#theres not enough scary fresh content

[elliebell77]

you caught him with his glasses off

[literaila]

always, kitchen floor

loki x gn! reader 

summary/request: reader is tony’s sibing, they’ve had a fight with him. loki just happens to be there... and again, a while later. 

content warning: alcohol, fighting, sibling things, murder. 

*

so you weren’t expecting the crash.

so you weren’t exactly the picture of grace on the floor.

so you weren’t supposed to be in here.

it’s not like he knew that. but what he did know was that as soon as he bashed into the room, you were falling towards the floor.

the small chuckle you could hear from behind the cabinet did not soothe any anger you were feeling. it was just digging itself a deeper hole in your chest, just making itself a home while whoever had scared you laughed along. it might’ve made you angrier.

“it’s alright,” an unrecognizable voice said, low and sour. someone was moving around. you didn’t even attempt to get up off the floor. you didn't care. 

“i’ve been told i have that effect,”

an audible sigh from you made the movement stop.

you closed your eyes, rapped your head against the floor softly. this was only one of the many things you couldn't deal with right now. a human interaction, a conversation. an effort. maybe you’d drunk a bit too much, maybe this was a dream.

you really didn’t want to get up. you were hoping for a hallucination. anything non-real.

“do i know you?” you croak out instead of crying. at least, if you’re going to die, you’ll get to know who killed you. at least, if you have to do this now, you can call the bastard by their name. 

“probably,” the voice sings out. perfect.

probably.

you stop your head, squeeze your eyes until they sting. you’re not sure why you’re not supposed to be in here again, but maybe it has something to do with this.

meeting perfect strangers you probably know.

“do you have a name?” you croak— again —your patience gone from every trace of your body. your effort extinguished from the fire that is building in your chest. the fire that's been there a while. 

“the god of mischief.”

you sit up. only a little. just enough to lean your head towards the voice.

it’s not like you were expecting that response.

“excuse me?” you say in your half-deflated, half surprised voice. your neck is straining from the glance you’re trying to get at the voice, but you keep attempting to lift your head

the footsteps start again, and it’s only a moment before the person comes into view.

before you see them, you hear the bells ringing in your head. this isn’t your house, this isn’t their house. you don’t know this person, and you’re acting completely sane.

it’s honestly not that bad of a situation.

it only takes one more pinch of your ligaments for your eyes to meet their face.

for your brain to touch them with all the memories you have.

probably.

yeah, well, probably was right.

maybe you’re starstruck for a moment, maybe your eyes widen, and maybe you’re staring at this giant person in front of you for way too long.

it doesn’t matter, because in what seems like a second to you, you lay back down. close your eyes.

“i’ve seen you on the news,” you say, a nonchalant mention, a passing sentence.

you were wrong, then. an alien interaction. 

the god of mischief— actually, if the news anchor from earlier had anything to say about it —is standing right next to you. right next to your practically dead body, and you don’t move an inch.

you’re sure you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t check. who cares, anyway? hes going to kill you soon. 

“have you?” he asks, an annoying disruption to your wallowing.

you grunt, don’t say anything else.

it’d be nice not to die in your own home. at least then no one will have to clean up any blood. they can sell the apartment again. it’d be nice to watch your brother's face as a ghost when he realizes. it’d be nice to get your revenge in the form of a bloodstain on the hardwood. it's a terrible thought that almost fills you with glee.

loki, who moves past you, opening cabinets and carrying around a ridiculous scepter (?) does not turn to look at you when he asks

“you’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

your snort is nothing more than a yes. is it really that obvious? i mean, yes, you look pretty bad, but that shouldn’t indicate to him that you’re in the wrong place.

he shouldn’t know that already.

“what makes you say that?”

loki puts down the bottle he’d been messing with, some expensive thing your brother would kill him for touching. not that you’re going to tell him that, you don't really mind. he turns and bangs his scepter against the ground, not completely on accident. “this countertop is engraved ‘tony stark’”

you roll your eyes, but he doesn’t notice.

“and, from what i’ve seen on the news” he teases the unfamiliar word around his lips “you aren’t him”

“ha,” you say, voice void of any emotion. it must really be that obvious, even to a god who has only been on earth for a few days and has never met you before. even to you, who’s been trying to catch up to tony for so long. “you’ve got me,” 

you grab the bottle you have next to you, the bottle you’ve been cradling all night in your hands like its some childhood blanket you dont want to let go of, and take a sip. its hard on the floor, and that fact is maybe the only thing that could actually convince you to sit up at this moment. 

so you do, and you look loki straight in the eyes while taking another sip. 

theres still half a bottle left, you dont really need to slow down. 

loki looks amused, looks so much less threatening than you would’ve thought after watching him get a group of well over a hundred people to kneel before him. so much less threatening without his words to back him up. or maybe, thats what makes him a villain. 

he looks kind of cute. 

“can i help you?” you say then, looking him in the eyes, bottle in hand. its your best impression of a salesperson, but he doesn't know that. hes just a god, after all, hes just a murder, definitely. 

“actually yes,” he moves towards you, scepter banging, his voice a slow river. “i was looking for someone-” 

“if its tony, you’re fresh out of luck, mr. mischief,” you sigh and stand up, pretending not to notice the substantial difference in heights between the two of you. “it would seem i’ve run him off,” you pause, take a sip, hold your finger up in a gesture for him to wait. “must’ve been my ceaseless charm.” 

loki doesnt say anything, just watches you with irritating eyes and waits for you to take another drink. you do, but not because of him. you’re thirsty, obviously. 

you hate that hes already predicting your movements, you hate that he looks so calm. you hate that if you werent still in your right mind you would probably tackle him without a moments notice. 

still, you watch him anyway. this isnt scary. nothing is scary right now, not even the prospect of death and the murderer in the room. not when you’ve just been left alone in this stupid building while tony runs off to do something else. 

not when your voice still hurts from screaming at him. 

“when will he be back?” loki asks, interrupting your thoughts and looking you up and down. any other day, you might’ve taken it as a compliment, might’ve smiled at him.

