#loki god of metaphors

[sacredfixation]

[headcanons] Lokius but its Loki being.. well. Loki.

Loki: I’m not doing field missions. I don’t take orders. I delegate.

cut to him in the field, dirt on his face, one sleeve ripped, yelling “GET BEHIND ME MOBIUS” while stabbing a time anomaly with something thats probably cursed

Mobius: I’m just going to go talk to Renslayer. Alone.

Loki: Fine. I’m staying out of it.

Cue Loki casually materialising in the corner of the room mid-confrontation like, “Oh don’t mind me, Im just a decorative dagger rack”

Loki: I don’t get attached. That’s for lesser beings.

Mobius is 11 minutes late to their usual meeting time.

Loki: already convinced he’s been pruned, mourning him like a tragic widow, composing a ballad in ancient Asgardian about “a man who smelled faintly of vanilla and mid-century repression”

Mobius: Dont wait up. I’ve got a late debrief.

Loki: I wouldnt waste time waiting.

Cue to Loki literally sitting on top of Mobius’ desk, cross-legged, reading a 900-page time law book by candlelight like a Victorian ghost wife.

Mobius: I’m proud of you.

Loki, full deer-in-headlights panic, blinking rapidly: Y-you cant say things like that to me, I’m made of trauma.

Mobius touches his arm for .3 seconds

Loki, five hours later, pacing in his quarters in full Asgardian armor: I could kiss him. Not like I want to, of course, but tactically. For morale. Or espionage. Or-gods, what am I saying-what if I did kiss him? What if I’ve already kissed him in a branched timeline and forgotten it?! I HAVE TO GO FIND THAT VERSION OF ME-

[musclesandhammering]

Still waiting on someone to explain why Wanda is “The Harbinger of Chaos”, the “Chaos Queen”, and her magic is called “Chaos Magic” when she literally has nothing to do with chaos. Like.. nothing. No symbolism, no philosophical connection, no plotline. Literally nothing lmao. Could’ve just called her the queen of sunsets or some shit, it would’ve made as much sense 😒.

[arsenicflame]

if they wouldnt make out over the bloody corspe of someone they just killed whats even the point

[lokittystuckinatree]

Not only a trans metaphor, but a metaphor for religious deconstruction and queer love too:

Our oppressive-religion-leader coded villian says to two self made gods in love: “ same person. It’s a little unnatural”

Replace “person” with “sex” and your jaw will drop

every time I see a "kate herron corrected the bad queer rep in loki with her work in doctor who" take i'm like. you fools. you poor silly things. you have gazed upon a trans allegory that bypassed disney-marvel censorship and you sneered at it? you watched these characters reject their assigned roles, join together in solidarity, and survive despite the system rigged against them and you shun it? because you didn't like a romantic pairing? for shame

[writingfics-passingtime]

hi, can you please write about the reader overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki threatens to tickle them if they don't start it 🤗🤗

I can still post pumpkin content cause it's still November, right?

Here's a sassy, stoic reader, an absolute teasing menace Loki, and a tender, emotional ending (because I can't help myself).

Exactly Like That

word count: ~4300

pairing: Loki x female reader

content / warnings: sexual tension, suggestive banter, flirting and touching, tickling, swearing

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a suggestive relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: thank you anon ~ I wasn't going to respond yet because my prompts aren't open, but I've seen a few other writers receive and fulfil this ask, and I've liked seeing what other have done with it. My imagination went a little wild. Thanks for your message x

The room was alive with voices, clinking bottles, and the occasional scrape of a knife against pumpkin flesh. The compound’s main dining hall had been transformed into an unlikely tableau of domesticity. Avengers, gods, and spies bent over their assigned gourds with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Stark’s pumpkin already looked like a disaster of glitter and questionable wiring, while Natasha’s had been carved into a clean, menacing grin, a masterpiece of precision.

And then there was you.

Your pumpkin sat pristine and untouched in front of you, its smooth surface mocking your indecision. Brushes, carving tools, and paints were scattered around your space, all conspicuously unused. You held a small knife in your hand, twirling it absently as you stared at the blank canvas.

“Do mortals often find themselves defeated by vegetables, or is this particular weakness unique to you?”

Loki's voice slid over you like velvet, dark and rich, tinged with mockery.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a fruit, actually.”

“Ah,” he drawled, moving closer. “Semantics. How very like you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the table, his long, lean frame clothed in casual, dark fabrics that clung just enough to remind you that he wasn’t of your world. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed your untouched pumpkin.

“You’ve been staring at it for nearly an hour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Surely even you can’t find this much to overthink.”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Or perhaps you’re simply afraid to begin.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse stumble. “One wrong cut, one poorly chosen stroke, and the whole thing could be ruined. What a tragic metaphor for your careful, overthought life.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” you said dryly, turning your attention back to the pumpkin. “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

“Work?” His laugh was quiet, mocking. He moved closer, the faint rustle of his clothing brushing against your senses like a whisper. “Sitting frozen with indecision isn’t work, darling. It’s fear.”

You bristled but kept your voice calm. “If you’re so invested in this pumpkin, why don’t you decorate it yourself?”

“Because I find your quandary far more entertaining.”

He stepped around behind you then, his tall frame casting a shadow over your seat. His presence loomed, a magnetic pull you both resented and couldn’t entirely resist.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he said softly, his voice close now, the faintest trace of his breath against your ear. “Either you begin decorating this ridiculous fruit, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. They gleamed with dark amusement, his smirk widening as he caught the way your lips parted involuntarily. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I could start with this.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against your sides, featherlight but enough to send a jolt through you. You stiffened, gripping the edge of the table as his touch lingered, just shy of maddening.

You twisted in your chair to glare at him. “That’s your plan? Tickle me into submission? How original.”

His chuckle was low, dark, a sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh, I think it would be quite effective. And besides,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I suspect you’d secretly enjoy it.”

Your breath caught at the sheer audacity of him, the way his voice dipped into something so sultry, so intimate, that your stomach twisted. “Sounds like you're desperate for an excuse to touch me,” you shot back, your tone sharp despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more deliberate. “Desperate? No, darling. Just curious.”

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, as if he could see straight through you to the rapid beat of your heart.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension coiling taut as his words hung there, daring you to respond.

Your grip on the table tightened as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

It felt like gripping the steering wheel of a car spinning out, but you snapped the moment.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are."

Loki laughed, soft and wicked. “Of course not. And you're the picture of composure, as always."

His hand brushed against yours then, the faintest graze of his fingertips, and you swore the room tilted.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low murmur, his eyes locked on yours. “Prove me wrong. Pick up the brush. Start decorating. Show me you're not afraid of a little fun.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the dark amusement in his smirk, the sheer magnetic pull of him it was... intoxicating.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you grabbed the brush. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight as you dipped it into the paint.

Loki straightened, his smirk triumphant but his eyes still glinting with wicked intent. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, the words like a caress against your ear.

It left you burning long after he’d stepped away.

As you focused on the paint in front of you, doing your best to ignore the heat coursing through your veins, you felt the thrill of his words linger.

The brush hovered over the pumpkin, the orange, unsullied skin glaring up at you like a taunt. Loki had retreated to the far end of the room, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table as he spoke with Thor. You knew it was only a matter of time before his attention flickered back to you, the heat of a flame too close for comfort.

You had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm under his gaze any longer.

Sliding the brush down as quietly as possible, you rose from your seat. The soft scrape of your chair legs across the floor was muffled beneath the ambient chatter of the room, and Loki didn’t so much as glance your way. Your pulse quickened as you edged toward the door, heart hammering with every step.

He didn’t follow.

Once you’d slipped into the quiet of the hall, the tension in your chest eased, and you let out a breath you were very aware you'd been holding.

You made your way toward the compound’s library, the solitude of it a welcome balm. The others would still be occupied for at least another hour - enough time for you to lose yourself in the pages of your book and avoid whatever game Loki had been playing that almost made you crack.

The library greeted you with its familiar quiet, the scent of leather sofas and paper a comforting presence. You found your usual spot tucked away in a far corner, a large bay window cushioned with soft pillows overlooking the courtyard. Settling in with a contented sigh, you pulled your book from where you'd wedged it between the seat cushion and the wooden frame.

The story drew you in almost immediately, the tension of moments ago dissolving into the words on the page. The sunlight filtering through the window began softening into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow.

The quiet here was sacred, untouched by the chaos of the compound. As you turned the last few pages, your chest loosened, the illusion of safety creeping in.

Surely, he hadn’t followed you. Surely, Loki had other things to occupy himself-

Surely not.

“I expected better from you.”

The voice slithered into your ears, so low and sudden that your breath caught in your throat. With all your years of training, you managed to stay frozen. Futile, though. You knew he could see right through it.

You looked up, and there he stood, shadowed and immaculate, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single, golden lamp. His icy blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“How... predictable,” he continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You flee like a rabbit, thinking you can burrow away from the wolf.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced yourself turn back your book. “I don’t recall fleeing,” you started, turning a page. “I walked out, actually. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the difference in your old age.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling over jagged peaks. “Ah, there it is. That fire you wear like armour. Does it soothe you to pretend you’re unshakeable?”

You scoffed, even as your pulse betrayed you. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone whose only hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“Torment?” he echoed, his voice silken as he closed more distance between you. “My dear, if I were tormenting you, you’d know it. Shall I demonstrate?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning another page of your book. The words blurred before your eyes, but you kept your expression neutral. “If you think I’m going to feed your ego by reacting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

"Why did you refuse to take part?" There was something unnervingly earnest in his voice that pulled at your heart. "Why did you leave?"

You looked up, wearing a mask of indifference and sarcasm. “I didn’t realise decorating pumpkins was a matter of state importance.”

The smirk tugging at his lips was slow and predatory, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Such sharp words, little rabbit. Always so quick with your tongue when your heart’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.”

Your pulse spiked, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, sardonic smirk curve your lips. “You said you weren't desperate, Loki. But you seem to have taken to taunting me for sport."

The laugh that slipped from him was low and sinuous, curling like smoke through the still air. “Oh, I don’t need sport to occupy me. But you…” He leaned forward, the space between you vanishing in an instant. “You’re far too entertaining to resist. Especially when you’re trembling behind that mask of yours.”

“I’m not trembling.”

“No?” His voice was a purr now, his breath brushing your ear as he lowered himself just enough to meet you at eye level. “I suppose you weren’t squirming earlier, either. Like prey in my hands.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, but you kept your expression neutral. “You sound obsessed.”

“And you sound very ticklish.”

The way he said it - smooth, dark, laced with that damned smirk -sent a ripple of mortification through you. It was all the confirmation you needed of his intentions to follow through on his earlier threat.

It was inevitable.

So you leaned back, lifting your book as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. If you were going down, you were going down swinging. Well, verbally, at least.

“You’re overplaying your hand.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood to his full height, towering over you now, his shadow eclipsing the faint light. “Because the ones who act so tough, so stoic, so unbothered... they’re always the most fun. It’s so very delicious to watch them fall apart.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” You forced your tone into something light, dismissive, though your grip on the book tightened. “That you’ve got me figured out?”

His smirk deepened, his head tilting as he studied you like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “I don’t need to tell myself anything. You do all the work for me.”

Your lips parted for a retort, but his eyes flickered down to the slight tremor in your fingers, the way your knees shifted restlessly against the cushions.

And you saw how his smile widened, satisfied and predatory, when he saw all the hallmarks of someone about to flee.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “Run. It’ll be more fun for me.”

For a split second, you froze, torn between logic and instinct. Then you bolted, your book tumbling to the seat as you darted for the nearest gap.

But Loki was faster.

You didn't make it two full steps before he caught you with a preternatural ease, his ensnaring hands dragging you back against him in one smooth motion. His low chuckle brushed your ear as he manoeuvred you down onto the window seat, half-pinning you on your side with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Pitiful,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery. “And here I thought you’d make it a challenge.”

