#this idea stems from my oc Loki who is like this

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

A mage Whumpee who’s still learning to control their magic powers and not overexert themselves, but one day they get cocky while trying to prove themselves for some really stupid reason and pass out as a consequence, much to the concern of caretaker who knows like nothing about magic and it’s side effects

Caretaker rushing to Whumpee’s side, praying that they’re not dead, and feeling so relieved when they feel Whumpee’s pulse still going - Weak, but still going.

They gently prop them up on their lap when they notice Whumpee slowly regaining consciousness, almost crying in relief when Whumpee’s eyes flutter open.

“Whumpee? Whumpee, hey, can you hear me? What the hell was that?”

And Whumpee, still dazed and not fully there, focuses on Caretaker for a moment, before pulling the corner of their mouth up into a half grin.

“Guess you could say that was a...dizzy spell,” before closing their eyes again from exhaustion.

How Caretaker reacts is up to you.

[fictionaffliction]

Better Forgotten

Chapter One

Pairings: Loki/OC

Summary: Dr. Ingrid Hansen is a respected psychologist struggling with the aftermath of the Snap as well as her own trauma from an accident she endured many years ago. Her world is thrown into utter chaos when she meets a dangerous man posing as a client. Dr. Strange is reluctantly tasked with protecting her, but in order to do so, he must first help her recover who she truly is. While she is grateful for his help, she has to wonder, are some things better forgotten?

Rated M

Warnings: Canon typical violence, eventual mentions of suicide and domestic violence (which will be tagged in the chapters in which they occur), memory loss, chronic pain

September 21, 2012

The brightly lit conference room was lively with chattering voices. Hundreds of scholars, dressed in the grey and beige that business casual dictates, wound their way through the rows of scratchy linen padded chairs. Some exchanged business cards, networking like their livelihoods depended on it, and for many of them, it did. Others were on their phones or had pulled out laptops and started furiously typing away, no doubt responding to messages from their various offices in the little time they had before the keynote speaker took the stage.

Ingrid Hansen had just finished responding to an email of her own before setting her phone to silent and tucking it back into her purse, trading it for a small leather-bound notebook and a pencil. She wrote the name of the keynote, “Neurosurgery as Treatment for Psychiatric Disorders” as well as the name of the speaker. She had double-checked the name on the itinerary when she wrote it down, shrugging off the unusual name. Certainly, he would have gotten his fair share of teasing as a child.

According to the short biography under his name, he was no less than a certifiable genius. He had been published in multiple medical journals, gotten his MD and his Ph.D. concurrently, and was now one of the most respected neurosurgeons in the country if not the world. People had been looking forward to his keynote the entire conference and Ingrid had made sure to come fifteen minutes early to get a good seat. She managed to get a seat in the middle of the second row. An older man with grey hair and glasses stepped onto the stage as the rest of the attendees found their seats. The man waited for a moment before speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said as a respectful hush fell over the room, “thank you all for attending this evening’s keynote address. We are, of course, very excited to welcome our guest speaker.” The old man licked his dry lips with a smacking noise in the completely self-unaware way that only old men seem to be able to achieve.  “He is an accomplished surgeon with a true passion for medicine and an apparent talent for music trivia.” He chuckled and the conference room laughed with him. “Please welcome to the stage Dr. Stephen Strange.”

The room applauded as a tall, slim man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties took the stage. His dark hair was neatly coiffed to frame his high cheekbones. He looked out over the crowd with discerning eyes and gave a tight smile. As the room quieted, his lecture began.

“Thank you all for the warm welcome. If only everyone greeted surgeons with applause,” Dr. Strange said in a voice that was deeper than Ingrid would have thought. The crowd laughed politely. “In the last one hundred years, neurosurgery and psychology have grown up together like distant cousins. Connections between the two have been known and studied, but never truly explored to such an extent as they are now. Now, technology is finally reaching the point where the two can be intertwined as they always should have been.” He gestured in a practiced manner as his gaze swept over the faces in the room.

