous because you’re the one flying this thing,” Loki muttered. “I just don’t think it was smart to send her away. She could be in more danger on Asgard, and she may have been able to help us.”

Thor turned sharply, causing Loki to have to grab the control panel to stay on his feet. “You seem to want her here pretty badly,” Thor managed to say, still attempting to maintain control over the ship.

“Please, only because she may have been helpful,” Loki said nonchalantly.

“She seemed to want to be here, also.” Thor was obviously hinting at something, but Loki only shook his head, not buying what he was selling.

“Not for me, I’m sure.”

Thor shrugged. “Maybe not. I surely don’t understand it.”

“What I’m saying is, of all the reasons she’d want to be on this ship, I doubt it would be the person she was forced to pretend to be married to,” Loki asserted.

“Loki, your jealousy is blinding you again,” Thor told him.

“Jealousy? Jealous of what? This tremendous idea of yours? Yes, let’s steal the biggest, most obvious ship in the universe and escape in that. Flying around the city, smashing into everything in sight so everyone can see us. It’s brilliant, Thor! It’s truly brilliant!”

Without warning, Thor shoved Loki in the chest, tipping him over the edge toward the water below.

TAGGED:

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#loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #loki fanfiction

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musikat18 · 6 years

Text

Light of Valhalla, Fire of Hel: Chapter Six (Skurge x Reader)

(Listen y’all I’m giving you a nice gif right here because this shit is gonna get painful but we’re gonna get through this together)

Pairing: Skurge/Reader

Summary: You’re the best friend of Thor and Sif, a high-born Asgardian lady with a penchant for running off into battle, enchanted halberd blazing. The battle of Vanaheim brings your secret close to being discovered, but when the goddess of death arrives in Asgard, you must examine how far you are willing to go to preserve both of your lives when her new assistant happens to be the one man outside the Royal Family who knows the truth about how you spend your time.

Warnings: Descriptions of torture (near-suffocation), depiction of a public execution, language, combat, betrayal, descriptions of wounds, brief description of blade-cutting-flesh, blood, head trauma, emotional trauma

A/N: So...um...happy post-Valentine’s Day? Listen once we get through this and Schism Chapter Three I’ll do something happy, just bear with me, fam.

Light of Valhalla, Fire of Hel

Chapter Six: Burned

Your groan of pain as Hela stormed to your cell and magically forced you against the wall was not as fake as you would have liked it to be.

“What do you make of this?!” she snarled, waving a hand. The words burned in the air just as they had on the observatory wall: Day will Break your hold on Asgard.

‘Oh, Heimdall,’ you thought, amused in spite of your current peril. ‘I’m touched that you’ve developed my flair for the dramatic...although, Sif is just as likely to have done the deed.’

“I don’t know,” you kept your cool in spite of the invisible pressure on your chest. Her interference with the Eternal Flame had already told the death goddess too much about you; you wouldn’t dare share anything with her about your alter ego. “I have no idea what that could possibly mean.”

“Don’t pretend, silly child. Daybreaker is your family’s weapon. Did dear Kustaa try to hide another child from me?”

You couldn’t force the words to come out of your throat-- even if you did have a clever lie at hand, the force of her power kept crushing in harder on your bones. Air pushed out from your lungs in a strangled gasp, and she scoffed in frustration as she dropped you to the ground. You clutched at your clavicle, trying to regain your breath.

“I’ve seen Daybreaker fight,” Skurge said, and you weren’t sure if he was going to rat you out or just bloviate to placate the angry usurper queen. “I’ve seen him...at his most vicious.”

He was quiet as he spoke, and you knew, considering the memory that had pained you for so long, it was a quiet well-earned.

“Tell me about him,” Hela demanded. “Tell me everything.”

“He’s fast...stronger than his frame suggests. Packs a mean punch,” he looked at you, trying to be discrete. “I could never imagine a better fighter. Not even Thor.”

“Name him, Skurge. Tell me who to seek.”

He kept his eyes locked on you as he said, “Havardr. His name is Havardr Kustaason.”

In any other moment, you may have been flattered by the compliment. Highest guardian.

He trusted you. Even in this tense time of pain and anger, where you had done nothing but shut him out and lash against him and argue and give him nothing but cold dismissal...he trusted you far more than you deserved.

Hela strode from the room with a purpose, leaving you recovering with Skurge standing still beyond the barrier of energy. It took you a moment to respond to him.

“You’ve covered for now, but it’s not going to last,” your pendant buzzed at your words. “She’s going to find out. You can’t defend me forever.”

He set his shoulders hard, “No. But I can try.”

“It’s never going to fool her.”

“It did now.”

“Because she’s angry, Skurge. You’ve seen what people do when they’re angry. Nothing can stop them. When her head’s on a little straighter, it’s going to be a lot harder to hide this.”

“Then we hold it out as long as we can,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to let her touch you.”

“Like you let Amora?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but fell silent. You were right, and he knew it.

“Just trust me for once.”

Skurge turned to leave you, but he knew his words were going to fall on deaf ears. After all that had happened, he was lucky you were speaking to him at all.

“You saw her with the Tesseract?!” your eyes were wide as you questioned Skurge. He’d come to you, Heimdall, and the Warriors as soon as he could, corralling the group of you into his father’s home. Halvar had been more than kind, offering you all warm drinks and space to convene. It was, after the information Skurge appeared to reveal, something that was likely needed.

“Well...I saw what looked like the Tesseract,” he said. “She had something blue and glowy behind her back, and that’s the only glowy blue thing in Asgard. As far as I know.”

“What did she say?” you pressed.

“Not much,” he weighed his words carefully. “She was...eager to run off. She said she was going to the palace.”

“King Odin is likely her next target,” Heimdall mused. “The real question is why.”

None of you could fathom an answer. Amora was slick and adaptable, but she was Asgardian, like any of you. To think that she had anything but Asgard’s best in mind...it shook your core. She was quarrelsome and petty, but she was no traitor. Looking at the people among you, none of them struck you as an usurper or a traitor or an enemy of the state...where she had gotten this supposed idea of uprising, you had no idea.