You shoved at him, scowling. “Let me go, you overgrown-”

Whatever venom you’d prepared was shattered as his fingers pressed into your ribs, curling with precision against the fabric of your sweater. Laughter burst from you, loud and uncontrollable, and you immediately clamped your lips shut, mortified by the sound.

“Ah,” Loki purred, his grin widening. “There it is. That lovely sound you try so hard to keep from the world. Go on, darling. Let me hear it again.”

“Loki, wait- no!” you gasped, but his hands had already found the curve of your waist, his fingers pinching with precision that felt criminal.

“No?” he echoed, mockingly incredulous. “You were so calm a moment ago. What happened?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, squeezing tighter, his nails grazing the bare skin of your sides. You quaked at the contact, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he found every sensitive spot with uncanny accuracy. Your hands clutched at his forearms, his chuckle hot and tempting against your neck as your head fell back in mirth.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and commanding, the words a dark melody against your ear. “Why did you run?”

“I- I...” you wheezed, twisting in his hold, going nowhere. With a ferocious, defiant growl, you yelled, "I... walked!"

Loki paused, his lips curling in that knowing smirk, and then he tickled harder, digging in with precision. You crumpled back against him, laughing helplessly, unable to catch your breath. Every sound that left your mouth was a mix of laughter and helpless gasps, each one a surrender to him, to the unrelenting tickling.

“Let's try again,” Loki commanded, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me why you fled.”

You struggled to pull yourself together, trying to come up with another witty retort, but before you could speak, Loki found an especially sensitive spot, just under your ribs, and his fingers locked in with a brutal efficiency. You shrieked, squirming beneath him, but he held you there with the effortless force of a god, his smile widening against the shell of your ear.

You thrashed harder, your laughter raw and breaking, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll- kill you-”

“You’ll what?” He laughed, low and dark, his fingers picking up speed again, pressing and kneading with wicked precision. Every stroke of his hands felt like it was designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits and then some.

The realisation hit like a blow: he could read you. Every shudder, every hitch in your breath, every twitch of your body. And worse, he was enjoying it, adjusting his touch with the kind of skill that only centuries of mischief could hone. His hands didn’t just tickle; they teased, tormented, mastered you.

"You- oh my g-" you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You absolute fucking-"

“Such language,” he chided, his tone a tease of disapproval. “And after I’ve been so gentle.”

His fingers danced lower, teasing the curve of your hips, and the laugh that escaped you was so deep, so raw, it left your chest aching. Loki stilled for half a heartbeat, his grin sharp as he took in the sound, before redoubling his efforts. He pressed his thumbs into the tender space just above your hipbones, his fingers curling to squeeze in a way that had you screaming, your body writhing in his iron grip.

“Okay! Okay!” you gasped, tears of mirth welling in your eyes.

“Speak, then,” he commanded in low and silken voice, his fingers unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I—” You hesitated, your breath hitching, but he gave you no mercy. His nails dragged lightly over your ribs, and the sound that tore from you was half a laugh, half a desperate gasp.

“Speak."

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself!” you finally choked out, your body trembling beneath his. “I didn’t want to make something stupid and have everyone see how bad it is!”

Immediately, his hands stilled, and you gulped in a shuddering breath. He unwrapped his arms from around you and leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. You shoved at him weakly, as if not quite believing he was retreating.

“Well,” he said, standing and staring down at you, admiring his handiwork, “you’ve certainly made a spectacle of yourself now.”

You glared at him, flushed and breathless. “You... are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his grin returning, “are utterly fascinating. Shall we?”

Before you could protest, he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, sweeping you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the door. You squirmed in his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Delivering you back to the battlefield,” he said, his smirk a knife’s edge. “You’re not escaping that easily. You’ve still got a pumpkin to ruin, and I, for one, am thoroughly invested in the spectacle.”

You groaned, your head falling back in defeat. "I hate you."

The smirk in his voice was undeniable. "No, you don't."

The dining hall was no longer the lively scene it had been earlier.

Now, it was deserted, shadows stretching long and dark across the room, flickering with the faint light of a few dying candles. The scent of melted wax and pumpkin guts permeated in the air, and the silence was nearly oppressive.

Loki carried you inside, his grip firm but not unkind, and though you didn’t resist, you couldn’t help but feel a smouldering irritation at the way he seemed to enjoy this small victory. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, as though daring you to bolt again.

You stepped forward, stopping just shy of your untouched pumpkin. Its smooth, orange surface gleamed in the low light, mocking you. The tools remained where you’d left them, and the weight of your earlier frustration pressed at the edges of your mind.

“I... don’t know what to do with it,” you said finally, turning back to Loki. You hated how the admission sounded - small, almost defeated - but there was no taking it back now.

Loki’s sharp gaze softened imperceptibly. His lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t fully form. “Then I shall help you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, offering no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he sat in your chair with that infuriating ease, his presence commanding even in the simplest of movements. His eyes met yours, glittering with a mixture of challenge and amusement, and he reached out a hand, curling his fingers in a silent demand.

“What are you-” The words barely left your mouth before you realised he was beckoning you to sit on his lap. Heat flushed through you, unbidden, and you scoffed, trying to mask it. “You do realise chairs are meant for one person, don’t you?”

Yet, unwilling to have him see how he was sliding under your skin, you turned and settled yourself against him. His muscled chest brushed against your back, his legs firm and solid as your seat.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His hand settled at your waist - an anchor, not a cage. “Now, let’s see if we can salvage your poor, neglected pumpkin.”

You scoffed, grabbing the carving tool. “Fine. Show me your masterful technique, Your Highness.”

The title came out sharper than intended, but Loki only chuckled, low and indulgent. He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing yours, and reached around your shoulder to guide your hand. His fingers slid over yours, his grip firm but not harsh. “Relax,” he murmured. His voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “You grip it like a weapon. This is art, not war.”

You bit back a retort and let him guide you. His body was close enough that his every movement brushed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Together, you began to carve into the pumpkin, slow and deliberate. His free hand flexed against your waist, your free hand steadying the canvas.

As the shapes emerged, you realised they weren’t ordinary designs. They were runes.

Norse runes. Delicate, intricate, and entirely unreadable to you.

Loki worked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hand steady as he traced the lines with your hand.

“What does it say?” you asked eventually, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, “You’ll see. Keep holding it steady."

The tension between you grew with every passing second. His touch lingered long, his presence close. Every shift of his body beneath yours was impossible to ignore, every brush of his breath against your skin a reminder of just how thin the line between teasing and something real had become.

When the carving was done, you slipped off his lap, feeling the need for a the brief moment of distance for your sanity, and retrieved a candle from the sideboard.

But the room felt colder without him holding you.

You lit the wick and placed the candle inside the pumpkin, watching as the light filled the carved runes, casting jagged shadows across the table.

You turned back to Loki. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on you as though he could see straight through to your very thoughts.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. This time, you sat side-on. His hands settled instinctively, one on your back, one on your knee, holding you steady. With his height, your faces were almost level, but you still had to look ever so slightly up.

“What does it say?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“The name of a great warrior,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.”

You arched a brow, your lips twitching. “Let me guess. Your name?”

His grin widened, and the silence was answer enough for you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet undeniably fascinating,” he countered, his voice a low purr. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, more tender. Relieved. "There it is." His words were almost a sigh.

You tilted your head, raising a brow in question.

“I was beginning to fear you didn’t know how to smile.”

The intimacy of his words rendered you speechless for several, long seconds. Your mind faltered, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“What? You don't remember what happened like... twenty minutes ago? I recall laughing to the point of tears, thanks to you.”

“That was different,” he said simply, his tone quieter, earnest.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken things. His hand moved in slow, deliberate patterns against your back. “It must be exhausting,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to sympathy. “Always bracing for the next crisis.”

His sudden sincerity caught you off-guard. You fidgeted with your hands, stained with pumpkin pulp, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“Isn’t it?” His hand stilled on your back for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing movements. “You are allowed moments of meaningless joy. To partake in frivolity. It doesn’t make you weak.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft and humourless. “I take it you didn’t buy that I was embarrassed about the pumpkin?”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Not for a second.”

You looked up, straight into him. "But you let me go."

His gaze fell to your lips, as if he were already missing your smile. Mourning it. Plotting a witty remark or flirtatious comment that might see its return.

He then looked back to your eyes, swallowing harder than usual, his voice now gentle. “I thought you were due for some mercy. You... seem to have very little for yourself.”

The words settled over you like a weight, heavy and undeniable.

And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

"It feels wrong," you admitted in little over a whisper. "To... do things like this when so many people-" The breath caught in your throat and you had to look back at your hands, sniffing to buy some time. "It's selfish. Carving pumpkins. Decorating. Laughing at stupid things. People are out there suffering, and I’m here playing holiday games. Safe.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements along your back. It brought you far more comfort than you'd ever admit out loud. Not yet, at least.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, the usual sharp edges dulled. “You cannot bear the weight of your world every hour of every day. Even the strongest flame falters if it is not tended.”

The rawness of his words cut through your defences. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but your lips twitched as you tried to deflect. “You know,” you muttered, half-laughing as your head dipped, “getting tickled to death felt a lot less exposing than this conversation.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle, and when you glanced up, his smirk had returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I’m happy to oblige,” he drawled, his fingers curling against you as if preparing to pounce.

You shot him a warning look, though you couldn’t quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, wouldn't I?” he teased, his hands still hovering ominously close.

"No," you shook your head, that twitch turning into a smirk. "I sat with you of my own free will. Trusting you. You won't jeopardise that."

The playful glint in his gaze softened slightly as he settled back, studying you with a quiet intensity. "The little rabbit may just be a fox after all," he mused, ceding his advantage.

He studied you for a good, long while, you both sitting in a comfortable silence as he traced idle patterns against your back, his thumb brushing your knee.

Finally, you swallowed your nerves, and broke the silence. "Thank you. For your help.”

You looked back to the table, eyes roaming over what he'd carved with your hand;

The name of a great warrior. He'd said. Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.

"Runes are... actually quite beautiful."

He hummed softly in agreement.

You turned your head slightly, eyes still on the sharp lines. "What would my name look like?"

Then, you looked up at his face, and your breath caught.

His eyes were alight, faintly glittering from the flickering candle inside the artwork. Something between a smile and something far more satisfied curled onto his lips as he nodded at the runes.

"Exactly like that."

[nameless-flame]

RoR gods reactions to you calling Poseidon a 💅Drama Queen💅

RoR and fem!Reader crack below the cut

Seated along the round table, various prominent figures of each pantheon waited, some more patiently than others, for the mortal standing before them to reveal what she had summoned them for.

[Name] cleared her throat, putting an end to the idle chatter that had previously filled the walls of the old-fashioned conference room. "I have called you to this meeting to discuss a matter of utmost importance."

Shiva rolled his neck, allowing his eyes to freely wander between the faces of the gods – all deemed to be high figures in their respective pantheon – some even belonging to the same one. And yet, there was one man missing.

Leaning his chair back, the God of Destruction balanced himself with two hands holding onto the edge of the table, whilst his remaining two rested behind his head. "Where's that sea deity?"

Shooting a glare in Shiva’s direction, [Name] resumed talking. “If you had not so rudely interrupted me you would have known why.”

The blue man merely rolled his eyes. He had long before grown used to her more… unmannerly way of addressing them. Her disrespectful attitude had at first irked him, and many other deities, but eventually whatever ill feelings they initially harboured toward her soon evolved into intrigue, and later friendship. Some even more than that.

Seeing how the god had not argued back, the human continued. "As for why Sea Boy isn’t here with us today, I didn’t invite him.”