“never, if i had anything to say about it.” 

loki doesnt hesitate. “you seem awfully angry for such an angelic-looking person,” 

you snort, turn around to go searching through the cupboards again. “and you seem awfully murdery for a god,” 

“you’d be surprised,” he moves forward, leans his scepter against a chair, and continues to watch you. something about this, something about him is easing that feeling in your chest. the annoyance is almost gone, you know, if it werent for the fact that hes still certainly going to kill you. 

you know that he’d brainwashed other people, maybe thats what was happening now. 

you grunt instead of answer and grab a glass. its strange, this need you feel to keep him from murdering you. loki watches with curious eyes as you poor some of your bottle in the glass, then offer it to him. 

in fact, his eyes almost bludge out of his head as soon as you lift it towards him. 

“you’re giving this to me?” 

you smirk instead of scoffing, as a peace offering. “is it really that obvious?” 

he doesnt acknowledge the snide but takes the glass with careful hands. maybe he thinks humans have murderous cups. maybe hes just very untrusting. it doesnt matter, it makes you smile anyway. 

you grab the bottle, now more than half gone, and take a sip as loki thinks deeply about this drink you’ve given him. at least he isnt asking you why you’re angry anymore. 

“is it good?” he asks while staring at the contents of the glass. 

“you could just try it, you know.” 

he quirks a brow. sets the glass down on the counter. takes a step back. “how do i know you havent poisoned it?” 

you set your bottle down, lean your hands on the counter, and lean closer to him in a challenge. “you, quite literally, just watched me pour it.” 

loki considers this, tilts his head, and then steps forward and takes the glass. you laugh when he sniffs at it, but watch with hopeful eyes as he finally takes a sip. 

then promptly gags. 

“humans are disgusting creatures,” he says while gagging, moving far away from the glass. 

“and thats why you’ve come to conquer us, right?” you’re still smirking, still sipping, and still wondering what the hell this god is doing here. 

“think of it as a favor,” hes wincing, opening his mouth in what looks like an effort to get the taste out of his mouth. but still, he doesnt threaten you, doesnt curse you out, doesnt accuse you of poisoning him again. but then, he looks up. “in return, you might tell me where stark is?” 

there. thats it. no threatening, no murdering, no accusation. but still, he just wants something. your brother, of course. 

whats different from usual? 

“i dont know,” you answer, smile gone, moving away. you make sure to take the bottle with you, wherever you turn to go. wherever you want to run away to. 

you dont know, you’re not sure. this place is so big, and all of it is a prison you’ll never actually leave. the curse of blood relations. 

loki though, stops you before you can even attempt to leave, before you can make your escape before you start sobbing to this god who isnt even here for you. 

really, you should be thankful, really, you shouldnt care this much. really, you should’ve left ten minutes ago. you’re not even supposed to be here. 

the thought fills you with dread. effort, effort and pain. 

“you dont know?” he asks, doubtful. as if he knows you, as if he can already tell you’re lying. you scoff, then scoff again. damn the god of mischief, and damn your brother. arrogance does not look good on anyone. 

you try to push past him, shaking your head with hurt eyes that arent really for him. you try to move forward, but hes so much bigger than you, and hes got the upper hand. he knows you wont try to murder him, no matter what he wants to do to everyone on earth. 

“you are related to him, are you not?” another question, another shot of fuel to the fire that you thought had burned out. to the flame inside of you that doesnt seem to leave. 

“i dont like that you know that,” you say it softly, much softer than you mean to, and without noticing take a step back. put up the walls, so to say. get away from this alien that knows more about you than you do him. guard yourself before you actually get hurt. 

dont give him yet another reason to yell at you. 

“its not hard to guess. you have...erm” he pauses, looking small, looking more nervous, looking anything but godly. “the same mannerisms. and you talk a bit like each other.” 

you frown. dammit. 

“also, the way you talk of him reminds me of my brother.” 

you look up then, look up and see this god, this alien, this murderer that you dont even know. is he drunk now? you wouldnt have thought him to be such a light-weight. 

“okay...” maybe you’re weirded out, or maybe you’re tired, but you try to move away from him anyway. this is effort, and you dont need it. 

“you really dont know?” loki says, before moving out of your way. he sighs, looks defeated now. you’re not lying, but something in you kind of wants you to be. just so he’ll leave you alone, of course. just for some peace. 

just so he stops frowning at the floor. god, you dont even know him. 

and you, you just dont understand. hes the villain, hes evil, so why is he looking so innocent? why arent you scared of him? why havent you run in terror yet?

maybe you’re about to ask something, but loki moves first. he steps back, or forward, and grabs the glass you gave him, again. takes another sip. he doesnt gag this time, doesnt change his expression at all. 

“i thought you hated it?” you ask, shocked by this small thing, hurt still, by his words. maybe by his defeated look. 

loki sighs, smirks, does something with his face you cant comprehend. “its better with disappointment.” 

now its your turn to sigh. you cant leave this alien alone in tony’s kitchen. that’d be rude, plus, curiosity is human. 

its not his fault, really, that he needs to murder your brother. 

you go back, back to the counter, back to the floor, back to loki with his sad eyes and your bottle. you just go back, sitting down on the floor, where you were when he came in, and waiting for him to join you. 

it doesn’t take long, you can feel his cool from the five feet of distance between the two of you. 

its a moment before you ask. “do you really need my brother? i can probably call him.” an olive branch, so to say. 

loki laughs, chortles, something. maybe you’re feeling the effects of the alcohol now. he doesnt speak for a moment, just looks around, observing the room once again. you look with him, wait for his answer, hope its “no”. 

“no, not really.” he pauses, sighs. “well, yes. but, you seem very opposed to seeing him, so i’m guessing talking isnt on the table?” 

“you’d be right,” you take another sip, give him a smile you dont really mean. 

you’re not even sure why you’re here now. this is surreal. this is stupid of you. its in the name. 

“is he really as bad as he seems?” loki asks, tracing something on the floor. maybe gods are similar to humans, because you think you’ve seen this somewhere else. 

you laugh, though, anyway, and forget everything. “not really. hes sort of a good person, he just.. doesnt come off well.” to say the least.  

never has. never liked you much in the first place, but you have memories of him gifting you toys when you were kids. you have laughs, smiles. you had a family, once upon a time. 

you dont tell loki that though, you have enough sense not to. 

“i wonder if my brother would say the same thing about me?” 

and something about the way he says it, something about his face, about his words on the news, all of it. all of it reminds you of where you are, reminds you of who you are, and who you’re trying so hard not to be. 

emotionally compromised, you’re sure. this is a stupid thing to be doing. 