“Who did she say she was studying under?” Sif suddenly jolted her head towards you. Your brow furrowed as you thought back to the earliest of letters that you had exchanged with your cousin.

“Karnilla the Nornkeep,” you realized with a sigh. Of course. Of course your cousin had trained under the Mad Sorceress. No doubt she had picked up on the witch’s ways and likely saw this as some twisted way to gain Thor’s approval.

“She must be stopped before she can reach King Odin,” Heimdall said seriously. “The Tesseract is bad enough...if she gains access to the other artifacts in that treasure room through Odin…. Asgard may be lost before Prince Thor ever gets the chance to return home.”

“She’ll have all sorts of charms on the guards once she enters, and no doubt she’s done that, already,” Sif frowned. “How do you suggest we get past her new friends?”

The five of you Heimdall invited looked between each other, clamoring for a solution.

Skurge kept his gaze on his knees, working up the courage to speak. He’d never been in a danger room like this before; he was more than out of his element. He needed to either speak up, or lose everything.

“I can sneak you in,” he said, keeping his voice low.

You hushed the growing commotion around you to bring his statement to the forefront, “You can what?”

“She...tells me things,” he said. “I know one door she doesn’t think matters. I can take you in there.”

“Brilliant,” you grinned with determination. “We’ll head in that way, stop Amora, and get my father and the Tesseract back.”

Skurge dipped his head dutifully, keeping his eyes down as he led Volstagg and Fandral ahead to scout the entrance. You wanted to follow, but Heimdall held your arm.

“Y/N...do not allow your judgement to be clouded.”

“I’m not jumping into things just because my father is in danger,” you insisted. “You know me. I’m better at detaching than that.”

“He means your lover,” Sif added, and you felt your stomach knot shyly at the words.

“Skurge is not my lover,” you said. “We’re friends.”

“But you want more, and that’s dangerous.”

“Who told you?!”

Heimdall quirked his eyebrows, and you gasped in betrayal.

“Heimdall!”

“Normally, I go to you on difficult matters,” he said honestly. “That’s hard when they involve you.”

“Skurge is a trusted sparring partner and friend,” you said with finality. “I’m not going to be distracted because he has pretty eyes!”

Sif laughed under her breath, and she only gave you a mirthful look in response to your glare.

“You said it, not me.”

You huffed and expanded your pendant into Daybreaker, a gentle hum running along the haft of the pole.

“Are you ready?” Heimdall gave you a serious look. You pulled your hood over your head and nodded as your dress turned to armor and your eyes were masked in shadow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You had no idea why Hela would ask you to look upon what remained of your people, now. Your heart ached as you walked behind her into the square; there was not a face without anguish, no set of eyes without pain, no brow unmarred by fear. On your chest, you felt your pendant buzz, burning your family sigil into your chest as much as the pain of your people gripped your insides.

“People of Asgard,” Hela announced, “my loyal subjects. I’m told there’s a man called Daybreaker among you. One who would dare to question my rule. There is reason for me to believe he has hidden the key to the Bifrost from me. Turn him in now, and you will be spared.”

Your heart caught in your throat as a whisper rose among the masses before you. If you didn’t step forward...anyone Heimdall and Sif had worked so hard to save could be lost. No, you knew. All of it. If you spoke a word of the truth, all you had worked to support would be gone. The Nine Realms would be lost...but the loss of a single Asgardian would be far worse.

You chewed on your lip, eyes scanning the crowd. No sight of familiar orange eyes or a flash of dark hair. All the better to keep your only allies left alive, you figured, but no one would be able to keep the people safe. No one. No one but you.

Hela sighed as the Asgardian crowd before her stayed silent.

“Fine,” she waved a hand, and Skurge stepped forward, face twisting in anguish. “I’m sure you’re all aware of who this is.”

The executioner grew confused as one of Hela’s Helspawn soldiers nudged you forward. You didn’t budge your head to look at any specific citizen, just keeping your eyes cast on the horizon; no expectations in your eyes, only defiance and silent protest. You let out a cry of surprise as the creature knocked your knees in, forcing you to kneel on the ground. Hela handed Skurge the ornate ax she had made for him.

“Skurge, kill her.”

The bald soldier’s blood froze at the words. The ax was in his hands. He knew he had to swing and end your life, or not do her bidding and risk the death of you both. Skurge heaved the weapon over his shoulder, and he held his position as you looked up at him, (y/e/c) meeting hazel and sharing a silent message for the first time in a long time.

He saw your mouth move before he could even think.

“Do it,” you mouthed quietly, the words processing in his head through your resigned gaze, even over the murmurs of the crowd behind him. “Do it. It’s time, Skurge. Swing the ax. Just swing it.”

“What are you waiting for?” Hela glowered. “Must I do my executioner’s job for him?!”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“The mountains!” One brave Asgardian yelled breathlessly and hopelessly from the crowd. “There...there are people taking Asgardians into the mountains.”

The breath left your lungs as if for the last time.

“Clever Heimdall,” Hela smirked. “But not clever enough. Take the girl back to her cell, Skurge, then meet me at the throne room. We’re taking the war to the rebellion.”

You were vaguely aware of Skurge’s hands on your shoulders, helping you stand and guiding you back inside the palace. Numbness became you, and you didn’t have the voice to scold him until you had your cold bench to sit on.

“You should have killed me,” your voice was hard and unforgiving. “You...dammit, Skurge, I told you to kill me!”

“I wasn’t about to kill you, Y/N!” he barked back. “What is hope for Asgard without you?”

“Hope for Asgard stood a chance without me,” you said seriously. “The whereabouts of Heimdall and the others could have died with me.”

“But I can’t do it without you!” his voice was a defensive boom, but you didn’t look at him. “I could never hurt you! Not...I can’t...I cannot fail you again.”

You were silent at his words.

“Y/N, please,” Skurge softened, leaning on the invisible wall between you both. “Give me something...give me a sign that...that you trust me to do whatever I can for you.”

Your voice was quivering, haunting as you spoke barely above a whisper, “Is that what you were thinking when you betrayed me?”