Ingrid’s pencil was poised over her notebook, ready to strike down the moment he said something she wanted to remember. He went on for a bit about the potential for technological advancements to change brain chemistry without the need for medication, though it would require dangerous procedures to place implants on the affected parts of the brain. She dutifully noted his points, though she found the idea of experimental treatments morally precarious at best.

“Imagine the benefits for those suffering from dementia and other brain disorders that so deeply affect patients and their loved ones,” he said, turning his gaze to Ingrid as she leaned forward in her seat, her hand continuously taking notes. She stared back at him as he continued after giving her a small smirk. “Later this year, clinical trials for a pacemaker-like device for deep brain stimulation in Alzheimer’s patients will begin. This is an incredibly exciting time in medical history…”

She wrote her short-hand in a hurried hand as he soldiered through the rest of his speech. ‘ Brain stimulation for dementia-- recovery for amnesia?’ It stood to reason, though the mechanical differences for traumatic brain injury and dementia were vastly different. Still, there was hope.

After about an hour, Dr. Strange’s speech concluded and Ingrid packed away her notebook and pencil, her mind still mulling over the possibilities that he had proposed. As this had been the last speaking engagement for the day, a large number of people made their way to the hotel’s restaurant and bar.

She felt a bit sorry for the servers, who had been posted at the hosts’ desk like soldiers ready to rush into battle. They escorted several groups to tables and the noise escalated as menus were set out and drinks poured from glass pitchers reflected the low, golden light. Ingrid herself was content to get a drink at the bar and order room service later to go over her notes and make sure they were actually legible. She had just taken a seat on the soft black leather barstool when there was a small clamor of voices over the restaurant’s generic jazz music as a few people began to spout compliments nearby.

Ingrid turned to see Dr. Strange shaking a few hands as he passed a table of excited colleagues. He thanked them, though Ingrid noticed that his movements seemed stiff and impatient. The doctor passed the table as Ingrid turned back to face the bar. He took the seat next to hers. Not wanting to bother him, she kept her eyes on the drink menu as he reached for his own.

“Well, what did you think?” he asked, glancing at the list of cocktails.

Ingrid looked up. “Me?” she replied.

“Yes, you,” he replied simply, meeting her eyes. “You were taking a lot of notes. I thought you might have some intelligent feedback.”

Ingrid set her menu down and shifted to face him, straightening her navy blue pencil skirt and crossing her ankles. Dr. Strange raised his eyebrows as he waited for her to gather her thoughts. “Frankly, Dr. Strange, psychiatric surgery still has a long way to go before it’s practical, let alone ethical.” His eyes narrowed as he took in a sharp breath between his lips, looking ready for an argument. “However,” she continued before he had a chance, “I do think that it is a possible and even probable treatment in the future. It’s simply a question of how near that future is.”

He nodded, considering her answer. “Well, that is certainly a...diplomatic response.”

She shrugged off his somewhat curt reply. “The dementia treatments are certainly exciting though.”

“You think so?” he asked.

“I do.”

He considered this like he was measuring whether the conversation was worth pursuing. He seemed to deem it worthy of his time, because he asked, “What was your name again?”

“Dr. Ingrid Hansen,” she said, holding out her hand. His large hand enveloped hers in a steady grip.

“Dr. Stephen Strange, but I guess you already knew that,” he replied, keeping his hand on hers. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled and took her hand back, brushing a stray blond hair behind her ear. “I’d like that.”

He signaled the bartender, who came over quickly, having been eyeing them while he waited for them to decide on what they wanted.

“Scotch on the rocks for me,” Dr. Strange said, and then gestured to Ingrid.

“And a Moscato for me, please,” she said. The bartender turned to the back of the bar to fetch their drinks.

“White wine?” he asked, raising a skeptical brow.

“I have a sweet tooth,” she replied simply.