“well, you were going to murder me.” its a joke, but its better than what you wanted to say. its better than the truth you want to tell to this stranger you’ve just met. this god who feels peaceful somehow, behind all the terror. 

loki scoffs, so you know its okay, so you know you havent said the wrong thing yet. you know you havent gone insane, not yet, not now. 

“i would never murder someone so beautiful,” 

and maybe its the alcohol, maybe its your fight with your brother, maybe its loki’s kind words, maybe its everything. maybe you really are insane. maybe you’re angry enough for this to seem okay. maybe you’re stronger than you think, than tony thinks, to be here. maybe it’ll turn out okay. 

it doesnt matter, because the next thing you say, changes lots of things. 

“i guess you’re not so bad.” 

* 

“i’m old enough-” 

“you’re a child.” 

“tony, you dont get to decide whats best for me! in case you forgot, you’re only my brother. not my dad, he already died-” 

“in case you forgot, i’m in charge. you’re the most irresponsible, reckless person, and you’re not leaving here until i say so.” 

“you dont just get to decide-” 

“you will stay here. try not to mess anything else up.” 

*

2 years later.

the hallway is cold while you speed through it. 

you’re not actually moving that fast, but everyone else insists on keeping the air conditioning on at all times, so even the slightest of movements invites the goosebumps to attack your arms. 

maybe you’ll complain some more about it today. its a trivial thing you care about. it matters. 

what else matters? well, theres a meeting-- one you’re late to, who cares? theres a meeting and you were supposed to be there over a half an hour ago. 

but, to be fair, you were sleeping, everyone knows you were sleeping-- what else do you do during the days when they dont invite you anywhere? so why, honestly, would they schedule a meeting for now? why would they expect you to be awake? 

why are you so goddamn late. 

these are the irritating thoughts that get you moving faster to the conference room. these are the things you can think about while you prepare your excuse out loud, and hope that no one is listening. 

and these are the thoughts that you’re thinking as you crash through the door. 

literally. 

“oops,” you mutter before looking up. this is normal for you, but, you could’ve picked a better time to fall on the floor, or any other time rather. you’re already in enough trouble as is, you dont need the shame on top of that. 

it takes a moment, but your eyes glance forward, cautious. they scan the windows, the chairs you can barely see, and hesitantly, they look at the people sitting in them. 

tony, of course, is the first one you see. head of the table as usual. arrogant and staring at you like only a brother can. 

and then, with one more tilt of your head, you see someone else. you see him, sitting next to thor, next to all of these people who are staring at you-- most of them with amusement, all of them with amusement. you see him. 

hes here. 

but, you... you thought? you cant even get up-- now. because now you’re on the floor, and now those memories are flooding back and now, oh god, your brother is coming over to you and you’re still on the floor. 

this is ridiculous, this is impossible, and this is so so embarrassing. 

“loki,” tony starts as he reaches a hand out to you, throwing you a glance that is completely rude and not necessary. “this is y/n, our clumsiest avenger.” you’re sure you can hear him mutter something after that, and judging by the snickers across the room, you’re guessing it wasnt good. none of this is good. 

as soon as you’re standing next to him, you elbow him. small enough no one could see. he deserves it, and honestly, you need it. at least, you can get this shock, these pricks of pain on your heart, out somehow. 

“sorry,” you say, maybe to everyone, maybe to yourself. but you’re still looking at him, and hes still looking at you. you cant stop staring, cant stop, wont stop. 

you wonder if hes thinking the same thing you are. if he remembers like you do. 

loki stands then, presence of a god, smile of a bastard, lips that you’re sure you recognize. is this the same person? the same god of mischief? is this him? really? 

���hi, loki, lovely to meet you.” 

and, hes definitely got to be kidding you. hes definetly got to be joking, right now. 

you dont reach out to grab his hand, you dont move away from tony, and you dont even try to hide the glare from your eyes. you dont even attempt to make an effort. 

really? i mean, really? hes going to just.. 

okay, fine. fine. breathe, smile, breathe, yell. 

theres nothing you want more than to scream at him, in so many ways, for so many reasons. 

“yes, sorry, i dont shake hands. just bodies.” 

theres a chorus of clearing throats across the room. you pretend not to notice. instead, you smile at loki, pretend to also not to notice the threatening eyes tony is trying to throw you. pretend, again and again, that you dont know who this is. 

loki’s hand slowly falls, and he glances toward his brother worriedly, but even that couldnt annoy you more than his face does at this moment. 

“i’ll let you decide how, my prince.” you snide, smile, hate. 

and then, you walk to your sit and promtly sit down. you dont bother to look up from where your glance has landed on the floor. 

and you remain like that for the rest of the meeting. its fine, you’ve already missed half of it anyway. 

who cares? 

* 

“no, but really, where’d you get that?” 

“its asgardian,” loki leans forward, teasing you with his raised eyebrows. 

“i want it. how much?” you lean forward as well, completely serious. alcohol be damned, his scepter will be yours. you’re not one to kid. 

“you cant bargain with me, tiny human. you have nothing i want.” 

“im sure i could think of a few things... you dont even know how to be a proper villain!” you exclaim with a smirk of your own “you’re gonna want money when you’re thrown in jail.” 

“ill just take it off of you when i’ve decided im bored and offed you. plus, i’m a prince. and a god. i dont need money for anything.” 

“ha! like i could ever bore you. you seem awfully interested in me, prince loki.” 

you’re both closer, faces inches apart. really, its just the alcohol talking, but still. 

you’re smiling pretty big. 

*

you’re not sure how you got here again. how you ended up on this floor, in this kitchen, with this bottle, with these thoughts. not sure, but still. you cant really bring yourself to care too much. 

at least your throat doesnt hurt this time. at least you’re older, smarter, and most definitely not drunk. at least its not exactly the same. 

it takes more than that, now. it takes more than anything to make you angry, now. it takes a lot more to push you over the edge. you’ve grown, at least, in that aspect. 

but, you’ve been thinking of this for two years, you’ve been watching and waiting with hopeful eyes and this... this just isnt it. this isnt the dream, this isnt anything like what you’ve wanted. 

you’re still brainwashed and you’re still angry. you’ve been on the edge of the cliff for years now. 

it doesnt take much to fall off. 

you dont even know why, why you’re here, why this is happening, and its making it worse. 

you havent even seen him in two years, so why do you care so much if he wants to pretend that you’ve never met? you havent so much as spoken of him in two years, so why does it matter now that hes here? why is it so significant that he doesnt seem to care? 