Hades’ brows flickered and he paused his chess match with Zeus. “I presume this meeting concerns my brother?”

[Name] gave the God of the Underworld a curt nod. “I’ll just get straight to the point so to not further waste our time. Can we all come to common agreement that Poseidon is the biggest drama queen in history?"

Hades didn’t know what was more worrisome; her odd exclaim, or the fact that no one had so much as reacted to it. Have things like this truly become the norm?

Most eyes darted to Apollo, and then lingered there, before returning to her, obviously questioning her statement. However, [Name] did not yield under their distrustful stares but continued speaking without any less conviction. "Yes, sure. Some might argue that the twink has some dramatic traits as well."

Apollo craned his neck in her direction, no longer staring in the reflection of his hand mirror. "Why are we listening to her, again?"

“Because they’d rather be here than at one more of your lame parties.” Apollo furrowed his brows, but ultimately decided to just massage the tense muscles of his temples, not desiring to start a fruitless dispute with her.

“But we are not here to talk about Apollo, but Poseidon – the biggest drama queen I have ever encountered in my entire life.”

Beelzebub sighed, tapping his foot impatiently against the marble floor. He just wanted to return to his research. “How did you even come to such an irrational conclusion?”

Standing tall, [Name] placed her hands on her hips. “Irrational? Do you guys truly not see it?” Blank stares were shot in her direction, only Heracles and Ares had the decency to shake their heads.

“Well then, allow me to provide you with an example; If a fly were to land on that drama queen’s shoulder, he would not hesitate to drown all their villages, slaughter their children, and then feed their corpses to the nearest animal.”

Loki snickered, obviously finding some amusement in what he deemed to be an exaggerated story. [Name] ignored him and continued. “And then, to truly top it off, after exterminating an entire species he would just act as normal, as if his reaction was more than justifiable.”

“She does have a point,” the serene voice of Aphrodite spoke. “Poseidon’s reactions do tend to be quite… overbearing at times.”

[Name] dragged a hand through her hair in hope that the motion would soothe her racing mind. “And I know this to be true because that fly is a metaphor for us humans. I literally bumped into him just the other day, and this bitch-”

A warning glare from Hades.

“This very fine gentleman acted like I gave him the bubonic plague.” Loki and Shiva broke into a fit of laughter. The Hindu god even toppled off his chair, but that didn’t seem to encourage him from continuously laughing his ass off.

[Name] rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, continue howling all day long you buffoons, but I think I singlehandedly made him wish for a second Ragnarok.” This only made the duo double over, trying to choose between drying their tears or holding their stomachs. It was a good day for Shiva to have four arms.

Hermes, however, coaxed his brows. “Do you mean to tell us that you came in contact with Lord Poseidon without invoking his wrath?”

[Name] cocked her head to the side. “Didn’t I just tell you that he looked like he wanted to pierce me into a shish kebab?”

Hades moved his king one square forward on the chessboard, the slight click when the piece hit the wood gaining her attention. “That is not what he meant, my dear. If our brother is truly angry, he will not hesitate to kill whoever is around him. The fact that you are still alive indicates that he had no desire of ending your life.”

Odin nodded from the seat beside his son, who was staring out of the window, wishing for this conversation to come to an end.

"This!” [Name]’s sudden outburst caught the attention of everyone in the room, including the socially withdrawn God of Thunder. “This is what I mean when I call him dramatic! You have just grown used to his actions. Look, I don't mind his exaggerated reactions, but he needs a bit of variation.”

[Name] began pacing around the room, her back straight and chin held high, while holding a stick in her hand. Where did she even get that?

“Someone breathes the same air as me? Dead.” Everyone’s eyes widened.

She was imitating Poseidon.

“Someone accidentally steps on my foot? Dead. Someone has the audacity to look me straight in the eye? Dead.” She stopped and heaved a heavy sigh, “Like, come on. Try something new for once, please."

Zeus stroked his long beard. "Wait, let me get this straight. You mean to tell us that your problem with Poseidon is not his behaviour, but that it has grown old?"

[Name] slammed her hands against the table, making the glasses along the wine bottles on it shake with the sudden force. “Yes!”

“This meeting is over.” Hades declared, already walking away. It did not take long for the other deities to follow him, Loki and Shiva needing to crawl out from all their excessive laughing.

“Fine, go! But don’t come crying to me when you guys realize I was right!”

“We won’t,” cooed Zeus.

…

“Hades?”

“Yes, Zeus?”

The King of the Gods blinked, not believing his eyes. “Why is Poseidon drowning that entire meadow?”

Before the two deities stood their brother, sending wave after wave into a beautiful landscape of green hills and the most gorgeous of flowers.

Hades sighed, running a hand through his white hair. “To kill the flies.”

Zeus turned his head to his brother, already dreading his next answer. “Why?”

The King of the Underworld gulped, cursing that mortal for how correct she had been. “Because a fly had landed on his shoulder.”

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 8

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: Yes, this is long overdue and I'm sorry for the long wait; but now it's finally here and I hope you can enjoy it, we're nearing the end :'). If it's been too long since you've read the other chapters, I'd maybe recommend checking them out again because we're picking it up right where we left off. The next chapters will be posted soon <3. Also, Mobius plays cupid here and we love him for it lol.

Masterlist | Read ch 7 here

You kept your head down as you walked, not particularly looking at where you were going. Rogue tears were falling onto TVA's hallways with each step you took, a hand covered your mouth to stifle the sobs. The sight of your rapidly moving shoes became more unfocused by the second.

You needed an out, you needed to breathe. And you didn't care that the bathroom you rushed into was a communal one, you slammed the door shut behind you and turned the lock, praying that the stalls were empty.

Silence hung in the air, the only sound being your heavy breathing. Gulping back a massive lump in your throat, you leaned back against the closed door. The smooth wood was cold, feeling going past the fabric of your shirt and raising goosebumps on your skin. With the back of your hand, you tried drying your tears.

Would this be it? Were you truly broken beyond repair?

You wanted to shout apologies in the air; for the Loki you'd just found, he deserved it, he did nothing wrong; for yourself, for the bruised heart beating in your chest that you'd promised to mend.

Part of you also wanted to berate yourself for being overly sentimental and utterly incapable of processing your feelings. For being stuck in this limbo.

You pressed your palms to your eyes, feeling them dampening, fingers shaking.

His touch had been like a bonfire on a cold night—a strange metaphor, given the fact his skin was usually colder than yours; yet it held truth—it enveloped your heart in a warm and familiar embrace, the most blissful kind of pain. It hurt, you couldn't quite place why, but it did.

Maybe it was the fear of knowing you wouldn't be able to live through another loss.

There were telltales of a steady rhythm thudding beneath your skin and through your veins; the ghosts of it tickled your fingertips and called out your name. His heartbeat, as real as you'd pleaded for in countless sleepless nights.

And when you finally held it in your hands again…

'But you're not him.'

You regretted it, probably as soon as the words left your mouth. Because… they were a lie. A lie you told yourself for fear of losing him, again.

Yet now, you couldn't help but feel like you just did.

─── ·❆· ───

Thor had once told Loki about the red string of fate—when the god of thunder had been strangely obsessed with Midgardian folklore in his teenage years. A red string that connected soulmates, it could stretch and bend as the two souls drifted apart and then met again, however, it would never break.

Now, as Loki heard your steps getting further and further away from him, he couldn't help but hear a snap.

Maybe he was the one who fucked it up, maybe it was his fault. You weren't his to have or to lose anyway. As much as he wished you were.

Loki stood awkwardly by your desk; he felt almost as if he was invading just because this was your space and, as you'd just made abundantly clear, you wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

He took advantage of your secluded nook to brush off the tear tracks on his cheeks—he didn't need anyone asking questions he barely knew the answers to—before running a hand through his hair, straightening the collar of his jacket, and taking a deep, hopefully steadying, breath.

For the first time, he felt utterly lost, without a north to guide him. He stalled by neatly organizing the mess that was your desk, thinking maybe you'd have a change of heart and come back to him. He stacked documents, organized pencils, and even folded a cardigan of yours that was hanging on the back of your chair.

Loki stalled the longest he could, until there was nothing more to tidy and no hope left. When you didn't come back, he walked up to the elevator, and now stared at the many buttons without knowing which to press. Truth be told, his mind was miles away; focused on the feeling of your soft skin against his and the sweet perfume of your shampoo. Would he ever get to feel you so close again?

"Hold it, please," Mobius called from a few steps away, hurriedly walking towards Loki. The god extended a hand to hold the doors open for him.

Mobius skipped into the elevator with a big sigh, clutching a rather large stack of documents to his chest. "Thanks," he breathed, shooting a glance at Loki. A beat passed and he did a double take, with a frown as he looked Loki over, who still glared at the buttons in front of him, all puffy eyes and pouty lips. "… What happened?" Mobius' voice held the tone of someone who probably already knew the answer he'd get. He reached past Loki and pressed the button that led to the cafeteria—a coffee break couldn't hurt.

For long seconds, Loki kept silent, contemplating whether to lie or be honest. He felt too drained to come up with a lie. "I… believe I messed it up."

Mobius didn't need names. He raised a hand to pat Loki's shoulder. "She'll come around, buddy."

Loki's eyebrows softened, he had a faint, bittersweet smile on his lips as his eyes welled up with tears again. It stung, bitterly. Perhaps he was never destined for happy endings. It was okay, he decided, he'd be okay with loving you from afar; so long as he got to love you at all. He already counted his lucky stars that the slim odds were in his favor and he got to meet you. "I don't think she will."

The weight of his words didn't go unnoticed by Mobius, who turned to Loki with a rather bewildered expression. "You really do like her… Don't you?"

Loki lowered his head, lips parting in a futile attempt to try and word his feelings. All he managed was a defeated sigh as he brought a hand up to rub one of his eyes. That was answer enough.

─── ·❆· ───

It's been a week. Or at least what would be the equivalent of a week in the TVA. You didn't know if you were the one avoiding Loki or if he was the one avoiding you. But you haven't seen each other ever since you said those hurtful words to him.

Your spoon clicked against the ceramic of your mug, stirring a coffee that had probably already gone cold. You stared off into space, watching from a secluded corner table as a few of your colleagues walked by with their own coffees, yet not actually seeing it. Your mind was elsewhere, drifting between what-ifs.

It's been like this, for this past week. Your mind mostly numb, stuck on auto-pilot. You couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stop missing him; his presence had become such a constant in your life these past couple of months that now that you didn't have it, a part of you felt hollow and empty. There was always a vacant chair beside you that left you feeling perpetually cold and alone.

The last few nights had been more sleepless than not, guilt ate away at your insides and kept you from diving into deep slumber. You wondered if the few grimaced smiles you received from your colleagues today were because you'd forgotten to hide the faint dark circles under your eyes.

"Good morning sunshine," Mobius slid into the chair next to you, placing his steaming mug on the table along with a single donut on a small plate. He took a momentary glance at you and his smile dropped a tad, "or maybe not so good."

You tried giving your friend a decent smile but you could tell by the look on his face that it didn't reach your eyes.

"I'll probably regret asking," Mobius pulled his chair closer, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing, "but what's wrong?"

You've never liked it when people asked you that question, it made you wish that your problems really were simple enough to be put into words. You avoided his eyes, something akin to shame and timidness twisting your stomach. "I'm- I'm not sure," a frown came to your brows, as if you were finally seeing past the fog. You shook your head softly, "I think I messed up."

"So I keep hearing," Mobius sighed. It wasn't condescending, no; it just looked like he was in on a secret you didn't know.

"I'm just… I'm so scared, Mobius." There was a sway to your voice that wasn't there before, with your heart on your mouth beating as raw as the wound you'd carried for so long. "I'm-" You hesitated, words heavy as you closed your eyes briefly. "I'm scared, and I'm still so confused."