Skurge quirked his eyebrows at the collapsing guard’s body, revealing you, Sif, and Heimdall behind it.

“You three do quick work,” he remarked. You smirked, pulling your hood back as you rested Daybreaker on your shoulder.

“It’s a gift,” you said proudly. “Where do you suggest we go from here?”

“The Warriors are on the perimeter,” Skurge explained. “I say Heimdall and Sif stay here and watch the door while you and I storm Amora’s stronghold in the throne room.”

Heimdall nodded, “Call for me if you need eyes on any other part of the city.”

“We will,” you led the way through the door, keeping your halberd at the ready, and Skurge stayed close behind. The halls were bereft of security, but you weren’t surprised; Amora was a prideful woman. Her underestimation of you would surely be her downfall.

“This will not be easy,” you warned Skurge. “I know my cousin. She’ll have all kinds of traps for us in the throne room.”

“I’d expect nothing less from her,” he mused. The doors to the throne room were closed, but not locked. You kicked them open, holding your halberd in a challenging stance.

“Amora, cease and desist,” you demanded. “Return my father and the Tesseract, and King Odin.”

Your cousin was lounging on the throne, like she’d already won the battle. Her slender legs swung leisurely over the arm of the chair, and the laugh she gave you was mirthful, but dark and condescending.

“Oh, cousin,” she shook her head, “and sweet Skurge? I expected more from the both of you. You seemed like the types to recognize a future queen when you saw one. I suppose I was wrong. No matter.” With a wave of her hand, several columns in the throne room became stone golems.

You leapt into action with Skurge at your side, and you smiled at his more refined attacks. He was a slow learner, that was certain, but when he had picked up your more precise strikes, he appeared to have mastered them fully. You used your size to your advantage against the golems, sticking Daybreaker into their bodies and swinging kicks and strikes to cut them down to size.

“This is nearly like Vanaheim, don’t you agree?” you quipped, running up an arch and bringing a heated Daybreaker down through a golem. Skurge ducked as you blasted the arm off another one.

“You and I remember Vanaheim very differently!”

“Because I recall saving you, rather dramatically?” you laughed. Even if you weren’t sparring, and you were on the same side, it felt no different from those days in the hidden alcove. You could have fought beside him forever, you mused as you blasted another golem back.

“Skurge, on my mark!” you called, running towards him. He knelt to catch your foot and vaulted you into the air, giving you height enough to perform a rather impressive blade of light that cut through the last of the three golems at once. You landed by one of the windows, sweating and wiping your brow as you recharged your tiredness with the filtered sunlight.

“You were saying, cousin?”

You barely had time to finish your sentence, turning towards a cloud of gravel from one of the fallen golem. You gripped Daybreaker tight in your one hand as you scrambled to wipe the grit from your eyes; one moment of weakness against Amora, and your fight would be lost.

You were surprised upon clearing your vision to see Skurge poised to attack as Amora smirked next to him.

“Skurge...wait!”

You barely even noticed his apologetic mumble as he swung the ax hard, and the blade’s swipe combined with the force of his attack sent you flying through the stained glass.

You didn’t know if you screamed or not. Everything was numb and everything was moving in slow motion, a ringing in your ears robbing you of your hearing. You knew, of course, that there was something searing across your abdomen; your hands and battle garb were slicked with red. There was an infinite sensation of sharp pricking that ran all the way from your spine to the back of your head. Your face felt wet, but you didn’t know if it was blood or tears anymore. A thin, golden light shone in your veins as your body fought to remain conscious, but even though your head and body slammed into the stone of the street far below the palace, you still felt yourself falling, falling, falling into a black and lonely abyss.

The last thing you remembered seeing was Amora tracing along Skurge’s chest, the man’s face stony and unreadable.

When Fandral approached Heimdall some time later, the guardian of the Bifrost was standing by one of the doors in your home, looking contemplative and melancholy.

“How is she?”

“She wakes now,” Heimdall said. “Sif took it upon herself to be there to inform her.”

“How much do you think she’ll remember?” Fandral frowned behind him.

“If I had my way, none of it.”

“But-”

“You know her, Fandral,” Heimdall gave the younger warrior a knowing look. “Y/N never forgets anything, certainly not a slight against her.”

Fandral’s chuckle was tainted with the cynicism of the whole situation. Heimdall was right, of course.

“Did you know, at all? That he might-”

“I knew he was getting close with the Enchantress,” the guardian sighed, seeming regretful, “but I did not know enough. He flew under all of our suspicions. None of us were wise enough to think ill of him.”

“This wound...it isn’t just skin-deep, I assume.”

Heimdall felt his heart grow heavy as he heard murmurs behind the door, “It was never fated to be just a surface wound.”

Fandral heaved his shoulders and turned back down the hall to speak to the others, and Heimdall leaned against the wall. It would be wrong to intrude on you, now...not before Sif confirmed to you that what had happened was true.

He withered away from the door as a larger burst of flame than he’d even seen billowed from under the door, accompanied by a pained cry in the saddest, angriest, emptiest sound he’d ever heard you make, accompanied by a deep sob.

“TRAITOR!!!!!!”

Tagging: @bkwrm523 @goingknowherewastaken @lauuerodz @space-helen @aubinkey @atomicdna @annathewitch @gladheonreads @waterbabybel @goodnightwife @dirajunara @skosmo @boldlywritingtrek @snow-leopardfetishist @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @antiscocialfanwarrior @maydayfigment @curiositywillbethedeathofme @earinafae @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @eyeofdionysus @feelmyroarrrr @janora00 @courtneyann @mad-girl-without-a-box@chook007 @bucky4cap45 @taylorjacksonandtheolympians

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avengers-nextgen · 6 years

Text

High School

School was always a tricky topic for the kids. They wanted the experience of it, the education was valued, and they wanted the experience of making other friends. Yet, there was always the ever prominent issue of who they really were. They were not average no matter how hard they liked to hope.

Through much convincing and a lot of talk with the school principal the kids were given a choice. If they so wanted, they could go to school.