you’re a fool. immature, idiotic. you’ve known this, you know this. you could’ve mentioned it every time you sat with hopeful eyes when an alien showed up, when a certain god of a certain storm appeared and you thought that maybe this time, he might’ve taken someone with him. 

you could’ve told yourself this every time you thought of him, every day you’ve thought of that night. you’re ridiculous, hopeless, and drunk. 

you’re drunk now, and you were drunk then. so why does it matter this much?

you’re drunk.

and really, this time you really arent expecting it when he walks in. 

its different from last time, different because you were already on the floor. different because now you’re mad at him, and because now for some reason you cant even explain, you know that its him. you can feel him from across the room. 

and this time, you’ve drunk a lot more. you’ve downed more than half a bottle, and you’re angrier. you’re happier, but so mad.

still, his quiet “hello” into the kitchen leaves your flame sparking. the lights are on, so he knows someone is in here. he knows you’re in here.

you’re not going to answer though, why would you? 

he doesnt repeat it, but his footsteps are clear, not accompanied with the banging of a gold scepter this time, no horns in sight. this is different, but you know exactly whats happening. you know exactly how he looks, now. 

these two years have felt like nothing, these two years of making up with your brother, of dreams of a certain god’s lips, of hoping that one day he might appear again, all of it means nothing now. there are too many memories, and you have known you’re insane for years. 

the footsteps stop again, and you know this time, hes waititng for you to answer. 

you’re drunk. that explains this feeling. you’re drunk now, you were drunk then. loki should leave because you really dont have the energy for fake pleasantries. 

“can i help you?” you ask, and try and breathe while you wait. you’re different now. 

“actually yes,” he says and its quiet. 

it leaves your stomach aching. 

“i’m looking for someone,” 

* 

“no! never, i will never ever-” 

“technically, you just did,” 

“i hate you.” 

loki laughs, throws his head back in a motion that is unnecessarily attractive to you. “you dont even know me, darling.” 

“i can hear your thoughts, actually.” 

you’ve been leaning on him for maybe the past five minutes. you’ve been sharing this second bottle for the last half an hour. somehow, it tastes better when he’s put his lips on it. 

“is this a human trait i’m unaware of?” he sounds so serious you giggle. 

“no, just me. you picked the wrong person to drink with,” 

“and what am i thinking about now, then, since you can hear it?” 

you turn to him, you turn and theres something different in your eyes. 

“exactly what i’m thinking,” you whisper, staring down, staring at him in the same way hes staring at you. 

what are you thinking of? well, thats simple. 

*

“fresh out of luck, prince. theres no one here.” 

your voice is quiet, your head is pounding, but you cant have a hangover already. you cant be sick now, in this moment. 

its not pounding because of that, and you cant even pretend. 

its dark outstide, which you know, considering that its the middle of the night and you shouldnt even be awake. you shouldnt even be in here, considering tony banned you from stealing from his cabinets. considering, you’ve been here before. considering, all of it. 

arent you only supposed to make the same mistake once? 

“really?” he asks in an amused voice you recognize. hes closer now, you can feel it. you can hear it, the goosebumps are all over you. the buzzing started minutes ago. 

you lay down, on the floor, breathing in and out, feeling your stomach clench with every step he takes. this is ridiculous, you should be asleep, he should be on a different planet. 

“its late. go to bed, loki.” your voice is still quiet, but theres a warning in it. 

“i have a vague inkling that you arent strict with bedtime,” 

his voice is stupid, you’re stupid. why are you just sitting on the floor? 

“no, but i am strict about lying. in that, i hate it. go away.” 

maybe he wasnt expecting the sharpness in your voice, or for you to be laying on the floor. but his eyes when he stands over you, his eyes are almost how you remember them. 

* 

“did you brainwash me?” 

you’re breathless. you cant breathe. and you cant be drunk now, because you never want to forget this, you never want him to move away. 

he tastes alien, he tastes different than anything you’ve ever tasted before, and you just cant stop. 

you lean in again, let your mouth be filled with the sweet cold of his. hes cooling you down in only the best kind of way. 

“not yet,” he says, he says and lets his hands roam across your hips, across your skin in a completely tantalizing way. you cant be drunk now, because you’d never feel like this if you were. 

you’re both breathless. you both cant breathe. 

“are you going to?” 

another kiss, another moment, another taste. you want to smile, but that would require you to move away from him, and you just cant do that.

“i dont need to,” he says, he promises. he smiles, and its evil. evil in how much it stops your heart. this cant be happening. “you’ve been dreaming of this.” 

you’re sure, he knows something you dont. hes done something to you, but you cant complain. 

you really can’t stop.

*

“are you upset?” he asks. its nothing he would’ve said before, its not a question that would’ve crossed his mind two years ago. this isnt him. 

you dont know how you know that, but you do. you know. you’ve met him before, and you’ve known him since then. in case he forgot. 

you laugh at the thought, laugh and laugh. you’re drunk. “is that sympathy i detect in the god of mischief’s voice?” you ask, and laugh. 

maybe he’ll leave just because you’re laughing so much. wouldnt that be nice? wouldnt that break your heart again, off you for good, finally?  

“well, you’re definitely intoxicated.” its sarcastic, its serious, and it makes your blood boil. who is he to judge you? who is he to say anything to you? to be here now, and expect you to answer questions?

you sit up, stare at him for too long, and then your face is a scowl hotter than the sun. you hope hes terrified, but you feel so small. you hope hes terrified, but you know hes not. how could he be, when you’re sure you look like a mess, worse than last time? 

“you would know a lot about that, wouldnt you loki? considering you were so drunk that you’ve forgotten all about me?” its rhetorical, its cruel, and it makes his eyes falter the tiniest bit. 

this. this is what you dont need. this is an emotion you never want to feel again, because you’re tired of the anger. you’ve been living it all your life, and you’e tired of it. but maybe thats what drew loki to you, maybe thats what he likes best. maybe thats why hes still standing in front of you. 

maybe thats what makes him a bad guy. 

he doesnt answer, and so you continue. you continue and you should just stop speaking. “excuse me, your highness, but i really just want to be alone right now. so, if you wouldnt mind, i’ve already claimed the kitchen floor.” you laugh, gesture somewhere you dont know. “tony has plenty of other spaces for you to infiltrate.” 

you think maybe its enough. you think hes going to leave, you think you’ll get to be alone for the rest of the night, maybe drink enough to forget that you ever met him, but then hes still standing there. he doesnt move an inch. 

you dont know what hes still doing here. you can see the light reflecting on his face, you can see his blank eyes, you cant see anything in him that you want anymore. of course, except everything. 