You could feel the familiar sting of tears building behind your eyes. "I've wanted him back for so long, and seeing him again like this, it just-" Your lips hovered, trembling. You felt a warm touch landing on one of your hands, reassuring. You squeezed Mobius' fingers in gratitude. "… Now I have memories with him that only I've lived, and part of me still doesn't know what to think, what to do. And if I ever were to lose him again, I- I don't think I could…"

With a gentle nod, Mobius took hold of both your hands, he spoke slowly, "I understand… Well, maybe I don't," he chuckled, and when a small and genuine smile crept onto your lips, a proud glint came to his eyes. "But don't you think that, sometimes, we complicate things too much?" He asked, voice tender and drowning out the increasing hustle and bustle of TVA's cafeteria.

"You got him back." Mobius gave your hands a gentle shake to accentuate his words, voice low yet dripping with hope and excitement; "Yeah, maybe he comes from a little before you two met, but it's still the same Loki." He tilted his head with a tight smile, urging you to take his words to heart. "The one thing you wanted ever since you got here, don't you see how lucky you are? Maybe you should just let yourself be happy about that for a change."

For long seconds that felt like hours, you stayed silent, only feeling the bruising beating of your heart against your ribs. The air left your lungs and you had trouble pulling it back in.

He was right, wasn't he?

Maybe you could allow yourself to be happy after all this time. Maybe you could finally go to where your heart had been trying to lead you to. Maybe you really did get a second chance.

Yet, like freefalling into a frozen lake, the last words you'd said to him came rushing back. "I hurt him, Mobius." You winced at the memory, at the desolate look that had painted Loki's eyes as soon as you uttered the words.

'But you're not him.'

Oh, you couldn't have been more wrong then. Because when he looks at you with that same shine to his gentle eyes that had captivated you since the first time you'd met him on the grounds of New Asgard, when his voice takes on that special tone that's kept for you only, when he touches you with the same delicacy you'd always known, when he has the same bashful smile, laughs at the same jokes, drinks the same tea. How could he not be your Loki?

"It was the last thing I wanted, and it happened, and now I- I don't know if there's a way back from-"

"Listen to me," Mobius cut you off before you could go downhill into a pity party, "he's miserable, okay?" He spoke matter-of-factly, to which you only raised your eyebrows. "I'm serious, you should've seen him this morning, looked like a kicked puppy. Trust me when I tell you you're hurting him more by staying away." He added with a smirk; "and you two are killing me with all this 'will they, won't they'."

A small laugh escaped you as you raised a hand to dry your eyes and squeezed Mobius' ones with the other in a gesture that you hoped conveyed the immense gratitude you felt for him.

You missed Loki. You missed him so much it felt like a part of your soul had been torn out.

"Do you have any idea of where he is right now?"

─── ·❆· ───

You stepped into the smoked glass doorway as if you were walking a tightrope that might snap at any second. You held your breath as you went through, eyes closed, and hands clammy.

A familiarity lay heavy in the cold and fresh air, it has brought you peace many times before. The frozen grass crunched beneath your feet and the rustling of leaves did little to drown out the loud beating of your heart. You didn't need to open your eyes to know where you were, but you did anyway.

The clearing was the same as it's always been, with a few trees on both of the far sides, a clean and starry night sky that adorned the beginnings of the spectacle that was the northern lights, and finally, the lonely wooden bench in the middle.

Loki sat on the far right side of the bench you once shared. The night was cold and he only wore a simple dress shirt, for a second you wondered if he was not cold, before remembering his origins.

The moment feelt intimate, precious. You wondered if he knew you were there and chose to stay silent, or if he was too lost in his own what-ifs. You wondered if he's missed you as much as you missed him.

Your feet were glued to the ground, you noticed. Hands closed tightly into fists and mouth dry. A part of you remained so afraid still, as if, now that you're here, it might be too late.

From afar, you admired how Loki's hair flowed effortlessly with the breeze, coming loose from behind his ears and making you wish to run your fingers through it. He had his left hand lying beside him, fingertips touching the wood of the bench; as if reaching for something, someone, who's not there.

You caught it then, how, with the corner of his eye, he finally noticed your presence. You caught it by how his shoulders immediately tensed up and he looked straight ahead as if bracing for something.

No turning back now. You took the first step towards him.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ch 9 coming soon.

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Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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[liminalpebble]

Stray (A Lokitty Tale): Winter Blues

Hi, my darlings, since we all could use a little (or a lot) of cozy emotional comfort during these difficult times, I wanted to offer you just a bit of Jotun Loki/Lokitty fluff. This does take place in the Stray universe, in the middle of the story, but you don't need to have read that series to read this.

For a quick, tl;dr summary: human lady in 70's Seattle takes in Loki (disguised as a kitty) after his D.B. Cooper stunt, adorable shenanigans ensue.

Here's the series link

Lokitty/Jotun Loki x human shop girl reader

cw: Talk of depression and loneliness (remedied, of course, by our favorite handsome icy boy). The biggest hazard is the tooth-rotting fluff. Enjoy.

“Come on!” you grumble to your elderly space heater, giving it an encouraging pat on the side. Luckily, the coils eventually rouse themselves into a faint orange glow. You breathe a sigh of relief and sit cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, staring daggers at the broken radiator which the landlord never really plans to fix.

The newly-adopted black cat pads towards you and immediately curls into your lap with a graceful slinky twist. You slide your hand gently over his silky fur, feeling the knots of your anger and frustration gradually loosen.

“Sorry, buddy,” you say to the cat, who fixes you with his stunning aquamarine eyes. “It's not usually snowing like this yet, or quite this cold. I guess the whole city is stuck inside.”

Loki gazes up at your face. Bathed in the warm amber glow, the contours of your cheeks, lips, and lashes look like a work of art to him.

She's so lovely. I hope some day I can tell her so...really tell her so.

But beneath your loveliness, he can see the circles under your eyes, the way you rub your temples and slump your shoulders, the way the growing darkness (literal and metaphorical) are weighing on you. You gather him up in your arms and sling an afghan around your shoulders, shuffling towards the window. He watches as a bittersweet grin spreads over your features.

“At least it's kind of pretty, isn't it? And at least I have you, little friend.”

He purrs contentedly as you scratch lightly between his ears on your journey to the couch. Loki watches with concern as your silence gradually turns into the telltale gasps and sniffles of tears. He flinches slightly as the salty drops hit his fur.

“Oh. Sorry, kitten,” you say, sniffing and swiping a hand across your cheek. “I just...god, I'm so tired and...and so alone. It feels like all the cards are stacked against me sometimes. My paycheck barely keeps us here...shitty as the place is. I'm just so frustrated, and tired, and angry, and afraid....and sad...and...”

You shiver. “And cold.”

His paw pats gently but insistently on your hand. You feel crazy even thinking, not for the first time, that it's as if he understands you. Those bright, clear, eyes seem so wise and perceptive. You'd swear he's trying to comfort you.

Sweet human. If only you knew how much I care for you. I'm the god of outcasts. Appropriate, I suppose, as I'm always being cast out...but not by you, my sweet human because you are special...unique. I wish I could hold you. I wish you could understand me.

And then, he considers a way. It's a way he's used cautiously only once before, uncertain of how it might affect his precious human, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He smiles to himself and nuzzles his velvety head against your arm.

Patience, human. Your savior is here, you just don't know it yet.

----

It's an absolutely adorable habit, your little naps in the evening. Or, at least, Loki thinks so. Sometimes, he'll even join you under the tattered old throw blanket to sleep against the undulating warmth of your body.

He joins you today, but not to sleep and not just to use you as a heating pad. The little cat pulls the blanket carefully up and over your shoulders by his teeth, ensuring that you're warm and comfortable (all the while cursing his lack of opposable thumbs). Then he settles himself in between the curve of your neck and shoulder, holding one delicate paw against your temple. A green glow shudders through the little creature and flutters around your head like glitter swirled in water.

----

Your vision is foggy at first as your eyes blink open. Initially, everything is a mass of pearlescent white and a pale aquamarine (a shade you could swear you know from somewhere). As your eyes open wider, and the fog clears, you begin to orient yourself to the sharpening view.

You're standing in the center of a clearing, in a dense snow-covered forest. It's a far cry from the filthy gray slush of downtown Seattle. This snow is a shocking white, glowing, even in twilight. The vast crystalline carpet unfurls beneath you as the sky above dances with northern lights. All you can think, for a long suspended moment, is that this place is ancient. You breathe in and it hits you; the complex aroma of pines and evergreens which have been there long before you were born, and somehow you know, deep in your bones, that this is a magical place.

To your surprise, you don't feel at all cold. Your body is swaddled in rich furs and draped in lush velvet, keeping you warm as you observe it all. Everything is quiet, draped in the muffling blanket of snowfall, and you feel your breathing quiet in kind.

The crunch of footsteps catches your attention as a figure moves gracefully, deliberately, towards you. It glides, back lit, from the inviting amber glow of a wooden lodge where candles sparkle and flicker in every window.

You guess that this mystery person must be over eight feet tall, broad-shouldered and sure-footed, striding through the ice and snow easily as a cape of regal black fur dances around him. As he nears, you see a pair of majestic onyx horns rising from a crown on his noble head.

Closer still, you see his skin; a striking cobalt blue moving against the snow, and his eyes; two crimson rubies cutting through dusk like stars.

Finally, he stands before you, and though you know you should be afraid, you feel only curious and struck by his otherworldly beauty. He acknowledges you with a bow and the sharp lines of his cheeks raise to show a wide, striking, smile. His teeth are as white as the snow itself.

Loki extends his huge hand to cradle yours and you feel your heartbeat kick up with the thrill of it. As it is so often with dreams, it doesn't occur to you to ask where you are, or how you got here, or who he is, or even if he means you harm. You simply trust this beautiful creature of a man before you.

“Come with me,” his deep voice invites, and you accept, taking his offered arm as if you were a princess at a ball.

---

He opens the enormous doors and steps aside for you to enter. The entire cottage (or really, more of a Viking longhouse, if such a thing were made cozy) was perfumed by a roiling fireplace, giving off a toasty, woody incense, like honeydust.

The stranger removes his hooded cloak and impressive crown. He smiles that same charming smile and runs a hand through his long hair, as black and shiny as raven feathers. It occurs to you that this regal being seems nervous, downright boyishly giddy, around you.

“Please. Make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing magnanimously to the plush velvet couches with their layers of warm furs and quilts. You nod and gladly obey, lulled and comforted by the heat as if sinking into a warm bath.

The giant returns with two warm mugs (one the size of a pot, and one of normal size) of something delicious and spicy-smelling, then settles beside you in the heat of the crackling fire.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for the cup and enjoying it's warmth against your palm. Finally, your rational brain kicks in and you ask, “Where...what is this place? I'm...dreaming?”

He laughs, a deep rich baritone chuckle, and you think it might be the most beautiful thing you've ever heard.

“In a sense.” The corners of his crimson eyes crinkle as he smiles and says, “Your body is asleep, yes. But I'm real...this place is real.”

“And...not to seem rude, but you are...?”

He finishes a sip quickly and politely dabs at his lips before speaking, “Oh yes, I suppose this form must be rather...exceptional...to you.”

You sigh and nod with a smile, relieved that he was the one to address the elephant (or rather, the frost giant) in the room. Meanwhile, Loki thinks that this shy smile must be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“I'm a frost giant...a Jotun. King of Jotunheim, actually...not to brag,” he says with a flirtatious wink.

He chatters on genially, careful not to give you time to ask his name. “I've brought you here because you deserve some kindness. You've taken in a creature quite sacred to us and cared for him diligently, asking nothing in return.”