The school was on the higher end, where funding allowed a more enriched experience than other local schools, making interests more accessible. Piper was able to take advanced lab sciences to her heart’s content while Scout dove whole heartedly into literature.

What none of them expected were the uniforms.

“Do I have to wear this?” James frowned as his father straightened the tie that fit snuggly around his neck.

“That’s what the school policy is.” James visibly sulked at the response but he had no choice other than to accept it.

“Skirts.” Alex hissed standing with Piper and Thalia in the bathroom. Each girl was examining their uniform with different expressions of confusion or disappointment. “How does anyone work on anything in a skirt?”

“It’s not too bad.” Piper shrugged. “But I am not digging the long sleeves.”

“It is...restricting,” Thalia frowned trying to move around in the clothes.

“You ladies doing alright?” Pepper knocked on the door.

“Sadly, yes.” Alex mumbled opening it and inviting her in. “How do we look?”

“Adorable. Here,” Pepper noticed the way each girl looked uncomfortable and made an attempt to fix their outfits to better suit them.

She rolled Piper’s sleeves up to the elbow, provided Alex with a pair of shorts to wear beneath the skirt, and helped loosen the collar of Thalia’s shirt.

“Slightly better.” Alex mused.

“Definitely tolerable.” Thalia agreed.

— — —

“Scout you have to do something with your hair.” Wanda sighed.

“I don’t want to look like a pompous old gentleman from the early nineteenth century.” Scout protested, crossing his arms.

“Don’t worry, I had to clean up too.” James said, poking his head into Scout’s room. His red hair was neatly combed unlike usual. Scout sighed and allowed his mother to make his appearance look better than that of a boy who’d just rolled out of bed.

“Man I am glad I got High School out of the way!” Nathaniel gloated. “No school for me.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you that you’re the one driving us?” James arched a brow.

“Ah shit.” Nathaniel frowned dressed only in his boxers. “Well, guess I’ll throw some pants on or something.”

“I hope he can drive.” Scout muttered.

— — —

“Alright, you guys have everything?” Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder into the back of the car. He felt like a parent and boy was it scary.

“My pride? No.” Alex frowned.

“Cheer up.” Piper smiled. “This could be fun.”

“Or horrible.” Scout countered.

The young heroes all piled out of the vehicle slinging bags over their shoulders. They stood clustered on the sidewalk for a moment, each one observing the large school where other uniformed children were already heading inside.

“Shall we?” Thalia questioned.

The halls were busier than they expected and simply getting schedules from the office was a nightmare but they each survived respectively. Still, the group was aware of the stares they earned. Everyone seemed to know they were the new kids on the block.

“I feel like I’m in an aquarium for everyone to look at.” James whispered, keeping pace with his sister.

“Yeah, I know.” She sighed.

Unfortunately they were forced to part ways and each teenager seemed very unamused by that idea. Thalia was on her way to a sophmore history class down one hall and Piper was heading to advanced engineering in the opposite direction.

Scout scampered off to math class with a begrudging sigh while James made his way to chemistry and Alex ventured to PE.

— — —

Each of them waited painfully for lunch. They had been blessed to have the same lunch hour and each was eager to see how well the others were doing.

Piper had been discovered as Tony Stark’s brilliant daughter right away and immediately devouring eyes scanned her. Both attractive and nerdy brainiacs flattered by the idea that they not only had someone brilliant in their class but also someone very attractive. Piper hated it.

“You can be my engineering partner.” A chipper voice called out, and Piper located the waving hand that matched the voice. The girl had a very enthusiastic aura about her but she seemed to be the hard working type. Piper didn’t hesitate to sit down.

“Do they stare at every girl that walks in?” She asked.

“Yeah. Few of the girls around here make it to the advanced classes.” Her new partner explained. “They’re really just horny teenagers. Any way I’m Gen, nice to meet you.”

“Uh, Piper. You probably knew that though.” Piper took the other girls hand in a firm shake and started feeling a bit more at ease. She was thankful Gen didn’t seem to care much about her name. In fact, she didn’t seem too surprised or concerned.

— — —

“Ah, our new student.” Scout stood awkwardly at the back of the class as the English teacher beckoned him to make his way to the front. “Don’t be shy.”

Scout kept quiet and joined the young man in front of dozens of other students. “Uh, I’m Scout. Nice to meet you all.”

“Your seat is right over there. Take your seat and we will get started.” Scout did as he was told and took the last open desk. It was at the back of the room in the corner.

“Didn’t think there’d be another language nerd here.” The boy in front of Scout leaned back in his seat. “Mostly girls in here. What’s your favorite piece?”

“Piece of what?”

“Literature.” The other kid chuckled.

“Well I find that to be quiet a subjective question.” Scout frowned studying the other boy. “It’s all about an opinion.”

“You’re interesting. I like you.” With that the other boy turned and remained quiet the rest of the period leaving Scout confused as to what had just transpired.

— — —

Thalia had taken a liking to the teacher instantly. He was strict but light hearted and seemed to be a true historian. He wasn’t dry when he spoke and bored to the bones with his job. He was invested.

“Can anyone tell me what transpired between the Spanish colonies and the native institutions already developed in America?” The professor looked eagerly about the class to find Thalia’s hand in the air. “Miss Odin.”

“The Spanish colonists were invested in a catholic belief system that thrives off of conversion. Conversion was attempted through missionaries but often times it was a forced process. The encomienda labor system developed out of the catholic conversion attempted which ultimately lead to inter marriage. However the missions caused conflict with native populations.” The class fell silent as other students stared at the new comer.

“Very well done! I am quiet impressed.” The professor beamed. “Someone has been reading their stuff.”

— — —

James itched at the edges of the safety goggles where the rubbery plastic dug into his skin. He was unamused by the petty beginners lab they were doing. It was nothing more than to buy time while other supplies were shipped to the teacher.

“Surface tension. Honestly, dripping water onto a quarter is not even remotely challenging.” James snorted watching his lab partner invest their full attention into the task at hand.