He chuckled. “So, you’re a doctor, you have a sweet tooth, and you are evidently British.”

“I am indeed, though I graduated here in New York,” she explained. The bartender placed their drinks in front of them and left without a word to attend to other patrons.

“And what are you a doctor of?” Dr. Strange asked, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Psychology,” she replied proudly.

The man heaved a sigh as he swallowed. “Of course,” he said with a somewhat disappointed tone.

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed, but she kept the corners of her mouth upturned in a practiced neutral smile. “‘Of course’?” she repeated.

He took another sip before answering. She didn’t break eye contact. “Well, it isn’t that psychology isn’t a worthy pursuit, but psychology is such a soft science it’s about as good as an English degree. I thought you were at least a psychiatrist.”

Her smile slipped from her face as suddenly as a bookshelf collapsing under its own weight. “I beg your pardon, but I am every bit a doctor as I would be if I were a psychiatrist. It’s not like I bought a certificate online,” she snapped.

He held his hands up. “Hey, you don’t need to explain it to me. But I do find it interesting that you were so intent on my speech if you’re not a psychiatrist.”

Ingrid rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers, trying to suppress the indignation that rose up in her chest. “It’s still relevant to my field, Dr. Strange.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” he conceded. Ingrid took a drink, letting the light flavors of the alcohol warm her chest. “So what is it that you do with that degree of yours?”

“Counseling,” she responded shortly.

“What kind?”

“All kinds, but mainly relationship and family counseling.”

He considered this for a moment. “And why the interest in dementia treatment?”

She paused mid-gulp of wine, watching him as his eyes traveled over her face. “Call it a personal interest,” she replied coldly.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his eyes, “no need to be touchy about it.”

Ingrid snorted. “God, you’re arrogant. Do you know that?”

He pursed his lips. “I’ve heard it once or twice. Is that your official diagnosis, Dr. Hansen? Arrogance?” He was baiting her and she knew it.

“No Dr. Strange,” she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. She took in the sight of him carefully, making note of every small movement he made, the way he presented himself, and how his breathing remained steady despite the conflict. “I cannot officially diagnose you at the moment, of course. Though I might wonder at your ability to maintain a relationship given your clear egocentric attitude.”

His mouth curled into a smirk. “Typical therapist. Non-committal answers and appeals to emotion. If you were a real doctor-”

The remainder of Ingrid’s wine doused his face. Sounds of surprise echoed about the bar area as she set her glass back down on the bar with a scowl and looked back at him with steely eyes. Dr. Strange didn’t say anything. He hardly looked phased as the wine dripped off of his long nose and down his cheeks.

“Thanks for the drink.” Ingrid turned to leave and a few sets of eyes looked between them curiously. Her black heels clicked against the tile as she strode out of the restaurant, fuming. Dr. Strange watched her go, assuring himself that he was not the least bit sorry for what he said as the bartender handed him a cloth napkin.

[omgrachwrites]

May Queen (Loki Laufeyson)

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x OC

Summary: Astrid, the princess of Vanaheimr relocates to Asgard to seal a betrothal to the youngest prince and an attempt to escape unforeseen forces. She soon finds happiness and a multitude of new friends. Unfortunately treachery and deceit lie in the court of Asgard in unlikely places, and she learns that true love never dies.

Warnings: fluffy fluff, tiny bit of angst

Words: 2138

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this part! Please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all very much! xxx

Part Nine -  The Garden

The early afternoon in Asgard was beautiful and wondrous, the sunlight was blazing out through the stained glass of the windows, casting the gardens in a wash of rainbow light. Loki looked up from his book from where he was sitting in the tree, he grinned as he saw her through the window of her chambers, long brown hair elegantly curling down her back. She had done well in Asgard over the past couple of weeks, this foreign princess and Loki was proud to call her his future wife, he hoped those deep feelings of passion would come within him soon. Though, he couldn’t deny that she was very beautiful.