You're about to speak but you're momentarily distracted by the beverage you've just sipped. It might be the most delicious thing you've ever tasted; sweet and rich and spicy. You make the rather absurd mental note to ask the King of Jotunheim for his mulled wine recipe. That thought alone makes you chuckle.

“What is it, darling?”

“It's just...all so strange and...wait, are you trying to tell me that my stray cat is a sacred creature?”

“Well, yes. All cats are. But that one is very special, in particular. Some day, you'll find out why.”

He sets his mug down with surprising dexterity, considering his size, and continues in a more somber tone. He takes both of your hands in his and scoots closer. He smells subtly of mint and pine, and his mere towering presence sitting beside you, curled around you, makes you feel safe, protected.

“I know that you are in need of some kindness, some hope, and I'm here to tell you there is good yet to come. There are splendid things yet to come. I know you're exhausted, sad, and frighted. It pains me to see it, but I know you're strong.

“I don't feel strong,” you admit, bowing your head toward you lap.

His long finger slides gently beneath your chin, lifting your face to meet his kind ruby eyes.

“Please, meet my gaze. It's a pity to hid that lovely face from my eyes.”

God, he's charming. Are all frost giants just oozing charm like this, or is it only their king?, you wonder, as your cheeks begin to burn brighter than the fireplace.

He wraps one strong arm around you and assures you, “Needing some kindness or help doesn't mean you are no longer strong. Everyone gets lost sometimes. Everyone stumbles and needs some tenderness occasionally.”

You give him a wry smile. “Even you, Your Highness? I find it hard to imagine that the world could make you feel small."

He laughs, then he kisses your hand in a gentlemanly gesture that has chills running down your spine; chills that have nothing to do with his slightly chilly skin.

“Even me,” he whispers as he strokes your cheek. The comforting touch melts you into his arms, into the comfort him, of this place, and you dare to put you head on his shoulder. He strokes your back and pulls a blanket more closely around you, then says lightly, “you know I'm actually a runt, for a Jotun. I often feel small. It's all a matter of perspective.” He breathes deeply and you feel the smooth waves where you rest against him. The sound and feeling join the crackle of the hearth in a sweet lullaby of sensation.

You close your eyes and whisper, “I wish I could just stay here.”

“Ah, but you can't, darling. I'm sorry. But you can visit. You must live your life because there is so much good yet to come. In the meantime, know that I'm your humble guardian, always.”

He sees the sorrow in your eyes and decides to ease it with humor. “Besides, who would feed the cat?”

You laugh, your face lights up, and it utterly melts him.

He moves in very gently and cradles your face as your eyes close in anticipation. Planting a light chilly kiss against your eager lips, he whispers, “Time to wake up, my dear.”

-----

You open your eyes to your lamp lit living room and sigh at the vivid memory of your lingering dream. As you stretch, the cat hops away from you with an indignant little chirp. How dare you remove his warm seat!

As a peace offering, you kiss his velvety head and scratch between his ears before rising to your feet. You know it was only a dream, but it's left you feeling better, more hopeful.

Silly, you think, silly brain...putting me on a date with the King of Jotunheim. At least it made me feel better, anyway, imagining some kind of magical guardian angel.

As you cross the room, still yawning, you stop in your tracks. Right before your eyes, the radiator softly tings and hisses into life, sending warm balmy air into the room after weeks of cold. You step nearer, gingerly, as if it might be possessed. How can it possibly be fixed?

On the coffee table beside it, There's a piece of rather fancy looking antique parchment with a delicate cursive skating across its surface. You hold it up to your face and read the title at the top.

Jotun Mulled Wine (courtesy of His Majesty)

A recipe...for mulled wine...from...

You feel the wheels of your mind trying desperately to gain traction and explain this, but you're interrupted by the cat, begging to be held again.

You oblige him, holding tightly to him like a security blanket. When his blue-green eyes meet yours, you finally say, “Well kitten, this is all pretty weird. I guess I found this earlier and forgot, but it sure did give me some wild dreams.”

As you walk to the kitchen, feline in tow, you say, “Christ, here I go, talking to the cat again.” You pause and smirk playfully to your companion, “Say, kitten...did you know that you're a sacred animal?

Well, obviously, Loki thinks, I'm a god.

You chuckle at his sassy mews as you cut carrots and begin to heat up a skillet.

“I love you, you cocky little jerk.”

I love you, too, pathetic little human.

@ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @primrosesposts @fruityfucker @arunabrak @mischief2sarawr @ladyofthestayingpower @acidcasualties @unlucky-number-13 @goblingirlsarah @gigglingtiggerv2 @queenofstarsign85 @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @marcotheflychair @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @little-wormwood @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @eleniblue @loz-3 @the-haven-of-fiction @sweetsigyn @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @holdmytesseract @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @sailorholly @coldnique @peaches1958 @infinitystoner @peachyjinx @mischiefmaker615 @jennyggggrrr @tripleyeeet @itsybitchylittlewitchy @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @madi0987 @buttercupcookies-blog @annoyingsweetsstranger @anukulee @aesonmae @salempoe @n3rdybirdee @litaloni

[samwisethewitch]

What Non-Pagans Need to Know About Fiction Featuring Pagan Gods

In light of Marvel's Loki show dropping a second season and a new Percy Jackson series on the horizon, I want to say some things about how fandom spaces can be respectful of real-life pagan religion.

Let's get one thing out of the way: literally no one is saying you can't enjoy fiction that uses pagan gods and heroes as characters. No one is saying, "Stop writing stories about our gods." In fact, many ancient cultures wrote fiction about their gods -- look at Greek theater or the Norse Eddas. The act of writing fiction about the gods is not offensive in itself.

But please remember that this is someone's religion.

The gods are not "just archetypes." Their myths are not "just stories." Their personalities are not a matter of artistic interpretation. For many pagans, the gods are very much real in a literal sense. I don't think Thor is a metaphor or a symbol -- for me, Thor is a real, autonomous spiritual being who exists outside of human perceptions of him, and who I have chosen to build a relationship with. Even if you are a hardcore atheist, I would hope you could at least be respectful of the fact that, to many modern pagans, the gods are both very real and very important.

When authors are not respectful of this fact, they reduce the gods, these very real objects of worship, to fictional characters. And here's the thing about fictional characters: they are fundamentally tools for authors to use to draw a desired emotional response from an audience.

Dracula's personality and behavior is wildly different depending on who is writing him, because different authors use Dracula to create different reactions in their audiences. In the 1931 film starring Bela Lugosi, he's equal parts alluring and disturbing, a symbol of America's mixed desire and disdain for foreigners. In Nosferatu, he's more strictly frightening and disgusting. In Francis Ford Coppola's movie, he's a tragic, romantic figure clinging to the last scraps of his humanity. In Netflix's Castlevania, he's an incredibly powerful being who has grown bitter and apathetic in his immortality. All of this is Dracula, and all of it is fine, because Dracula is not and never has been a central figure in anyone's religion.

Let's take a look at what happens when authors give this same treatment to real gods:

In Hellenic polytheism, Apollo is one of the most beloved gods, both historically and today. Apollo loves humanity, and humanity loves him back. He is the god of sunlight and of medicine, but also of poetry and song. He is one of humanity's most consistent defenders when one of the other gods gets wrathful. And while he does have dangerous or wrathful aspects of his own (he's also the god of disease, after all), he's also kind and soft with humanity in a way other gods often aren't, at least in some historic sources.

In the Lore Olympus comic series, Apollo is a villain. He's characterized as an abuser, a manipulator, and a violent man child. LO!Apollo is downright hateful, because the author wants us to hate him. Lore Olympus is a retelling of a myth about an abduction and forced marriage. Lore Olympus is also a romance. In order to get the audience to sympathize with Hades and root for his relationship with Persephone, Rachel Smythe needed to make someone else the villain. Apollo is the most obvious and extreme character assassination in Smythe's work, but several other gods (notably Demeter) also get the asshole makeover to tell the story Smythe wants to tell.

Here's where this becomes a problem: Hellenic polytheism is a fairly small religious community, while Lore Olympus is a massively popular webtoon with 1.3 billion views as of August 2023, print books available from major retailers, a TV adaptation in the works, and a very active online fandom. Rachel Smythe currently has a MUCH bigger platform than any Hellenic polytheism practitioner. Smythe and other authors are shaping how modern culture views the Hellenic gods, and that has a very real impact on their worshipers.

This means "Apollo is an abusive asshole" is becoming a popular take online, and is even creeping into pagan communities. I've personally seen people be harassed for worshiping Apollo because of it. I've seen new pagans and pagan-curious folks who totally misunderstand the roles Apollo, Hades, and Persephone play in the Hellenic pantheon because of Lore Olympus and other modern works of fiction.

There are tons of other examples of this in modern pop culture, but I'll just rattle off a few of the ones that annoy me most: Rick Riordan depicting Ares/Mars as a brutish asshole hyped up on toxic masculinity; Rick Riordan depicting Athena as a mother goddess; Marvel depicting Thor as a dumb jock; Marvel depicting Odin as a cold, uncaring father; DC depicting Ares as purely evil; whatever the fuck the Vikings TV show was trying to do with seidr; the list goes on.

All of these are examples of religious appropriation. Religious appropriation is when sacred symbols are taken out of their original religious context by outsiders, so that the original meaning is lost or changed. It requires a power imbalance -- the person taking the symbols is usually part of a dominant religious culture. In many cases, the person doing the appropriation has a much bigger platform than anyone who has the knowledge to correct them.

When Rick Rioridan or Rachel Smythe totally mischaracterizes a Greek god to tell a story, and then actual Hellenic pagans get harassed for worshiping that god, that's religious appropriation.

Religious appropriation is a real issue. This isn't just pagans being sensitive. To use an extreme example: Richard Wagner and other German Romantic authors in the 19th century used the Norse gods and other Germanic deities as symbols in their work, which was a major influence on Nazi philosophy. Without Wagner, the Nazis would not have latched onto the Norse gods as symbols of their white supremacist agenda. To this day, there are white supremacist groups who claim to worship our gods or who use our religious imagery in their hate movement. We are still reckoning with the misinterpretation of our gods popularized by Wagner and other German Romantics almost 200 years ago.

Again, no one is saying you can't enjoy fiction based on pagan mythology. But there are a few things you can do to help prevent religious appropriation in fandom spaces:

Above all else, be mindful that while this may just be a story to you, it is someone's religion.

Recognize that enjoying fiction based on our gods does not mean you know our gods. You know fictional characters with the same names as our gods, who may or may not be accurate to real-life worship.

Do not argue with or try to correct pagans when we talk about our experience of our gods.

Don't invalidate or belittle pagan worship. Again, this mostly comes down to recognizing that our religion is totally separate from your fandom. We aren't LARPing or playing pretend. Our sacred traditions are real and valid.

If you see other people in your fandom engaging in religious appropriation, point out what they are doing and why it isn't okay.

Please tag your fandom content appropriately on social media. Always tag the show, movie, book, etc. that a post is about in addition to other relevant tags. This allows pagans to block these fandom tags if we don't want to see them and prevents fandom content showing up in religious tags.

For example, if I'm posting about Athena from the Percy Jackson books, I would tag the post #athena #athenapjo #percyjackson #pjo. You get the idea.

And if fiction sparks your interest and you want to learn more about the actual worship of the gods, you can always ask! Most pagans love talking about our gods and trading book recs.

If you are writing fiction based on real mythology, talk to people who worship those gods. Ask them what a respectful portrayal would look like. If possible, include a note in your finished work reminding audiences that it is a work of fiction and not meant to accurately portray these gods.

[sacredfixation]

[headcanons] Mobius ‘tree husband update: hes still a tree.’ M mobius 1/2

A branch fell on him once and he deadass said ‘alright, babe, I get it, message received.’

If he ever gets a splinter, he just winces and whispers, ‘damn, babe, not so rough.’ Everyone around him wants to be dead.