“Perhaps you would like to share some of your knowledge then Mr. Rogers.” James sighed, he should have known the teacher would be standing behind him.

“What would you like to know?” James questioned arching a brow. The other students lost interest in their labs. No one ever talked back to the Mr. Stein.

“What is the chemical composition of gunpowder?”

“Gun powder, also known as black powder?” James questioned simply to screw with the teacher.

“Yes.” Mr. Stein’s face became twisted with a smirk.

“Gun powder is composed of three parts. Charcoal, sulfur, and potassium nitrate which is also known as saltpeter.” It was James’ turn to smirk. “While the sulfur and charcoal act as fuels, the potassium nitrate participates in the composition by functioning as an oxidizer.”

“Well...” Mr. Stein straightened his tie. Unable to say much else he gave James a curt nod and left the lab station behind.

— — —

Alex was having the time of her life. Dodgeball, a classic, and better yet: something she killed at. Not a single person on the other team stood a chance against her, except for one. It was another girl who didn’t appear to be much of the athletic type.

She was pale and spindly but incredibly lithe and acrobatic. What confused Alex the most was the girl’s punk appearance. She seemed so genuinely disinterested in everything Alex had been surprised to see her the last one standing on the other court.

What was more, the girl seemed to have a negative connotation about her. The other students didn’t go near her let alone talk to her.

“Alright you two, I’m calling it a draw. We can’t wait all day for someone to get hit.” The instructor, a woman named Ms. Lacy, blew her whistle.

Alex paused holding the ball in hand to look at the teacher when something slammed into her gut. Someone else might have been knocked flat but Alex was only winded. Her eyes smarted with irritation as she looked across the court to see the other girl with an amused expression.

“I said stop. That means you hold the ball Miss Fox. No cheap shots.” Alex wanted to laugh. The name was all too fitting for who it was applied to.

“My hand slipped,” Came the dry smile and laugh.

“You’re lucky I’m tolerant.” Alex sighed.

“Spare me the speech.” Fox waved her hand flippantly.

Alex blinked glancing about, but it seemed everyone was used to the other girl’s abrasive personality.

— — —

“History is fun.” Thalia smiled taking the last seat at the kids’ table.

“Lucky for you, everyone flipped their shit when they realized who I was.” Piper grumbled picking at the school lunch with a look of distaste.

“I completely embarrassed my chemistry teacher.” James beamed.

“Good for you. Apparently I’m ‘interesting’ according to the kid in front of me.” Scout looked utterly confused.

“I nailed dodge ball but there’s this weird girl.” Alex shook her head. “I tried being nice but...”

“Not everyone is going to like you.” Piper noted.

“Wow, thanks. I feel better.” Alex mused earning a laugh from the group.

Though the first school day was rough, neither of them were too upset to not go back. If anything it was interesting and a nice change of pace. None of them guessed that they might actually enjoy high school.

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icyxmischief · 6 years

Text

Very old Loki headcanons from 2012!

It’s come to my attention that my blog has a whole link to headcanons that are ooooooold. Most of them are still exactly what I think of Loki so I’m going to post them again here but remove the link, as my headcanons and meta tags are far more comprehensive!

Please read however! :3

Loki Headcanons, Character Motives, DiscussionThis list is BY NO MEANS EXHAUSTIVE. PLEASE REFER TO MY TAG “headcanons"

AND MY TAG “meta” FOR ALL DISCUSSIONS OF THIS CHARACTER.1.

Loki wears high-collared clothing even irrespective of battle armor (that is, all the time) because he knows that there is a place on each side of his neck that acts almost like a zen pressure point. If someone clasps his neck it has an odd quelling effect. As an inborn logistician, Loki does not want adversaries or even friends to have that kind of control over him, so he tries to shield access to his vulnerable spot. However, Thor frequently gains access anyway. There are in fact four separate “neck scruff” moments between them (one in “Thor,” in a deleted scene, and three in “Avengers”) and in each Loki is noticeably tranquillized, even, in some cases, dazed. Can you spot them?

Loki’s D&D alliance has changed in the duration between “Thor” and “The Avengers” from Chaotic Good with his family and Lawful Neutral with his country/society, to Lawful Evil against both. He is a salvageable/redeemable character, though, who may revert to a state of “goodness” given enough time and compassionate acceptance. Loki is the epitome of the well-meaning but deeply misguided anti-hero.

Loki’s Meyers-Brigg Personality is some bizarre mixture of Artisan, Rational, and Idealist. He is, at intervals a Composer and a Mastermind (INTJ), with a few notable emotional traits of the Healer (INFP). The only thing he is NOT is a Guardian. In the Harry Potter world, Loki would be a Slytherin with traces of Ravenclaw (he is, when lucid, very curious and cerebral).

Loki is bisexual or perhaps pansexual. Or technically, assigning him a sexual orientation is pointless since he can change genders at will. In sexual relations, whether with a man or with a woman, Loki likes to be “on top” at the onset of the relationship. But with time and painstakingly gained trust, he prefers to be the vulnerable partner. He is capable of being a kind and caring lover, but his partner should be a deeply patient person who can expect a number of arguments based on his evasiveness, egotism, and sensitivity.

Loki claims to be a trickster, to have no concrete ethical convictions, and to be playfully sadistic, but underneath this carefully crafted façade of whimsically cruel nonchalance—and it IS a conscious façade of “who gives a shit what you think, I’m wonderful!”—is a basically serious, somber, rigidly principled, and insecure being who forms ferociously loyal alliances to the people whom he loves. This odd mix of viciousness and sweetness makes Loki a frequently tragic being, as it opens him up for rejection on some level almost constantly. Loki is permanently and severely wounded when he perceives he has been wronged or betrayed (and Loki has very recently developed a bit of a persecution complex, so sometimes those wrongdoings are entirely imagined). He can be completely incapacitated by the belief that someone has been UNFAIR to him, getting emotionally and psychologically stuck on fanatically reliving the unfairness and plotting a way to exact justice. To compensate for a basically weak and insecure constitution, Loki adheres to forced, fanatical beliefs that don’t actually seem to reflect who he is. Doing so gives him psychological armor, however false, to hide behind, and buffers him against the fact that he is completely alone. For instance, his claimed conviction that “freedom is a lie” and “people are happiest when they have someone to bow down to” clashes deeply with his intrinsic role as a mischief-maker and free spirit and, despite his obviously genius-level I.Q., is bizarrely anti-intellectual. In short, Loki lies to himself to feel less terrified of his solitude and personal rejection by others. Engaging in a kind of double-think, he even fully believes his own lies and acts on them with sometimes atrocious results.