“loki,” you groan and stand up. you set the bottle on the counter next to you, and cross your arms. waiting. for anything, for everything. 

“i didnt forget you, and i wasn’t drunk.” 

oh, really? you scoff, scoff and take another sip before answering. 

“well, thats lovely for you, but-” 

“i was trying to be considerate, in case you didnt want your brother to know we’d already met.” 

some part of you, one you left behind two years ago when you woke up all alone, some part of you thinks thats sweet. some part of you wants to smile just because he said it. some part of you. 

the other part, just wants to scream. 

“well, thanks loki, but ‘considerate’ would’ve been, maybe, not leaving me to wake up alone in the morning.” 

really, its time for bed now, so, promptly, you try to past him, you try and try and. 

you’re back in the past again. goddamn, him.

*

“we shouldnt be-” you gasp before you can finish. you gasp and loki laughs against your skin. “this is a kitchen-” 

“there are worse places,” he promises in an awfully smooth voice, a voice you think you’ve maybe been dreaming of for years, a voice you want to drink. you’re intoxicated, and its not the alcohol. 

“loki, i’m drunk, you’re drunk.” 

“i am not drunk,”

“okay, mr. god, but this is still a kitchen.” 

he smiles up at you, kisses your skn again. 

“shh,” he says. 

you gasp again. 

* 

“..i had to leave. i didnt think it would...” he stops, stares at you for a moment before looking down. hes standng in front of you, not letting you move, not letting you think. “i didnt think it would worry you. i’m terribly sorry,” 

it sounds sincere, but then again, so did his promises before. 

“okay, loki.” you relent, you sigh, you take a step back and smile at him. none of it is real. “cool, thats nice. i’ll be going to bed now-” 

“i’ve wanted to see you for two years,” 

your mouth drops open. your eyes buldge, and you almost want to smack him. this, this is really all grand. 

this is so unfair. this is a cruel reminder you never wanted. this is a nightmare, come true. 

“i’m drunk. i’m leaving,” 

but again, he stops you, he stops you and you dont know why. why he wont just let you go, why he sought you out tonight, why this matters, why you care. 

why you got so goddamn attached to him that night, why you’d felt like a new person when you woke up the next morning and he was gone. 

you take a breath in. you smile again, you push down the flames burning at your throat. “we can both forget it, if you’d prefer. i promise i wont tell anyone, and we can just move on.” 

the words, the words you’re trying to offer him as a method of peace, those words, they send loki away from you. they make his face shift, they make him move back. 

he looks angry now. he looks how you feel.

“you want to forget it?” he asks, even though you just said it, even though you’ve already answered that question. even though, he knows what you meant. 

you arent slurring your words. 

“i just want to...” you cant finish that sentence though, and instead you nod. its enough, it doesnt take effort and its nothing special. it’s the truth, so, he’ll have to accept it.

you’ll go to bed now, you’ll forget that you’ve wanted to talk to him, that you still want to kiss him now. you’ll forget, and so will he. 

it will be easy. nothing more than a piece of cake. 

* 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers later, later when you cant remember your name, when you’ve remembered that you still havent even told him. 

“for what?” 

he kisses your neck instead of answering. 

‘you’re beautiful,” he says, you cant breathe, and hes still speaking. “i didn’t tell you before,” he breathes in and you can feel it in your stomach, can feel that sweet swirling deep inside. “i’m sorry”

“don’t worry about it..”

its late now, too late. you dont want to go to sleep. you never want to fall asleep again, not when you’ve just.. 

not with him. 

the kitchen floor is awfully comfortable. your eyes are falling, faster than you want them to.

*

“just want to what?” hes not hearing the words, and no matter what you might’ve said, you cant read his mind. 

“loki,” its another warning, because hes moving closer, because you can feel him again, because you still remember how he tastes. because that buzzing, the buzzing you’ve felt for so long, its digging itself deeper into your skin. 

“i dont want to forget,” he saiys, and no matter how much you want to believe it, it just sounds like another empty promise. sounds like something you’ve already heard. 

its not enough, but its just want you want. what you want is just there.. 

“i was drunk that night, i was sick. i was...” 

angry is the word you’re thinking of, but his lips are the ones you can feel. but his smile is the one you want, but his eyes, but his face, but his skin. 

his lips, his face, his skin, his touch. its been in your mind since then. its been glued to your thoughts. its stuck, and you want to peel it off. 

you arent supposed to be here, you arent supposed to be in this room, you arent supposed to be drinking this liquor, and you arent supposed to kiss him. 

you’ve gone insane for sure now. you aren’t supposed to do this.

and so, you do. 

*

you’re on the floor when you wake up. your head is pounding, your eyes are glued shut, but somehow they’re open. 

you dont remember where you are, you dont remember why you’re here. 

but you do remember... loki. loki, murderer, god, thief. he was here, you’re in the kitchen. 

his eyes, his lips, his peace, his lips, his skin, oh god. 

he was here. 

you look, you look around, you feel the pain in your body, you feel the anger piling up, you feel the ache in your neck, you feel it all and you look around. 

hes gone. he is. 

your head is pounding and hes gone. you cant remember why. 

*

masterlist here. 

[beomglocks]

Misery Loves Company

Part : one

Plot : in which choi yeonjun is the human enbodiment of death. of course because of this, he's never had friends. when he is given the task to fulfill the death of a group of young friends, he can't seem to bring himself to do it.