Started carrying around a little notebook labeled “Field Guide to My Husband” where he sketches out particularly impressive trees. When asked about it, he says he’s “cataloging Lokis moods.”

Once dramatically pressed his hand against a tree and whispered, “Miss you, babe.” A family walked by. A child started crying.

Gets visibly upset when someone talks about “cutting down” problems. “You don’t cut things down. You let them grow. You nurture them. My husband would have said the same.”

He 100% starts a collection of random twigs and leaves he finds on his desk. Won’t throw them out. “Could be from him,” he says. It’s from a completely unrelated indoor plant.

He has started slipping tree metaphors into casual conversation. “Yeah, we’re all just growing at our own pace, y’know? Some of us are oaks, some of us are willows, some of us are-” B-15 leaves the room.

[venussaidso]

Loki Laufeyson has always been so Dhanistha-coded.

This nakshatra is ruled by Mars (Mangala), and Mangala is often painted riding on a ram. Interesting that Loki is depicted wearing a horn helmet in the MCU, the horns resembling that of a ram. A ram is often a metaphor for the power to overcome and achieve, which supports the Mars rulership over this nakshatra.

Dhanistha is ruled by the eight Vasus, who are elemental gods of abundance and prosperity. The name Dhanishta means "the most beneficent", or "the most famous". Celebration and greatness is associated with this nakshatra.

Old Loki is interestingly played by Dhanistha ASC Richard E. Grant, while Dhanistha Sun Tom Hiddleston plays the one we've always known.

It is said that natives under the influence of Dhanistha are prone to anger and mental disturbances, their ambition often leading to frustration and impatience. They may also be insecure due to their desire for validation and recognition.

[loki--fics]

stardust - part two

loki × reader

content warnings: cancer, illness, strong language

word count: 1,196

A week had passed since Loki's arrival at the tower and you'd scarecely seen him, save for fleeting glimpses in the hall; usually with a stack of books cradled in against his chest like they were sacred relics. Always moving, always silent, like a shadow with sharp cheekbones.

You hadn't thought much of him, until today.

The library was quiet, the scent of aged parchment, wood polish, and ink hanging in the hair, warm and comforting. It wrapped around you like a blanket as you stepped inside, the quiet hush of the room welcoming you like an old friend. The shelves towered a few feet taller than you, lined with worn and well-loved spines and fading titles, the stories humming softly from the dark wood as if waiting just for you.

You moved slowly through the paths between shelves, each step deliberate, shoulders heavy with fatigue, the soft hiss of your oxygen tank a quiet counterpoint to the stillness. Your fingers brushed the edge of a nearby shelf in passing, tracing the grooves like braille - a ritual, almost. A reminder that you were still here, still breathing; still capable of something.

After your diagnosis, the battlefield had been stolen from you - no more late-night missions, no more adrenaline-laced victories. The world outside had become a place of risk, a place your fragile lungs and trembling hands couldn't follow, so you turned to stories; imagined worlds where the air was always clean and the heroines were always strong.

You devoured books like lifelines - tales of magic, rebellion, freedom. You lived vicariously through the characters in the pages; climbed mountains with them, faced down dragons, fell in love. The ink became your armour, the words your war cry, and the library... Your last battlefield.

It was supposed to be your place, your quiet sanctuary; which is why, when you rounded the corner to find someone already sitting in the bay window bench seat overlooking the city that you'd claimed as yours, your heart dropped. Because it wasn't just anyone-

It was Loki.

His long frame was folded neatly into the corner of the bench, one leg tucked beneath him, the book you had begun reading yesterday - The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury - balanced in one elegant hand. His coat was draped over the side of the bench, the early evening sun slanting through the high windows, gilding the sharp planes of his face in molten amber.

He looked... Peaceful. Not wide-eyed or vicious like in New York, when he'd released the Chitauri hell-bent on ruling in the aftermath of the devastation, not unhinged, or hungry for destruction, just... Calm. Serene, even.

Your first instinct was to leave, but no - that was your spot, had been long before he'd slithered into the tower with his cryptic glances and unreadable silences.

Besides, the seat was plenty big enough for two.

You plucked a different book from the shelf - a slim volume Rilke's poetry, and positioned yourself on the other end of the bench, leaving a gap between the two of you. Loki didn't move, didn't speak; he just kept reading, his eyes scanning the pages at an almost inhuman pace.

You opened the book, eyes skimming the pages but not reading the words, not really; you stole glances at Loki instead. At the severe lines of his nose, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, how absurdly normal he looked.

"How very mortal of you," Loki murmured suddenly, breaking the silence without looking up. "Rilke. Melancholy drenched in metaphor."

You blinked, caught. "I didn't realize poetry was beneath gods."

He glanced at you then, and one corner of his mouth twitched. "I never said that."

Silence settled again. You turned another page, not knowing what it said, pondering about the man next to you. If you hadn't known better - hadn't lived through it, hadn't seen it with your own eyes - you might have thought he was someone else entirely. Sitting beside you now, bathed in the dying golden light of the evening, with a book resting in his nimble hands and a furrow of quiet thought across his brow... He looked almost peaceful. Human, even; like he belonged to this moment - like he wasn't the same man who had once brought cities to their knees with fire in his veins and madness in his eyes.

You remembered that version of him vividly - sharp and wild, his face twisted with something unnameable, shouting down from a balcony like darkness made flesh. He'd looked untouchable then, raging and laughing and desperate for something none of you had understood.

But now? Now he was turning the pages of his book as if he'd never conjured a blade in his life. His fingers - long, elegant, and pale - looked more suited to poetry than destruction. There was no sneer on his lips, no hunger for chaos in his eyes, just... Focus. Thought. A shadow of stillness you hadn't expected from a man like him.

How different he looked without the crown, the armour, the bloodstained ambition.

"You're staring."

You blinked, not flinching, not denying it. "I suppose I was."

He looked up at that, slowly. A brow arched, a flicker of something sharper in his gaze - mockery, maybe, or defense. "Why? Am I sprouting a second head, or are you just cataloguing my flaws for later judgement?"

You exhaled, low and tired. "I was just thinking, about the last time I saw you," You admitted. "Back in New York, then Germany. You looked... Different."

"Let me guess," He drawled, snapping his book shut with a soft snap. "Wide-eyed and bloodthirsty? Evil, dripping in villainy? A monster like that which haunts the dreams of young children?"

Your head shifted slightly to the side. "No," You replied. "You looked miserable. Angry, yes, but more than that. Like you were screaming and no one could hear you."

Loki paused, the corners of his mouth tightening. A brief flicker of discomfort passed his eyes so quickly it could have been imagined. His spine went stiff, like your words had struck something buried deep and raw. He scoffed, but the sound lacked its usual venom. "Please. Spare me your psychoanalysis, 'mortal'. You know nothing of me."

"Maybe not," You said, still gazing at him softly. "But I know what it's like to feel alone in a room full of people. To be angry all the time and not know where to put it. To be afraid and think you have to hide it behind teeth."

That hit something.

He didn't answer, just turned his gaze sharply back to the unopened book in his lap, jaw tense. And though he'd said nothing, you could tell you'd said too much. Touched something too close to the bone.

Loki shifted slightly, positioning himself further away from you on the bench, just enough to make a point. You didn't press, just turned your gaze out the window at the view ninety stories below you.

Silence settled over the two of you once more, but it wasn't the same as before; it was heavier, laden with words unspoken.

next chapter

author's note: i hope everyone is enjoying so far, kept this one a bit short because there's gonna be some drama in the next part!

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, sexual assault, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 3]

(Chapter 68)

Stars in the Dark

Later that night, back in her apartment—though not by any ordinary means—they landed with a soft crack of displaced air, the world reassembling around them in a pulse of red and green light. Her magic shimmered faintly, briefly illuminating the space like a heartbeat, before settling.

Y/N stumbled slightly as her boots touched the hardwood floor, disoriented from the jump. Loki caught her easily, a hand sliding around her waist, steady and warm.

“I told you,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear, “you’re getting far too good at that.”

She laughed quietly, breathless but thrilled, her pulse still echoing the aftershock of the spell. She turned away only long enough to check the wards—layered thickly now, glimmering against every window and door. She was thorough, especially with the looming threat of one overly protective super soldier currently asleep two floors down.

“Steve would kill us if he knew you were here,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at him, the corners of her lips tugging upward despite the warning.

“Like… not metaphorically. Actual murder.”

Loki raised an elegant brow, clearly unimpressed by the threat. “I’ve faced death at the hands of far more terrifying things than your brother.”

She snorted. “Have you met Steve when he’s angry?”

He opened his mouth to reply—but she never gave him the chance.

The last of the silence charm settled over the apartment with a soft pulse, and before the sound could even finish fading, Loki’s lips were on hers.

This kiss was different than the others. Slower, yes—but there was weight in it. Purpose. His hands slipped to her waist, fingertips pressing firmly as if grounding himself in her presence. He moved forward, guiding her step by step until her back met the wall, cool and grounding beneath her.

“You have no idea,” he murmured between kisses, voice low and rough, “how long I’ve waited for this.”

She pulled back slightly, breathless, arching a brow. “We literally did this last night.”

He groaned softly, letting his lips trail down to her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear. “And it has been an excruciating eternity since.”

Y/N giggled, her fingers threading through the soft waves of his hair. She tugged gently, making him look at her. His eyes, sharp and sea-storm green, burned with something that made her knees go weak.

“You’re such a drama queen,” she teased.

“Wrong,” he whispered, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’m the drama king.”

With a laugh that melted into a sigh, she kissed him again—deeper, needier. And just like that, the space between them vanished.

He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, her arms locking around his shoulders. They moved together, fluid and silent, past familiar furniture and into shadowed doorways, navigating the dark like a secret. Her back hit the wall outside her bedroom, and she gasped against his mouth as his hips pressed into hers, every point of contact electric.

His hands roamed lower, slow and deliberate, memorizing her shape, her warmth, her rhythm. He kissed her like she was air after drowning—like this moment had been aching in his bones for centuries.

“Gods,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers. “You undo me.”

She didn’t answer with words.

She only reached for the door behind her, pushing it open, and guided them both inside.

He laid her down like she was something sacred, something rare, something he couldn’t believe belonged to him. The sheets were cool, the moonlight soft, and the heat between them undeniable. Clothes fell away in silence, discarded like forgotten armor, until there was nothing left between them but breath and touch.

Every movement was careful. Worshipful. His hands were reverent as they explored her, tracing constellations along her skin. Her nails dug lightly into his shoulders as he kissed his way down her body, savoring every inch like a man starved. She arched into him, soft sounds escaping her lips, her eyes never leaving his.

This wasn’t just desire—it was devotion.

They didn’t rush. They didn’t need to.

Time slowed, stilled, unraveled around them like thread from the loom of the Norns themselves. The magic in the air shimmered gold at the edges, reacting to their closeness, the merging of energies, bodies, souls.

When he finally joined her, it was slow. Gentle. A sigh more than a gasp. And in that moment, it wasn’t just about passion—it was about coming home.

Their movements built gradually, until the tension was almost unbearable—each of them giving, each of them taking, wrapped in whispers and moans muffled against each other’s skin. The stars turned outside. The world spun on. But inside the room, there was only them.

Later, tangled together in sheets and shadows, the glow of magic finally ebbed to something softer. Their skin was flushed, their breaths slow and synced, their hearts still racing from the echo of what had passed between them.

Loki lay with one arm draped across her waist, their bare bodies warm against the cool night air. She was tucked beneath his chin, one hand resting over his heart, the rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm against her cheek.

They watched the window in silence. The sky outside was dark, the stars distant.

“Want to see them properly?” he asked, his voice low, husky with sleep and something more tender.

She tilted her head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He smirked, raising a hand lazily, drawing a simple circle in the air.