Loki probably has a “godly” equivalent of one or more of the “Dissociative” disorders. This means that he has more than one discrete “personality.” Each personality (there are at least two) comes out erratically with little known trigger and sometimes is indistinguishable from the other except based on a tone of voice, type of laugh, or type of smile. Loki himself seems to be unaware of this shift of personalities and even slightly confused whenever a shift takes place. He then covers up the confusion with some bombastic display or arrogant declaration, but clearly is disturbed by the feeling of lost control. While this tendency is innate, and probably has a lot to do with being a Frost Giant made to masquerade as an Asgardian all his life, it was drastically exacerbated when Odin confessed Loki’s true heritage and insinuated that he kidnapped Loki from his real parents because Loki would one day prove a convenient political tool. At that point Loki realized he was entirely uncertain of his identity at all, and previously dormant personality traits awoke and vied for control. This confused selfhood is easily mistaken for some form of Bipolar Disorder, since Loki’s moods are volatile and change often. But it is not a true mood disorder because these emotional upheavals all directly derive from his confused sense of self and his uncertainty over how to deal with it. It is also confused with some rough equivalent of Paranoid Schizophrenia, but Loki is often too high-functioning and lucid to totally qualify for a Schizophreniform Disorder (although there are times that I honestly wonder). While in his childhood and youth he was calm, gentle, and reticent, Loki now exhibits pathologically narcissistic and histrionic traits, and he definitely has Borderline Personality Disorder: which is characterized by unstable personal relationships, an unstable sense of self, a tendency to “split” (lionize and demonize at sudden intervals in black and white terms) other people, and a need to deliberately test the patience of others in order to see how much he can “get away with” before he pushes them away and is abandoned.

All this has become instead a discussion of PTSD.

7. (the big one)

Family for Loki is obviously a complicated issue, probably the most sensitive of all issues. It is in fact the issue from which all his pathological traits derive. Loki, or at least one of the “Lokis plural,” still loves his adoptive brother Thor dearly. But in the mess of everything that has happened (“it’s too late!”), in getting in far over his head with increasingly misguided efforts to be accepted and approved of, Loki no longer knows how to act around or relate to Thor. He also genuinely resents Thor for naturally being everything Loki tries, and fails, to be. He is deeply conflicted about his brother—hence actually talking to him without skewering him, then laughing as Tony Stark beats the shit out of him; hence gazing at him tenderly and crying, then dropping him out a steel trap or stabbing him. Despite all this, Thor is probably Loki’s best (perhaps only) hope for a normal relationship with another living person. Loki perennially seems to rediscover this fact and feel remorse about it. In his innermost self, Loki doesn’t want Thor to be hurt and he is grateful that Thor frets for and puts up with him. Loki probably loves Thor the most of his entire adopted family, since he was shown to defend Thor to their formidable-tempered father, and to counsel Thor against being injured by the Frost Giants (again, Loki USED to be the level-headed of the two brothers!). At the same time, a lifetime of living in Thor’s shadow had made Loki resentful enough by the middle of the film “Thor” to passively, and then quite actively, resist restoring his brother to Asgard. Loki also loves and misses his adoptive mother Frigg/Frigga and would be hard pressed to ever do her physical harm. The only person he completely hates in his adoptive family is his father Odin, though even that hatred is the inverse of having once devotedly adored the “All-Father.” In fact, Loki’s first great act of betrayal—to let the Frost Giants into Asgard and then set up a dimensional portal to commit genocide on his entire native race—was a desperate attempt to prove his love and loyalty to Odin, and to finally feel he had earned Odin’s love—genuine, not with practical perks— in return. He was unwilling to let anyone kill Odin, even though to do so would win him the throne of Asgard, and he proudly proclaimed himself a “son of Odin,” before Odin reiterated his relentless disappointment in Loki (“I could have done it, father, for you! For all of us!” “No, Loki.”). It was only at that point, suspended over a black hole between the dimensions, that Loki completely lost hope in earning Odin’s love. It was then, erroneously, that Loki decided love could not be earned, and had to be TAKEN. This is probably the root of his obsessive preoccupation with subjugating others. Significantly, that was the moment when Loki attempted to commit suicide, and when he survived, it was when he became a great deal more malicious.

Loki is a very obstinate person once he gets into “the zone.” He will sacrifice devastating collateral as well as his own wellbeing in order to “win the game” or obtain what he craves. He is also a brilliant tactician, logistician, and strategist. He works in contingencies and despite being violently stubborn about his ultimate goal, will change courses dozens of times to reach it: chameleons change colors based on their environment and easily shed their skins, after all. As everything else, this ultimately goes back to his basic insecurity and personal confusion, and even a sense of self-loathing.

Loki has several types of laughter that inform the observant person of when he is “lucid” or dangerous. His “real” and innocuous laugh is either a quiet, closed-lipped “HM!” or a calmly clucked series of “eh heh heh heh’”s. His “crazy” laugh is a loud, booming, arrogant, frantic, and abrupt guffaw often accompanied by tossing his head to and fro. Loki’s smiles also determine his mental states. A toothy grin is actually a sign that he is genuinely tickled. He is not aware of these tics, which is ironic, since he is such a fastidious student of other people’s giveaway habits and traits.

10.