Wordcount : 1.2K

Genre : angst?, fluff, yeonjun sad :(, death, major character death, dont know if this is a spoiler but no one really dies, txt are friendship goals, mild swearing, soobin is a mood

A/N : i came up with this bc i love pain :) but i love junnie he deserves happiness

.·:*¨¨*:·. .·:*:·. .·:*¨¨*:·.

he didn't wanna do it. he really didn't wanna do it.

if he could have the ability to go back and undo what he just did, he would because sparing people wasn't on yeonjun's job description. it had been an "in the moment" decision as they say.

people have a path laid out for them. some people's timers go off while old and some while young, nothing can change that, everyone is bound to die at some point. for a simple human, theres no telling what that path holds. will they marry, have children, graduate school, have a nice life?

it was yeonjun's job as the angel of death to carry out the deed of ending the human's life once their timer went off. no, he didnt feel any remorse (usually) since he'd been doing this for a long time now.

it had been a particulary normal day for the angel. he killed all the people that were intended to die for that day. it was a bright day in seoul, the sun's warm rays shining down on the bustling city encouraging people to go outside and enjoy it's gift for a while. truth be told, yeonjun preferred these kinds of days for one reason in particular.

he sighed as he gently floated down onto the sturdy branch of a remote tree. the location where he settled was perfect since this was reletively unknown part of a bigger forest, there being a tiny shed by a serene lake. it's not that he didn't want to be seen because it's not like anyone could see him anyways. it was more of he didn't want his presence felt. he was aware that humans could feel deaths presence and thus made them paranoid or gloomy.

sounds of life pulled him out of his mind as he looked down onto a group of four boys playing by the shed.

"soobin hyung can you PLEASE tell beomgyu hyung to give molang back," one of the boys pouted. he stopped chasing the other boy to complain to his older friend. "choi beomgyu quit being a brat," the older boy lazily chastized. the dark haired boy stuck his tongue out and handed the plush back to the younger.

it was moments like this that helped yeonjun relax after his mentally draining job. he wished he could have friends like this. no one in the underworld wanted to be friends with him since he was death personified, they were terrified, rightfully so.

yeonjun didn't consider himself scary but ask any other person and they'd be trembling just mentioning his name. he was born with different colored eyes, one red and the other green, both having a role in aiding his role as the angel of death. it didn't help that his personal style consisted of dark/monochrome colors which contrasted his bleach blonde hair. that and the fact that he never seemed to smile.

despite that, he smiled at the group of friends before him. he had been watching over them for quite sometime. he had learned their names, likes, dislikes, and even personalities. he really felt like he could really be their friend in real life if he were ever given the chance.

soobin, yeonjun had learned, was quite reserved. charming, but reserved though yeonjun noticed that when he was alone with his friends he was an entirely different person, sometimes partaking in their antics. he was the oldest among the group of four.

beomgyu was the gremlin of the lot, unsurprisingly yeonjun had taken a liking to the kid. of course because beomgyu reminded him of the devils of the underworld. beomgyu was mischivious and liked to mess around with his friends, though never enough to cause harm because he did care deeply for them. beomgyu was humorous and always had even the most stoic person laughing.

speaking of stoic, yeonjun looked towards a red headed boy reading a book by the shed. this was taehyun. he was a year younger than the other two but seemed the most mature by far. this didn't exclude him from his friend's antics, to yeonjun it meant that he knew when to differenciate having fun and being level-headed. though yeonjun sometimes noticed how he would roughhouse and it left yeonjun stunned at the amount of strength this kid held in his body.

hueningkai was the youngest of the group. yeonjun had grown to like how full of life this kid was. huening was truly a breath of fresh air for the angel of death. yeonjun first felt like their personalities would clash since huening really did seem like an actual angel but he liked the contrast. kai was always laughing and never seemed to really frown and yeonjun liked that since he was always surrounded by sadness and death.

"hey, did any of you do mr. kim's homework?" beomgyu exclaimed. once again, yeonjun was pulled from his thoughts. he didn't go to school or anything but he always overheard the boys conversations and decided that he, himself also hated school.

hueningkai tiredly plopped down next to taehyun and sighed, "no, it's too hard and taehyunnie won't help me." beomgyu crossed his arms as he stopped right in front of said boy, "hyunnie what the hell's the point of having a big brain if you wont share it with others?" he bent down to pull at two strands of the red head's hair.

taehyun looked up from his book with a frown, "it's not my fault you guys weren't paying attention in class." he motioned to the tall boy sunbathing a little ways from them, "ask hyung to help."

"nope!" soobin hastily shouted. "i have no idea how to math so don't even look at me!" beomgyu sighed dramactically, "you all are useless!"

yeonjun giggled to himself. he had a percentage of all the knowledge in the world, he figured if they were friends he would be of some sort of assistance to the boys. he smiled contently as he surveyed the group. somehow his eyes fell upon taehyun who for some odd reason was looking directly at yeonjun.

this sent chills up yeonjun's spine. very little things scared the angel of death but the red haired kid's eyes were really something else. this had happened on occasion, yeonjun would notice taehyun staring at him or looking in his general direction. yeonjun knew that no human could see him so he figured taehyun mustve felt his presence.

in this moment, however, yeonjun did not like the way taehyun seemed to be looking at him. the kids eyes seemed sad but very piercing, almost as if he knew something was going to happen.

yeonjun brushed off the look as huening shifted in his postion on the boys shoulder. he looked up at taehyun and sighed putting his head back in position. "can you stop daydreaming and staring off into space like that, its creepy," huening stated calmly. "sorry," taehyun blinked away. "sometimes it just feels like someone's watching us, i dont know."

huening removed his head from taehyun's shoulder and opted in resting his head on the hard wood of the shed, "tae if you're trying to scare me its not gonna work. you should've told soobinnie hyung that line, it wouldve been funny to see his reaction."

taehyun frowned, turning his attention to soobin and beomgyu bickering about their level of competence, arguing over which one of them was smarter, frankly none of them were in taehyun's opinion. he leaned against hueningkai's broader shoulder this time, "right."

[modiintrainguy]

Holidays coming up – am I ready?

August 19, 2020

8.26am

On the bus in traffic on the 431 just driving past tziporim.

I wasn’t gonna write. Its always a decision t make  = what will make me feel better right NOW!! And what is good for my day. Meditation? Netflix? Podcast? Music? Book? Nothing? Look out the window.

So ive gone for writing.

Am I gonna do the pour it out method?

Or focus on somerhing

I kind of need to be sure – but at least the bus is slow so I don’t feel rushed.

And anyway, 45 minutes a significant amount of time to just write whatever your thinking.

But better to have a plan

So

Sos

O

What I was thinking last night first.

That I feel uncomfoertable cos I can never feel like ive cleared my plate. That I had x y and z to to today and ive done it. Because even if I have I know that ive got so many other things to do that im stressed about tomorrow.

Its like what coach A was saying. I need to be able to finish the day and accept I did what I did and tomorrows another day.

The problem is that by not doing stuff it leave people waiting and things waiting.