Reality shimmered. The walls around them darkened into velvet black, and above them, the ceiling dissolved—replaced by the infinite sprawl of the cosmos. Planets spun slowly. Comets traced silver lines. Galaxies bloomed like flowers in the void.

She sat up slightly, eyes wide. “You recreated the night sky?”

“Not recreated,” he murmured, propping himself up on an elbow. “This is what it looks like right now—from just beyond your moon.”

She stared at him, wonder softening every line of her face. “You did this… for me?”

Loki smiled, something fond and proud dancing in his eyes. “Of course I did.”

He pointed toward a softly glowing orb on the far left. “That one is Vanaheim,” he said. “And over there—that’s Andlang, realm of the honored dead. And that—” he gestured to a swirl of glittering blue—“that’s a system you’d love. It rains diamond shards there.”

She stared up in awe, the light painting her skin, her hair, like stardust. She hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t dared to hope she’d feel this way again—safe, adored, full.

But here he was.

And here she was.

Even if it had to remain hidden. Even if tomorrow meant walking past Steve with a perfectly neutral expression and pretending nothing had changed.

Because everything had.

And she wouldn’t take it back for the world.

Not for anything.

[honestlyboringperson]

Persona 5 AU anyone? No? Just me? That’s fine.

Anyways, welcome to an AU that’s been bouncing around my head for nearly a year now! It was inspired by @/chrisrin’s take on the MCYT x Persona series as well as @/scruffyturtle’s ACAU! Go check ‘em out!

Team B.E.S.T.

The Scottage + Gem

Fairy Fort

Magical Mountain + Cub

More Information is under the cut!

Grian - “Ace” - The Sun Arcana - Lafayette/Eris

Grian is a college student working for a degree in architecture. He lives with in roommate Mumbo and does journalling and photography as a hobby. For some odd reason however, he can’t seem to remember anything about his past beyond simply going to college, doing a part time job, and spending time with his cousin and friends. This is because Grian isn’t really human. In this AU, the Watchers take the role of Yaldaboath, and created Grian to begin the mental shutdown cases to scare people into looking for someone to look towards. In this case, The Watcher Cult (Called the Pupils) for the Watchers to take control. During his creation, false memories were implanted in certain people in the Pupils for Grian to more seamlessly appear. But unbeknownst to them, the Velvet Room interfered and erased Grian’s memories of his purpose.

Anyways, onto the personas, Grian’s persona is Lafayette, a key figure in the American Revolutionary War and the French Revolution. In both wars, he was known to lead his armies in decisive battles of the war to secure their victory. Even today, he’s celebrated as a hero in both France and in the US. This fits in with canon Grian’s habit of rebelling against any governmental entity that’s in the Hermitcraft server (although he is currently the government) l

His Ultimate persona is Eris, the Greek goddess of chaos and strife. She was the instigator of the Trojan war, where she threw at apple at Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena. She stated that it was for the “fairest goddess” and one thing led to another, and several kingdoms are now at war with each other. Wow, starting a war for shits and giggles? That sounds like Grian!

Jimmy - “Sheriff” - The Fool Arcana - Black Bart/Baldr

Grian’s cousin and charmingly unlucky, Jimmy is often the target of teasing. He’s the one to egg Grian on to actually go to class instead of just doing the online assignments. He’s personally seeking a degree in education, and is a stickler for the rules he agrees with. Unbeknownst to him, he was a victim of the Pupils and one of the people that had false memories implanted in him. He’s extremely excited about being a phantom thief, but his joyous excitement will be tested through the story.

His Persona is Black Bart, an American Outlaw who is known for the poetic messages he left behind after two of his stagecoach robberies. He is considered a gentleman bandit with a flair for style and sophistication. He brandished a shotgun, but was noted to never fire it during his robberies. He was famed to the point there is an annual parade in Redwood Valley, California where there is a Black Bart Parade where he is played and portrayed as a stereotypical Old West Villain.

Anyways, Baldr is Jimmy’s Ultimate Persona. Baldr is a Norse god, and was well loved by everyone in the Aesir. He had a prophetic dream where everything is destroyed and gets terrified. His mother then makes everything in existence to personally promise her they won’t hurt him, rendering him near indestructible. But there was one thing that didn’t promise his mother; mistletoe. Loki kills Baldr when the other gods made a game where they throw countless weapons at the newly indestructible Baldr where he throws a spear made of mistletoe at him. He was the metaphorical “canary in the mine” due to his death being the first domino that trigger Ragnarok. Baldr only returns from the dead after Ragnarok throughly destroys everything.

Impulse - “Rook” - The Hierophant Arcana - Wayland/Hephaestus

Impulse owns a small prop weapons company where he forges and creates prop weapons in his own garage. He is coined the “dad” of the group, but would let a stupid scheme play out if he thinks it’s going to be funny. Unknown to anyone but his close friends (Skizz, Gem, and Pearl), but Impulse has a criminal record. He once worked under the one of the biggest mafia families in the country, and he was caught by the police after his teammates from the mafia abandoned him and used him to distract the cops. Ever since then, Impulse has been secretly trying to locate his former teammates to enact revenge on them.

Wayland is Impulse’s persona. Wayland was a blacksmith who was enslaved under a king. He had revenge on the king by killing both his sons and built wings to escape the king. Afterwards, he supplied weapons to several other people in myths and stories such as Charlemagne and his paladin as well as Beowulf as their weapons maker. Impulse is an advocate for burying the hatchet after using the hatchet to brutally destroy those who wronged him.

Impulse’s Ultimate Persona is Hephaestus, the Greek god of the forge and blacksmiths. After being thrown off Mount Olympus, he swore revenge on Hera. He enacted said revenge by trapping her on top of a golden throne that made her unable to get up. Not only in this story, but also in tales such as Aphrodite’s affair, he is noted to be very vengeful and will not yield unless his demands are reached.

Martyn - “Knave” - The Judgement Arcana - Atlantis/Judas

Martyn is a stagehand in the local theatre known for his friendly and amiable demeanour. However, under that cheery demeanour is a burning desire for revenge. Martyn’s parents were devout worshippers of the Watchers and worked under the Pupils. He was subjected to several grievances due to his parents volunteering him for the Pupil’s experiments and abuses. Ever since he’s escaped, he has focused on destroying the cult. He’s been working as a grey hat hacker to clients with varying levels of morality to get money and further his research on the cult.

Martyn is the navigator of the team with his persona Atlantis. Atlantis was a city that was sunk beneath the sea for being too greedy. It was noted to possess technology that surpassed the technology of times and even to this day, it’s still being searched for. The people were of divine descent, and lost their humility as they became more human after each generation.

Martyn’s ultimate persona is Judas. Judas was one of the original disciples for the Big J, and sold out him out for 30 pieces of silver. Martyn’s story in this AU revolves around his grudge against the Pupils and the Watchers, so his persona is someone who betrayed a religious figurehead.

Mumbo - “Vamp” - The Hermit Arcana - Galileo/Thoth

Mumbo is Grian’s roommate and a self proclaimed “spoon”. He is working towards a degree in Computer Science and is often found tinkering with old technology in his room, often to the point him and Grian step on loose screws and pieces of plastic on a weekly basis. Much like Jimmy, he had false memories of Grian implanted in him, which would come into conflict when the origins of Grian is revealed. This was because the main reason he joined the Phantom Thieves was out of concern for Grian. According to him, the day he turned 18 is when his signature moustache just grew spontaneously.

Mumbo’s persona is Galileo, the father of modern science and the scientific method. His studies were considered blasphemous against the church and he was sentenced to house arrest. Even though he was imprisoned, he still had faith in his discoveries and continued his studies within the confines of his house,

His Ultimate Persona is Thoth, the Egyptian God of the moon, wisdom, knowledge, writing, hieroglyphs, and judgement. He’s associated with Hermes and due to the connection, created the epithet Trismegestus. He is someone who solves his issues with diplomacy and reason instead of pure power and strength.

[izunias-meme-hole]

My Favorite Top 10 Marvel Villains

Number 10. Galactus - Galactus is not really complex as a character, but as a cosmic force of nature he is interesting. He devours worlds, though it is entirely out of necessity rather than genuine malice, like a predator hunting its prey. Overall he's pretty damn simply, but the cosmic horror elements of his existence compels him to me.

Number 9. The Green Goblin - Norman Osborn has underwent some insane villain decay in recent days, but if there's one thing that I cannot deny it's that The Goblin left behind one helluva legacy. It doesn't matter if it's Norman being alive and active, Harry in his stead, or some other successor, the Goblin is undeniably iconic.

Number 8. Doctor Octopus - Doc Ock as a villain is the perfect foil to Peter Parker. He's an old and bitter genius that takes after an eight legged creature who wholeheartedly believes that great power should be used to dominate others. Unlike the Goblin who works better as a legacy villain, Doc Ock as a character is the perfect nemesis for Peter because of how similar and different they are to one another. That and he's never really had a truly asinine adaptation.

Number 7. Venom - Despite having much rougher outings, Venom is my personal favorite Spider-Man villain. Even though Doc Ock and The Goblin have their strong suits, Venom as a villain is both extremely personal and honest to god infinitely more fun. Not only was this entity the Spider-Man's Black Suit, they're also something of a metaphor for medication and addiction. That and if I'm being honest, I love how they were just a jealous showing off their new boyfriend. Overall though, no matter the host, Venom as a villain is simply a delightful menace.

Number 6. Thanos - Thanos loves death. Both in a literal sense and a metaphorical sense. In the comics he quite literally is in love with the physical manifestation of death itself, but on a psychological level... it's deeper than that. Thanos sees death as the great equalizer, the ultimate solution to the ultimate problem and that problem is life. However he does have some nuances, showing that despite being a complete and utter bastard he's not as detached as he wants to be. Hell he even settled down to be a farmer for a short amount of time in the comics, and in the MCU he basically planed to retire after wiping out 50% of the universe. Ultimately, Thanos as a villain is a troubled creature who wants to become a reaper, a man who wants to stand among the gods and look upon his bloody work as the sun sets. However what carries him this far onto the list, is simply the fact that a figure like him still manages to fit within the absurdity that is inherent to these comics.

Number 5. Loki - Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Larry Leibber making the norse God of Mischief, the Poetic Edda's best figure, a supervillain... wasn't a bad idea. The result of that however was a wannabe king in a silly little outfit with devil horns who also happens to be Odin's adoptive child and the brother of Thor. This is inaccurate as hell and shouldn't work, yet it somehow does. He's a delightful trickster at every turn with a lot of gears consistently turning in his head, and it's wonderful. While he's kinda dead in the comics and his (in)famous run in the MCU ended on a surprisingly high note, he's still a fun character.

Number 4. Ultron - What do you get when you make an A.I with the brainwaves of an already mentally ill and insecure man? You get a completely deranged monster. Ultron presents himself as a logical and cold-hearted machine, driven entirely by reasoning that is as solid as steel. In reality though, he's a psychopath with daddy issues, an oedipus complex, and a god complex to top it all off! He's a walking contradiction and it makes perfect sense because his mind is modeled after an extremely flawed genius. In short, Ultron is a terrifying megalomaniac who serves as a darker reflection of his creator.

Number 3. Kingpin - There's a reason why this guy is Marvel's Kingpin of Crime. Wilson Fisk is every single mafioso caricature wrapped up into a single man. He's as tall as he is wide, he's never seen without a cane or a cigar, he's always dressed in a fancy white suit, he's completely bald, and he puts up a gentlemanly facade to hide how much of a brute he can be. This man is inherently comical for multiple reasons, yet that never stops him from being played so completely straight that it loops back to being as terrifying as it is realistic. Fisk is not just another thug, he is the perfect blend of brains, brawn, and influence.