Loki is a control freak and has a Napoleon Complex. Again, it comes from a combination of family issues and innate pathology. He hates to feel like he has lost control or had to give too much of himself unfairly to others because he spent his entire childhood and youth doing so to a dysfunctional extent in the vain hope of fitting in and being approved of by Asgardian society. For this reason, something as trivial as losing a chess game causes him to lash out in a resentful rage at the person to whom he has lost. It is not just losing a chess game to Loki; it is literally more evidence of his insufficiency and his unlucky destiny as a being who is constantly used and discarded. Other people frequently misinterpret this as evidence that Loki is greedy, and spoiled, and some crazy hormonal “Drama Queen.” In reality, Loki has no sense of self-preservation at all; he is reckless (whereas he once was very prudent) and sometimes the opposite of self-indulgent, and his violent tantrum-like response to loss of control has a much more tragic source.

11.

Loki hates the sensation of being cold and the sensation of being wet, but this is not because he cannot withstand these sensations; on the contrary the cold is his natural element, and the revulsion is entirely psychological. Both trigger recollections of his actual heritage as a Frost Giant, of which he is ashamed and disgusted. It doesn’t help that he is literally also a runt of his race. He in fact gets embarrassed showing strangers his blue skin and red eyes—unless of course he is in one of his more megalomaniacal states.

12.

Loki is a shape shifter and can change both genders and species, and frequently does so for shits and giggles. When he and Thor were children and Loki began to study sorcery to compensate for his physical smallness, he put on “changing shows” to make his brother laugh, especially when Thor was sad about something.

13.

Loki respects and is strangely fascinated by Tony Stark. In many ways he can relate to Tony, who is like a far saner, far less fanatical, version of him. Of all the “Avengers,” aside Thor, Tony is the individual who Loki can most tolerate. But Tony also makes him the angriest the fastest because Tony is so brilliant, insightful, and unflappable.

14.

When Loki is very tired or dozes off lightly, and is not properly in bed, objects and living things randomly transform and shape shift under his half-conscious powers.

Loki also has difficulty waking up once he has fallen into a deep sleep. It takes him forever to trust his environment enough to fall unconscious, and he hates that feeling of “total surrender,” but once he is asleep, he sleeps like a rock. It is in fact directly after awakening, when still achieving a state of consciousness, that Loki is the most like his childhood self: quiet and gentle. He is also unusually impressionable in that state. When they were boys, Thor recognized this and was very protective of his little brother until Loki had fully awakened. This has not changed, but Loki is careful to be alone most of the time when he expects to rouse from slumber so that nobody witnesses it.

15.

We become what we are told we are, if we are told enough times. Loki, treated with almost a racist bigotry throughout his childhood, and suddenly exposed to the fact that he belongs to a race of hated monsters, believes himself to be an agent of chaos, pain, and subjugation. He believes he must be the equal and opposite foil to his brother. For life to continue, death must exist; for the earth to be fertilized and yield new life, bacterial agents must exact decay. What is tragic about this, and probably the reason for Loki’s obviously forced self-exultation, is the fact that more than anything, he wanted to be one of the agents of good, light, and order until it became clear to him that nobody would ever allow this—and now Loki embraces his role as the doer of dirty work, as the negative inverse in the eternal counter-balance of light and dark, gods and devils, and indeed, on some level, he plays a necessary role in the universe. But this was not what he originally wanted himself to be, and it is still not what he wants to be even now. This is a core reason for why he is jealous of and resentful toward Thor. Thor literally lives the life Loki wishes he could live.

16.

Loki actually enjoys taking the long route to victory. He foregoes easier and more certain methods to achieving his goals solely for the pure enjoyment of fabricating highly circuitous plots and watching them come to fruition with often delightfully surprising side developments that force him to use his wits and ingenuity in order to wriggle out on top. He is a thrillseeker, as most sociopaths are. It’s almost like tinkering with a motherboard to him—one that is plugged into an electrical outlet and could shock him at any moment if he makes the wrong move. He loves that sensation. In another life, he would actually make an excellent vigilante hero.

17.

When Loki was a child and ashamed of something, he would cast a spell that made him physically disappear and sit in dejected silence for hours. Only Thor could find him and convince him to become visible again. This is almost like a literal internalization of disempowerment, of the fact that he is constantly told to “shut up” or “know his place” by elders; even Thor snapped this at Loki once, in the “Thor” film, when Loki was only trying to convince Heimdall to let the group through the Bifrost, and when Loki was trying to keep Thor from being killed by Frost Giants.

18.

I am not sure whether or not I agree with this theory, but I will put it as a headcanon for now since it is well-thought-out: Loki originally formed an alliance with Thanos of the Titans thinking “cakewalk!” He was quickly proven wrong and got in over his head with the most dangerous being in the universe while making his bid for the chitauri. The plan, which Loki was now forced to carry out, was to cause the Avengers to assemble and to LOSE TO THEM PURPOSEFULLY (Loki never wanted to rule the “worthless” Midgardians anyway) to have an excuse for Thor to take him home to Asgard (which he still wants to conquer and refashion in his own image). Once in Asgard, Loki will fetch Thanos his payment for the use of the chitauri and the restoration to Asgard’s throne—by handing over the Infinity Glove/Gauntlet that is pictured as part of Odin’s treasury in the “Thor” film. At this point Loki’s feelings about ruling Asgard and harming his adoptive family are mixed, but he absolutely has NO CHOICE but to follow through (the Chitauri said “if you betray us there is no corner of any universe in which he [Thanos] cannot find you” and “you think you know pain? He [Thanos] will make you long for something so sweet as pain”). In the aftermath of this, what Loki will do remains to be seen or even guessed at. Many speculate that this is where his “redemption arc” will take place. In the duration, if “Thor 2” rumors are true, Loki will be either advising Thor against or machinating alongside an Asgardian sorceress and her allies. Probably the latter, as a way to execute his plans to get on the Throne of Asgard and get to the gauntlet that he owes Thanos.

19.

Sometime in the span of the Avengers franchise, possibly in Avengers 2 but probably not as early as Thor 2, Loki will in some way recant his crimes and redeem himself. I have not a clue how but too much effort was put into making him deeply sympathetic in the beginning for this to not take place. It will just be after he stirs up A LOT more shit (since he is technically a Marvel “big bad”). The person who will get through to him will be Thor. No doubt.