He saw her face light up with happiness as she read his letter and lifted the rose with the green ribbon tied around the stem out of the folds of the thick parchment. Astrid’s face glowed with wonder and amazement when she touched a single delicate petal and the rose changed from its ruby red colour to an ice cold blue. The prince smiled, that little bit of magic was a little complicated and he thought that that particular shade of blue would bring out the colour in her eyes.

Loki had spoken with Sif – one of Asgard’s best warriors – and Sif had agreed to train Astrid, the fair maiden wanted to be a warrior just like her father. The letter contained arrangements for her to be fitted with suitable armour and weapons later on that afternoon. She was due for her first training session the following day.

Loki closed his book and stood up, intending to see his mother and father, Astrid had shown an interest in the old wing of the palace which was shut up behind a locked door and she was curious as to what was inside. She noticed it when Loki was showing her around the palace. Loki wanted to know what was in there as well since the story around the palace was that the old wing had been closed before he was even born. He knew that Odin and Frigga must have the key, his father probably wouldn’t allow him to have it but he was confident that his mother would talk his father round.

As he strode up to the golden doors of the throne room he lowered his raised fist when he saw that the door was open just a crack. The King and Queen seemed to be quarrelling inside, Loki couldn’t remember the last time his parents quarrelled, it must have been when he was a child.

“Please my love, they’ve been growing fond of each other over the span of a couple of months! Don’t you want our son to know his future wide a little before they marry?” Frigga sounded distressed. Loki wanted to go in and help her but he was curious as to what his father would respond with.

“If they’re growing fond of each other then that’s all the more reason to keep them in separate chambers. If he gets her pregnant,” his father sighed and trailed off.

“Well, they’re going to marry in less than a year so if he does get her pregnant it makes no matter,” there was a long silence before Frigga spoke up again, “ah, I see, you only want to hold onto this alliance if it’s absolutely the last option!”

Loki had never heard his mother sound so cold. Was his father planning to marry him off to somebody else? He didn’t understand.

“Remember how this alliance was born Odin, it was born from your tyranny! We cannot go back on it.”

Loki decided that he’d heard enough, shaking his head, he pushed open the door. His parents stopped talking immediately and looked at him. Odin looked angry and Frigga looked worried.

“Loki sweetheart, is everything alright?” Frigga smiled as she descended the steps that led up to the throne of Asgard and combed her gentle fingers through Loki’s hair, “have you been showing Astrid around the palace?”

“Yes mother, that’s partly while I’m here,” he hesitated as he looked past his mother at his father who was eyeing him suspiciously, “I wanted to show her the entirety of the palace,” Frigga nodded for him to continue, “I came to ask whether I could have the key to the old wing. We want to discover what’s inside.”

Frigga chewed her lip; her eyes were soft as she parted her mouth to say something before his father interrupted, “no! That wing has been closed for over 20 years; do you really think that I’d open it just for you?”

Loki glared at his father, “please father, I,” he was cut off by Odin.

“It’s nothing but dust and stone, it’s dangerous. It’s closed for good reason,” Loki sighed, knowing there was no way he could change his father’s mind.

“Come on sweetling, I’ve got something to give you,” Frigga smiled as she led her son out of the throne room, “I know that look Loki, I’m sorry but your father is right. There is nothing but rubble and danger in that wing.”

They entered Frigga’s chambers that Loki hadn’t been in since he was a boy; it was just as pretty as he remembered.

“Mother, why didn’t father marry off Astrid to Thor? He is the future King and she’s a future Queen,” Loki asked, he wouldn’t change anything but it had been gnawing at his mind for quite some time now.

Frigga looked at him with the most unreadable expression before quickly turning away, “your father wanted to but Astrid’s father disagreed. Terrible things can happen to future Kings, Loki,” the explanation seemed loose but he didn’t want to argue with his mother.

“Ah, here it is,” Frigga smiled and turned back around from her writing desk and dropped a silver key on a golden chain into Loki’s hand. Loki stared at it for a second before raising his eyebrow; he had no idea what this was for.