Like the freelancers are waiting for me to tell them what to do and the webmasters are waiting for my plan for their sites for the next months.

I don’t like feeling ivel left people hangning.

So I need to be clear about what ive promised which actually isn’t that much.

I just want to get things done.

But not everything can be done. So I need to work out what I need to get done and do that.                  

But that’s unclear.

So what I said yesterday to E – there needs to be a clear structure of who does what right now. and then u need to write a clear strurcture of what is needed and how a new better structure will work.

Otherwise we’ll be stuck like this in a year’s time.

Anyway I kind of did what was needed yesterday and today I need to do what should be done and then theres just Thursday.

Make a list for September

Make a co.uk plan for September – focus on golf and tennis and boxing

Make a com plan for September – focus on horse racing

Think about who is writing what – how each freelancer is being used

Anyway this was supposed to be about my head

Amazing thing number 1

After wakig up at 2-3-4am Got 6 packs of lorivan, took 2 before I went to sleep at like 11.30. woke up 7am on the dot! didn’t really feel fresh as a daisy but definitely slept.

got six packets of these fuckers yesterday

littlun was in my bed and the wife was already at work. Go figure. Dunno how that happened. She said she came in our bed in the night cos she had a scary dream and tried to wake me up “daddy can you stay me” but I didn’t wake up so mummy said she could go in our bed.

It leaves littlerone scared and upset when she wakes up alone. They’ll both get over it. In a few years they wont want to sleep together any more.

Amazing thing number 2

Made llove on Sunday night and she wanted to last night but I didn’t really feel it (post morning mastu) and anyway I had to take the dog out and then go to super[harm to get the lorivan. When I came back she was doing tehillim then said she wanted something toeat and I sat to watch psg till half time then had a shower and while I was shaving she said night night. Shed given up.

Maybe tonight.. I need to run and meet with Coach A. hope shes paid.

My head

Forget the rappers supporting wiley and his insane jew hatred.

Need to end today with a feeling ive done what I can and im ok to finish it tomorrow and then next week is emergency only.

Right now its buzzy and fuzzy cos of:

-          Organising the freelancers – they need to have stuff to write

-          Getting rid of hry

-          Making plans for all uk sites

-          Creating an event list for all sports

-          Im worried I haven’t given freelancers enough work which means we haven’t had enough content on the uk sites!

+

-          Call partner – tv goes funny, picture on sprts channels is terrible

-          Check fines in my bag

 -          Check budget next week

  -          Plan sophias party

-          Plan Sophia and emmas chugim

 -          Make the apartment more palatable

-          Use the balcony better

-          What about the hammock?

 -          Eat less run more (im on that one)

-          Should I even speak to naomi schogger

 -          Plans for camping next weekend?

-          Maybe we all take Thursday off?

IS this is atodo list or just a list of what son my mind.

What is on my mind, as get off the ayalon. Ah no we’re at la guardia, its 8.49

That’s been 23 minutes of straight writing and I don’t feel much better.

Time to introspect.

Like I said last week, it’s the ehad and the feeling I don’t want to be in this job cos it makes my head feel like this but what job wouldn’t. I remember being at plt and not worrying about work in the slightest. I was drustrated but not overly busy. I came in at 6.30 when I had to and did nothing for 3 hours then went to sleep in the park.

How can the BIL do it when he runs a business.

Its about acceptance of the situation

This is what needs to be done, this is what can be done this is what im going to do and even if u don’t do it its ok.

All eyes on September 12.

And at home. The ninas are good. The wife is ok now despite our pre birthday celebrations Saturday night argument which we made up.

I think im gonna meditate now. This hasn’t helped much but it is what it is for half an ahour.

At least I can look back on it.

[viralhottopics]

YA author Mindy McGinnis returns to the book world with new epic fantasy novel ‘Given to the Sea’

Image: Penguin Young Readers

Sometimes the best way to follow a hit novel is to switch things up and try something completely different.

Or at least that’s the case with YA author Mindy McGinnis and her latest book, epic fantasy novel Given to the Sea.

SEE ALSO: ‘All Our Wrong Todays’ is your next fast-reading, mind-expanding, science fiction romance

The novel follows four intertwined characters Khosa, Vincent, Donil and Witt as each struggles to confront fate and loyalty in the warring kingdom of Stille. At the center of the story is Khosa, a girl destined to sacrifice herself to the sea to save her village. After surviving an attack on her village, Khosa is taken to safety at the royal palace in Stille where she finds herself enmeshed in a love triangle or probably more apt, love square that could alter not only her own fate but the fate of her kingdom.

“I had this idea that writing fantasy would be easy because I get to make up all the rules, no research required. Not true,” explains McGinnis. “In fantasy, nothing is a given, nothing is assumed. I have to do a lot of explaining… and keep that interesting. I’ve written post-apocalyptic, historical, contemporary, and now fantasy. Fantasy is by far the hardest.”

The book comes fresh off the heels of McGinnis’ 2016 contemporary YA novel Female of the Species. The novel followed Alex, a teenage girl who seeks vigilante justice on the sexual abusers in her town. Female of the Species was much acclaimed at the time of its release for its exploration of feminism, sexual violence and justice. (The MashReads Podcast actually recommended it. Twice.)

It’s this juxtaposition contemporary YA to fantasy that may shock McGinnis’ fans picking up her latest book. Yet McGinnis teases that Given to the Sea contains something for all types of readers.

“There’s something for everyone here – romance, gruesome deaths, magic, sword fights, scary animals, and inevitable death.”

Given to the Sea doesn’t come out until April 11. In the meantime, check out a sneak peek of the book’s first two chapters below.

Image: Penguin Young Readers

Chapter 1Khosa

It is in my blood.

It is in my bone.

It is in my brain.

One day my body will betray me, dancing into the sea, my mind a passenger only. The water will close over my head and I will drown, my death bringing a reprieve for those who are not me. This is what Ive been born and bred for. The food passing into my mouth, the clothes covering my body, every breath I drawthese are smaller offerings, each a promise that I will endure, bear my own cursed daughter, and then succumb.

How that will happen I do not know. My mother suffered the touch of another at least once, long enough to fulfill her duties and bring me about. I know it was badly done. I see it in the faces of my Keepers, these people who care for me without caring. I hear the small things in their voices. They worry I will not be pleasing to the sea, that my mother and her chosen mate created something less than perfect. I understand their concern, but cannot share it. Why should I care if the tides rise again, if I am only a corpse riding the waves?