I personally am expecting one of the films to end with a teaser to the Journey Into Mystery comics arc, with a reborn child Loki.

Well this happened, yay! lol.

20.

Loki coveted his current wife Sigyn of the Vanir (the Norse Goddess of Fidelity) with his usual possessive and jealous nature, but he also killed and impersonated her fiance Theoric of the Crimson Hawks because Theoric was a controlling brute and Loki, who had taken time and effort to get to know Sigyn quite well, was moved by her bookish and intellectual temperament and her feelings of hopelessness and disempowerment (to which he could closely relate). They are, as spouses, surprisingly gentle and tender, and they baby each other a lot. Sigyn is no pushover, though her nature is quiet and introspective. Loki is a devoted father to his twin sons Vali and Narvi, which makes their ultimate fate in Norse mythology all the more tragic.

Headcanon directly derived from Tumblr user Asgardian-Spook. <3 :)

21.

Loki is a quintessential Scorpio. His moon is in Cancer and his ascendant is Gemini.

His birthday was November 14. He is at least eight-nine hundred years old (the “Thor” film puts his infancy at around 965 A.D.).

22.

Pathological liar? Yes and no.

Loki is capable of sincerity unwaveringly in one form: when he cries. He cannot feign tears and crying is how constantly brewing intense emotions that he cannot quantify or qualify in his typically over-intellectual manner simply broil to the surface.

No other form of deceit is beyond him to execute successfully, however. There is a reason why the God of Mischief is also sometimes called the God of Lies. He did not invent lying, but lying is closely tied to illusive endeavors and so he became proficient at it. It is also important to note that lying is not always a cruel or destructive force. It can be put to kind uses, in the form of sparing someone’s feelings by concealing hurtful truths, and when he was younger, Loki was known to do so. Ironically, if he recognized that Odin, in his own destructively rigid way, was trying to do just that with respect to Loki’s Jotun heritage, it would have spared Loki himself a lot of heartache.

23. (how did Loki get from “Thor” to “Avengers”?)

As confirmed by Tom Hiddleston, the immensely skilled actor who portrays Loki in the Marvel films, when Hiddleston referred to a conversation with “Avengers” director Joss Whedon:

In the end of “Thor,” when Loki essentially attempted suicide and fell into a dimensional wormhole between the realms, a kind of liminal “seventh circle of hell” (Hiddleston’s words), the temporal flow was different than it is in the “real” world, and he spent years there in total solitude staring at stars and supernovas and black holes and reliving over and over how terribly awry his life had gone before becoming lost. In this period Loki’s memories were severely distorted and he began to remember the last moments before he let go of Mjolnir’s handle in a warped way (for instance, he remembered Thor “throwing him” into the abyss rather than letting go himself while Thor frantically screamed his name, as he states in “Avengers”).

This was followed by being discovered by the Chitauri, who scried his most intimate thoughts and tortured him for sport and sent him to witness suffering and evil in every conceivable reality, realm, and universe (including earth, where he made contact with Eric Selvig and saw the Tesseract), and told him he was right in believing there was no value in freedom or love.

At this point Loki completely snapped. He bargained retrieval of the Tesseract for release onto Midgard, which the Chitauri were to, in turn, help him conquer. After contacting Thanos, the Chitauri agreed to this. Loki decided this was a win-win. Either he would rule Midgard and finally be a rightful king just like his brother and force his way into Asgard to get the Infinity Gauntlet for Thanos, OR he would fail, and be taken back to Asgard as a prisoner, and stillget the Infinity Gauntlet for Thanos.

This explains many things about Loki. It explains why he was so sickly and gaunt when he returned to earth, as well as so much more markedly insane and cruel. It explains his belief in himself as some savior-pariah: “Freedom is life’s greatest lie” because the freedom to aspire as an individual is also the freedom to fail, to be found wanting, to be thought inferior: just as Loki himself was found inferior by his family and society. So essentially, Loki’s raison d’etre is a kind of warped and twisted megalomaniacal “philanthropy.” As Hiddleston put it, “Every villain is a hero in his own mind.”

Addendum: Because of this purgatorial experience in outer space, twilight and evening, and the appearance of a clear starry night sky in general, cause Loki to become nervous and depressed, though almost no one is aware of this.

24.

Loki finds rain and thunderstorms relaxing and uplifting, even in spite of himself.

The reasons are obvious even to him. <3

25.

When Loki is extremely emotionally agitated, to calm himself, he either cups his own neck with his hands, or he jiggles his left hand at his side frantically.

26. Everything Loki and Sigyn can be found in this post: http://icy-mischief.tumblr.com/post/32629880715/logyn-headcanons-master-post-mostly-sweetdreamr-for

27. Everything Loki and Tony (not a pairing, but a character comparison) can be found in these posts, which I will add to as time permits:

http://icy-mischief.tumblr.com/post/33117237448/tony-and-loki-are-alike-and-different-1

http://icy-mischief.tumblr.com/post/33125946272/tony-and-loki-are-alike-and-different-2

http://icy-mischief.tumblr.com/post/33129217327/tony-and-loki-are-alike-and-different-3

http://icy-mischief.tumblr.com/post/33130071948/tony-and-loki-are-alike-and-different-4

28. The following post is a proposed list of Loki’s internal monologue during the film “Thor,” since we all know how labyrinthine his mind is, and how often he changes his course: http://icy-mischief.tumblr.com/post/35072821755/strategy-shift-ok-im-actually-curious-and-i-think

29. I was asked by a follower to compare Loki to Magneto and this post is what I came up with: http://icy-mischief.tumblr.com/post/35374292652/loki-vs-magneto

30: Loki and the Body Politic (an essay by another writer that encapsulates many of my beliefs) : http://pleasantvilles.tumblr.com/post/54144354420/chaos-theory-on-lokis-experience-of-embodiment

31: MY THEORY OF THOR 2: http://icy-mischief.tumblr.com/post/55192114069/so-what-do-i-think-will-happen-in-thor-2-you-ask

#headcanons #Loki #Loki meta #meta #save tag

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