“It’s the key to the garden, my garden. The one that’s hidden beneath the ivy, your father constructed it for me when we married. Unfortunately, it’s fallen into disrepair due to my duties here, it is now Astrid’s, I hear she has a green thumb. It will be a good place for your children to play in.”

Loki flushed a pretty shade of scarlet as his mother mentioned children, he tried to imagine himself as a father, and he made a vow to himself that he’d be a better father than Odin. He’d actually spend time with his children and make it perfectly clear to them that he loved them as was proud of them. The prince smiled as he closed his hand over the small key, “thank you mother,” he grinned, kissing his mother’s powdered cheek, “if you’ll excuse me.”

Frigga nodded and bowed her head, “of course my son, I hope that Astrid likes the garden,” Loki smiled and left his mother’s chambers.

Right about now Astrid would be on her way to get her armour and weapons fitted but there was somebody that he needed to apologise to. Then his conscience would finally be clear. He found Mara walking down the hallway with Sif; she was wearing the flower crown that Astrid had made for her from the spring flowers. With Mara’s kind face, long white blonde hair and big blue eyes that you could drown in she seemed to be the picture of innocence. After all this time it seemed like she could be in fact innocent.

“Mara?” he called out and the two ladies looked at him expectantly, “may I have a word with you?” he asked, glancing at Sif, “privately,” he added.

Mara nodded and smiled at Sif before walking to Loki’s side, “can I just tell you first that you’ve made Astrid the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

Loki chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m sure it’s not just down to me. I wanted to apologise for accusing you of trying to kill Astrid but really you can’t blame me. All that unmistakable evidence pointed to Arna. I’ve still got my eye on you though.”

Mara smiled, “Loki, you don’t need to worry, I saw how upset everybody was when Arna tried to poison her, I don’t want to cause that kind of pain, especially not for you.”

“What about getting back to your family? I thought you had to kill a princess in order to get back to them?”

Mara shrugged, “I’ve been with Astrid for so long that she has become my family. I was foolish to not see it before.”

Loki wondered what it was that had caused Mara’s sudden change of heart, maybe it was how she said, she had sounded sincere. He was still going to keep his guard up, he had met extraordinary liars before, himself included, and “very well, I believe you. Could you do me a favour and ask Astrid to meet me by the wall of ivy round the back of the palace? Alone?”

“Yes Loki, I will. Good day to you,” Mara nodded as she walked back down the hallway to join Sif again.

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

Astrid giggled as she closed her eyes and put her hand in Loki’s, she heard the rustle of leaves being pushed aside and a heavy key turned in the lock. It was when she heard the creak of a door that she really started to get impatient.

“Loki,” she whined in a way that was very unbecoming of a princess, Loki laughed and moved a hand to her waist, leading her further and further.

“You can open your eyes soon, I promise, I just wanted this to be a surprise,” Astrid felt a kiss on her cheek and she flushed pink at his gentle touch. She walked a little farther and it felt like she was wading through oceans of long grass, “okay, you can open your eyes now.”

Astrid grinned and opened her eyes, gasping in awe as she did so; she was in what looked to be an overgrown jungle. On closer inspection it was a garden, complete with a stone marquee and a swing. Even though it looked like the garden hadn’t been touched in many years Astrid could still smell the faint scent of the wild flowers. In the centre of the garden there was a statue of a handsome prince and a beautiful princess dancing together. It seemed to be a very romantic place, just like a story and Astrid loved it.

“What is this place? It’s so beautiful,” she smiled, sitting on the stone step of the marquee.

“My father had it constructed for my mother when they married,” Loki gestured at the statue of the prince and princess, “she wants you to have it and so do I. I think it’s an early wedding present,” he chuckled.

Astrid gasped in delight, “really?” she looked around the garden and she could see exactly where she would plant the roses and forget me nots. She could just imagine the number of animals that would be attracted to the garden.