Number 2. Magneto - Magneto is basically one of the most famous examples of a "Knight Templar" in fiction, a self-righteous figure fighting for a crusade that he deems noble at any cost. As for why he feels the need to do this? He's a holocaust survivor, it's as simple as that. The comics are the legit only piece of media that go into deeper details about Magneto's life in the concentration camps and the aftermath of that hell which only led into more hell, but that's the basic gist of what makes him tick. Magneto's lived in a world where millions of people got killed because of state approval, and he's terrified of it happening again.

Number 1. Doctor Doom - To the surprise of absolutely nobody... allow me to repeat what I'll aways repeat. I've always respected this man, but I've never been super crazy about him. His animated and game adaptations are great but not perfect, and the movies so far have failed to get his character across in a great way, so that might've been a part of why I wasn't a Doom Superfan. Though after getting back into the absurdity and impactfulslness of superhero comics, it soon hit me... Doctor Doom is a villain made for comics. He's overdramatic, grandiose, terrifying, bombastic, egotistical, pragmatic, powerful, absurd, nuanced, insecure, lonely, the whole package placed within a suit of armor and a green cloak. He's an arrogant, tyrannical, cold hearted technological and magical genius who embodies every inch of supervillainy you could imagine, while remaining a genuinely sophisticated, and semi-honorable figure even with his history of pettiness. Overall Doom is just one big magnificent bastard.

[superficialdomina]

Pain (Into Submission, Part 2)

Series masterlist

Note: This part is a continuation of Part 1, Vulnerable. If you haven't read it, may I suggest you start there? Big thank you to @acidcasualties for reading, suggesting, encouraging and just generally being spectacular.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: 18+; minors DNI. Implied smut, much angst. Awkward conversation and tortured metaphors. Loki's a bit upset.

Loki was avoiding you.

Since that night in the basement chamber, when you had held him as he caught his breath, and the light in the chamber turned from warm torchlight to the stone grey of dawn, he’d carefully managed to deflect your gaze – your presence, even, on multiple occasions. You sighed inwardly as you glimpsed the edge of his booted foot disappearing around the corner ahead of you. Again.

The memory of him vulnerable and naked on the cold floor remained rich and vivid in your mind. Images of him splayed before you – remembered and imagined – had been a source of much solo entertainment under your sheets in recent nights. Was there anything more deliciously seductive? Beautiful, powerful, dangerous… kneeling.

The two of you had had few interactions since. Briefings, meetings, public interludes that blurred and obscured your newly exposed power dynamic. It was difficult to read him. Superficially, he was as haughty as always; obnoxious and glib, his expression disdainful, his proud chin lifted arrogantly as he argued with the others over petty, trivial matters.

But there were tells. His eyes following you across a crowded room. His tongue nervously wetting an already moistened lower lip as you spoke. And once, that contemptuous laugh breaking off a fraction too early when your gaze fell upon him, his expression quickly and inexplicably contrite.

You frowned slightly at that memory, pressing your lips together as you felt a rush of frustration and lust. He had been avoiding you. It was mildly irritating, though not surprising; you had not expected his submission to be complete after a single orgasm in your hands. Fear, shame, ego - whatever their personal reasons, capitulation was rarely so easy, even in the weak ones. And if you could be certain of one thing, it was that this beautiful God was going to fight it. 

It would make his eventual – inevitable – acceptance all the more delightful. 

This morning was another irksome example. The team were congregating in one of the smaller conference rooms with general agitation, to “await further instruction” from Rogers. The tight space forced Loki to squeeze by you – to your utter delight, and his patent discomfort.

Less than a week ago, you thought wryly, you would have relished the chance to brush by my thigh. Gone out of his way for the opportunity, even. Pathetic little God. The idea was oddly emotive.

"Good morning, prince", you murmured as he passed, emphasising the lowercase "p" on the last word, weighting it with a subtle mockery that only you and he would notice. His eyes widened at your little neg, and you imagined him swelling in his too-tight trousers as you reminded him of his place. Did he want to fall at your feet then and there in the briefing room? Kiss your boot as you roughly twisted his perfect raven curls in your fingers? The God of Mischief might not quite be ready for such a public display of devotion. 

Rogers droned on, and your concentration drifted.

Loki leaned in carefully orchestrated nonchalance against the window, his face set in his trademark smirk. From this vantage, you had an uninterrupted view of his full profile. He did cut a menacing figure, contrived though you were certain it was; long, lean legs rising up to meet slender hips and narrow waist, all sluttishly wrapped in black and green leather that dully reflected the morning sunlight. His broad shoulders rolled back regally, and you could clearly see the outline of his shoulder blades flexing gently with each breath.

Fuck. Pay attention.

You had been watching him more closely since that night in the chamber; knowledge was power, after all, and you had to find it where you could. He was so tactile - the way he traced invisible patterns on the backs of his hands when he was nervous; caught the condensation from the side of his glass and absentmindedly rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger as Steve repeated himself “for those in the back”. You followed his fingertips now as he distractedly drummed them across his leather-clad thigh, imagining them pressing into your flesh as he came undone beneath you. Gods, you needed to stop torturing yourself.

His hair was swept back into a low, tousled bun at the nape of his neck, exposing the soft skin there. Was there still the hint of a bruise where you had nipped his skin? Could he still feel where you had kissed him wetly across his magnificent jaw? As you watched his face, the corner of his mouth twitched up into the briefest smirk, and you felt another jolt of unexpected emotion. I miss him, you realised sadly.

The room broke abruptly, and you were suddenly aware that you hadn’t been listening for several minutes. You shot a quick look at Nat – had you missed anything crucial? Training, 3pm, she mouthed knowingly, and you nodded once in acknowledgement and appreciation. You probably deserved the eye-roll she gave you.

As the room emptied, you glanced at Stark’s fancy translucent wall clock and made a decision. 3pm gave you time to have a little chat with a certain Norse God.

It took several minutes for him to answer your knock, and you wondered briefly if he had been tempted to ignore you.

When he did throw his door open, he wore his usual air of regal arrogance; chin still lifted, shoulders thrown back. But you could feel his awkwardness – his movements seemed mechanical, his breathing a little rapid, his elbows held too close to his body to be entirely natural. He’s nervous, you thought with a thrill.

“Yes, Agent?” His polite words dripped with acid.

“Loki.” His face remained impassive, but he moved back just enough to let you step lightly into the room; his wordless acquiescence made your pulse quicken.

His chambers were richly and elegantly furnished, but dark and secretive. In the quick glimpse you had, you saw him reflected in every detail; from the furs lining the floor like area rugs (was that a polar bear?), to the Nordic relics and symbols adorning every wall. It was unexpectedly sensual.

Loki haughtily cleared his throat, and you resisted the impulse to slap him squarely across the jaw. His perfect, condescending jaw, you thought longingly.

Instead, you opted for candour with a side of hubris. “Why are you avoiding me, Loki?”

He scoffed imperiously. “I am not.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve made leaving a room as I enter it into an elite sport,” you insisted. “Why? Are you ashamed?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, angry, his carefully curated indifference now askew. “I have simply moved on to… other matters of interest.”

“You’re ghosting me?” You raised your eyebrows mildly, a smile curling your mouth. “That seems unlikely. I thought we had a nice time.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched, his legendary silver tongue momentarily caught by his growing and uncharacteristic rage. “That’s not – it is not a matter of -” Loki blustered meaninglessly, and you watched insult and fear battle to own the bitterness that swept across his face. With some effort, he collected himself, settling on a mask of seething outrage. “What do you want?”

“I have a proposition. A repeat of our previous tryst, and – hopefully – much more than that.”

He raised his voice – something you rarely heard him do. “I have neither time nor inclination-”

“Loki,” you admonished gently, “we both know that isn’t true. You can pretend it didn’t happen. You can deny how much you enjoyed coming undone in my hands, blindfolded and exposed.” You took a chance at stepping closer to him, reaching out to gently trace your hand up his outer thigh. “But I know what you felt.”

He didn’t move away, but his lips parted in a snarl that bared his perfectly white teeth. “You know nothing, Agent.” He had regained control of his volume, and his words were now menacingly low. “I am a Prince of Asgard,” he hissed. “I am a literal God. Why would I have any interest in what you are suggesting? This proposal,” his lips popped at the word, “is ludicrous and insulting.” He glared down at you, your hand paused at his beautifully curved hip, his chest so close to your face that you could feel it rise and fall. Desire thrummed between your thighs at his proximity.

“Is it?” You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze and reaching for the ascendancy and authority you knew you had, filling yourself with the memory of him vulnerable and naked and sobbing at your feet. “Surely what I can offer you is infinitely preferable to the deftly crafted pain you’re currently stewing in.”

He remained silent, but you imagined you saw the briefest glimmer of surprise dance across his face. What was it that you had said?

Pain.

Cogs whirred in your head. Loki had had plenty of experience with pain. Did he need it? Did he seek it? My sweet little masochist, you thought with a smile.

“You know, humans – and human-like Gods, I suppose – are the only animals that actively seek out pain?” you ventured tentatively. “You can’t train a mouse, for example, to enjoy spicy foods, or to find pleasure in intense exercise.” You continued to trail your hand up the side of his torso, fingers drifting over his sculpted obliques like a beautiful instrument. “Is that what you want, Loki? Does pain make you feel… alive?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “What could you possibly know of pain, Agent?” he hissed. “I have felt pain that you could not imagine; pain that would hurt you just to think about.”

You hesitated, unsure if you were going too far. "Are you sure you're not conflating pain with fear?” He raised his chin defiantly, but you continued quickly. “There’s a correlation between the anticipation of pain, and the intensity with which it is felt. That is, fear of pain is often a far more noxious experience than the stimuli of pain itself.”

He sneered down at you over his long, straight nose. “What exactly are you trying to say, Agent?”

“Only that physical pain doesn't have to come from physical violence.” You paused, willing him to catch up. “You might find pain without fear to be… enjoyable. Exquisite, even.”

“I…” Whatever he was going to say trailed off into the air behind you. You saw the muscle in his jaw quiver as he swallowed nervously.

“I know your feelings about it confuse you." You lowered your voice until it was almost a whisper. "Why would anyone – let alone the great Loki, God of Mischief, future King – why would you want to feel pain? But you do, don’t you? You need it, and you are consumed by shame because of it.” You reached up to stroke his cheek, but this time he turned his head away, eyes closed.

I’m missing something, you thought. There was a wound here… Maybe even one that you could heal. If I could just find it…

And it came to you in a rush that left you giddy. The thing he needed - the onlything Loki had ever needed.

“I am offering you a chance at authenticity, Loki; something that I hazard you’ve not had much opportunity for in your long, if somewhat apocryphal, life. I am offering you a place to belong.”

At your last word, Loki took an unsteady step backwards. His rage evaporated as quickly as it had surfaced; only desperation and sadness remained writ across his face, and you realised with some trepidation that it had been several minutes since he had spoken. You wanted to wrap him in your arms, caress him, hold him until all his fear and shame had been shed like blood.

Not yet.

When he did eventually speak, his voice was composed. “I think you should leave, Agent,” he said coolly, drawing himself up again to his full height, masking his softness once more in leather and steel.

You paused for a fraction of a second, then nodded, letting your hands fall and stepping back from him. Did I reach him? His door snapped closed behind you with a resounding click. I guess we’ll see.

Continued in Part 3: Lost

Tagging some folks who enjoyed part 1. No hard feelings if you'd rather be removed!

@lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @infinitystoner @lady-rose-moon @coldnique @thomase1 @kats72 @vickie5446 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @tomlugirl @lokisninerealms @missmushroomsstuff @ladyloki3 @fandxmslxt69 @sinsandguilt @sarahscribbles @lunarnights95 @meowmeow-motherfucker @simplyholl @divine-knight-hand