To live aware of your own doom is no easy thing. I spend my days at lessons, my body fulfilling the expected duties, though my mind is elsewhere. The Keepers are worried that I have not prepared well, have not set my face in the appropriate response to their commands. Happy, for instance, is an emotion I cannot be expected to parade, but they tell me it is necessary. Melancholy I excel at.

My mother and grandmother had other lessons, ones to please at table and dancing. Proper chewing, proper speaking, proper walkingonly expected, of course, when we are in control of our limbs. My lessons have taken a different course, my other instructors quietly dismissed once I learned all that was expected.

All except how to contort my stone face appropriately.

The Keepers have tried, their emotions chasing through their faces so quickly I cant keep up, my own trying to mirror what I see. They say to me, Pleased, but look nothing like it themselves, and I am easily confused on this point. So I often retreat, my mind escaping the room where I learn to mimic emotion, returning itself to some well-ordered facts absorbed from a musty book, its scent still lingering on my fingers, a source of comfort.

Their pages follow me through the day, their words imprinted on my mind. I know the history of my land better than the Scribes, better than the royals who rule it. I can recite the names of my predecessors, from the woman who gave birth to me all the way to Medalli, one of the Three Sisters whom the sea gave back after the wave that took nearly all. Seaweed was pulled from their hair, their locks drying as they worked alongside other survivors to rebuild what had washed away, not knowing they would be taken again, the first of the Given.

The sea waited until the sisters had married and had children of their own before it called for them, the price of its leniency the blood of their line. For the children went too, and their children after them, the first twitches of their childhood pulling them toward the water, the final coordinated movements driving them deep into the waves, the dance of death one their kingdom deemed the will of the sea. And so it continues. Their footprints in the sand not returning, my feet now itching to follow. Medallis linemineremains strong, the other two Sisters falling short, the last names in their column females who did not produce heirs, the ink that wrote them now faded with time.

I rub my fingers together, drawing the scent of the book pages from them as my male Keeper says, Sad. Sad I can perform, closing my eyes and picturing my name, Khosa, the ink slightly darker than my mothers name before me, Sona.

Dont close your eyes, he says.

I open them again to see my Keepers, their faces so easily read.

Disappointment.

Chapter 2Vincent

Im sorry you have to wait, my lord.

Not a concern, I answer the guard, but my eyes are on my hands, the clean nails freshly clipped, the smoothness of my palms interrupted by the lines that Madda insists hold my future.

In any kingdom other than Stille, the future of a prince wouldnt need to be read in his hands. It would be clear in his actions, the preparations taken to ensure he sits the throne well, does his duty, leads his country. Somewhere else I would be wed already, the announcement of my own child eagerly anticipated, the girl I keep on the side politely excused, with her pockets lined for her trouble. Instead I sit outside the throne room at the age of seventeen, awaiting my turn to speak to King Gammalmy grandfatherhealthy, hearty, capable. At his side, my father Prince Varrick, already gray and lined, but still sitting in the lower throne.

I shift on the wooden bench, and the trapman next to me slides farther away, the smell of sea salt rising from his clothes. Im sorry, my lord. Do you need more room?

More than enough room, I insist, patting the space between us.

Hes quiet for a moment, and the lady on the bench next to ours fills the hall with the clicking of her wooden knitting needles. One foot rests casually on the ball of coarse wool beneath her feet to keep it from rolling away as she works. Shes assured, content. As a citizen of Stille, she is entitled to speak to the king, and her turn will come. Eventually.

I look back at my empty hands and the lines that Madda the Seer wrinkles her brow at. Her answers to my questions are always vague and muttered.

Am I right to say my lord? the trapman asks. Is that what youre called?

The words it doesnt matter are half formed in my throat, but I choke them back.

The womans needles continue to click. Her hands are gnarled and work-worn, but her color is good, and the hat she is knitting small. For a grandchild. Or great-grandchild. They are lucky to have her. I tell myself these things every day: Stille is fortunate. Stille is healthy. Stille is strong. Years of peace and prosperity mean that the old linger and the middle-aged flourish, while the young inherit only boredom and aimlessness.

Just Vincent, I say, finally answering the trapmans question. No title necessary.

Youre of royal blood, the woman says, not glancing up from her work. It should not be taken lightly.

No… My voice fades away. I have no words to explain succinctly, only memories from my childhood when I was called the baby prince, and then the young prince, and now theres a hesitation, a slight pause before acknowledging my rank. There is no name for the third in line, one whose hands will wither with age long before they hold the scepter.

Ive come to hate the blank space before my given name, the deferential glance of the servants as they search for a title that represents nothing. So I make it easier for them, and for myself.

Just Vincent, I reassert. The old woman makes a disapproving noise in her throat and keeps knitting. The trapman smiles at me, his teeth even, strong, and white in a face lined with wrinkles.

Im Agga. He holds out a bent hand, gnarled from years of pulling in the crab traps, the lengthy ropes rubbing it raw. Even the trapmen dont go into the water, letting the tides carry out the traps. His skin feels of age and the scars of work, years of absorbed salt water pressing back against the softness of my own hands.

How is the sea, Agga? I ask.

He shakes his head. Eating the beach with hunger. Well be needing her thats given to the sea, and soon.

I will pass that along, I say. I dont add that my voice doesnt carry in the great hall, only echoes back into my ears.

Here to do it myself, Agga says, and I wonder if he followed my thought.

I saw when the last one was given, the woman says. She danced beautifully.

They all have, Agga says.

But their faces, they do… twist, the woman adds, her own mimicking the memory, a brief mask of horror that slides off easily as she counts her stitches.

Do they want to go? I ask.

Agga shrugs. Its their own feet taking them. No one in Stille makes them go. Were not the Pietra, feeding sea monsters with the flesh of their aged.

No. The woman shudders, dropping the first stitch since Ive sat here. Were not the Pietra.

Theres laughter in the throne room. It reverberates under the closed doors, my grandfathers hearty one underscored by my fathers, which has never ceased to produce goose bumps on my skin, even in a lifetime of hearing it.

Im sorry you have to wait, my lord, the guard says again.

Not a concern, I repeat, looking back at my hands, where lifelines extend forever, marching right off the palm.

Waiting is what Im good at.

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from YA author Mindy McGinnis returns to the book world with new epic fantasy novel ‘Given to the Sea’