“Really,” Loki grinned, his hand coming up to rest on her cheek, he bowed his head at the same time that Astrid stood on her tiptoes. They shared their kiss in the garden that had been empty for so long and would soon be brimming with life again.

Astrid felt the gentle kiss of the snowflakes on her nose and she thought it odd that it was snowing in spring. She opened her eyes and saw that it was a large room shrouded in ice and snow. She heard her name whispered through the snow like a soft breath, she followed the voice and it led to a man in shackles that had icicles all over his face.

When he grasped her hand he was so cold that it turned her hand blue and she couldn’t feel her fingers, the man spoke in a hoarse whisper, “don’t drink the wine. Don’t drink the wine at the celebration, whatever you do.”

“Get away from me,” she cried, suddenly very afraid as she tried to pull her hand out of his grasp, “leave me alone!”

She bolted up in bed with a shrill scream and screamed once more when she saw Loki standing in the doorway, “what’s the matter?! You were crying and screaming.”

“I had a bad dream,” she said, suddenly feeling embarrassed, “will you stay with me? Please?” she asked in a small voice, moving over to make room for him.

Loki nodded with a smile, sliding in next to her and when he wrapped her up in his arms the dream didn’t seem so terrible after all. It was a strange one though and she wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon.

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

@theonelittleone​ @void-imaginations​

[mojofun]

Where my heart lies (Loki x OC) - Chapter 2

While he is wreaking havoc, Loki runs into a woman that catches his eye, so he takes her with him. She doesn’t seem to mind at all. Will he let her see the darkest side of him though?

Hello :)

This is the second chapter of the story. Hope you guys enjoy

I’m tagging @mrsbellablythe​ :)

Weeks passed, or was it months?

Hayley had lost count.

Being trapped in Loki’s hideout, guarded by strange and frightening aliens under his command was taking a toll on her more and more: each day dragged on and on without any change, and she always did the same things, trapped in the same four walls all the time.

What hurt the most, though, was waking up in bed alone after spending the night with him. Every time she knew it wasn’t a dream, if the rumpled sheets and his scent lingering in the air were anything to judge by, and yet… The other side of the mattress was cold and empty every single morning by the time she woke up.

It would be useless to try and catch him in the act: he had enough stealth and magic to simply vanish from her embrace if he wished, and that was exactly what he did.

The thought made her heart bleed, and she threw the covers off for what felt like the umpteenth time, reaching for her clothes.

While she got dressed, her mind made the most of the silence and solitude to berate her venomously

Why are you still here? He’s just using you; the fact that he chose you doesn’t make you anything special.

You are being a fool, falling in love with him while he couldn’t care less about you

The brunette cringed, cursing when, in her distraction, she pierced her skin with one of the dress’s clasps.

Yes, she was falling in love with him.

He intrigued her, he fascinated her, but most of all, he made her feel loved.

It was terribly ironic, considering he treated her like a prostitute or a concubine, but every time he held her in his arms and kissed her, she forgot about all the tears that had fallen from her eyes in his name. Her brain shouted every kind of foul insults at her, calling her all kinds of fool, but she ignored every rational thought inside her head.

Was that what addiction felt like? Probably.

One more high would get her through the pain of waiting for the next one.

Yes, that was an addiction.

The first time they’d been together was absolutely perfect: he was gentle, caring and tender, a far cry from what he’d become: he was never violent, but lately… Lately she felt as though he was building a wall around him, trying to usher her out and make her stay away. Hayley knew very well that letting someone else see the darkest sides of oneself was a challenge like no other -perhaps she wasn’t as damaged as Loki, but she’d been broken and beaten enough in her lifetime.

Nevertheless, after sharing such an intimate moment with him, she began to think that what they had was special… After all he let her see his true form without much fuss, and she was entirely sincere when she told him she found it fascinating.

It had all disappeared like a wonderful dream when the morning comes, like he did before she woke up every day.

Now every time they shared a bed -she couldn’t bring herself to call it anything else anymore- he was distant, locked in a dimension so faraway that nothing she did could ever reach him. If she dared to speak to him or touch him tenderly, he would look at her with a glare so haunted and threatening that it frightened into silence.

As soon as he was done, she cried. For him, for her, for whatever was causing them to drift apart… She could feel there was something wrong with him, and it worried her to no end.

She wanted to be close to him, to help him, but he wouldn’t let her… So she employed her time the only way she could: reading books.

It helped her distract herself from the pain, from the wait and everything else that tormented her. Besides, the topics were actually interesting.

Loki didn’t know that Hayley could read runes, not that he cared at that point: he was truly just using her, much to her dismay. The first time she’d picked up a book of his she wondered if he would be cross with her, but not she did not give a damn: it would still be more of a reaction than the catatonic presence he granted her at night and no more.

Heaving a sigh, the brunette pressed her finger on the small injury for a few seconds; when she removed it, the injury was healed.

During her time alone in her prison cell- the luxury only enhanced this feeling- she’d made quite an interesting discovery: she had powers.

It felt incredible, being able to actually convey the spells and charms described in the musty, enormous old tomes that were piled in her glorified manhole.

The brunette had no idea she was capable of that. Was that why Loki had chosen her?

No, it couldn’t be: he would have asked her to use her powers in the name of whatever twisted revenge he was plotting long ago, if that had been the case.

How was it possible that he failed to sense her magic? There had to be something wrong with him, something very, very wrong…

Of course she was worried, she loved him. And yet…

After undergoing so much pain for so long, she had no strength left to do something about it: caring per se was becoming a titanic effort, since their relationship was clearly one-way.

Perhaps he didn’t trust her; perhaps he thought her affection was circumstantial and false. Wasn’t he supposed to be the god of lies and deceit?

Once more, Hayley had to fight against the anguish of knowing that he was in pain. The frustration stemming from her powerlessness was atrocious, but there was not much she could do: he was not letting her in, no matter how much she begged and pleaded.

Maybe one day she would be strong enough to confront him. That idea motivated her to sharpen her skills.

Hayley was not stupid; far from it, actually.

She took care to master first of all the spells that would help her conceal her newfound abilities, like silencing charms and the creation of clones. Thus, she was able to pore over volume after volume of magic tricks and try them out without her guardians catching her red-handed- who knew what they would do to her if they found out. Yes, Loki was supposed to be in charge of them, but for some reason it didn’t feel like that.

Sighing, the brown-haired girl picked a well-read tome from the closest shelf and plonked herself down on the bed, opening it at the page she’d reached the previous day. Skimming the yellowish paper with her finger, she began to read out loud

<<The darkness allows us to see,

and yet to see,

you have to fight the darkness itself.

Take strength from pain,

convey it in your veins,

let it become one with yourself>>

It was absolutely wonderful; Hayley always loved poetry, and those books were making her discover wonderful stanzas. Even better, the spell gave her the necessary power to release an actual flame from her hand, much brighter and warmer than the one she’d produced last time.

The smile on her face shone almost as bright as the fire on her fingers; she was really getting the hang of it

<<Maybe I can try again… Let’s see…>>

The girl flipped the page to find the opposite spell to the one she’d just cast. Taking a deep breath, she proceeded to recite it

<<One without the other is no more,

in equilibrium, there is war

the key is learning to walk the line.

So when flames destroy, pray for ice,

and when ice kills, pay the price

for fire, the horizon’s a rim so fine>>

Once again she felt a surge of power flow right through her. This time, however, the outcome was not fire but ice, as explained by the poem.

Her entire limb grew cold and, when she touched the book again, she spotted crystals of snow on the pages.

The smile on her face somehow got even bigger

 <<One more…>>

After some research, her eyes landed on a spell that intrigued her, so she decided to try her hand with it- literally

<<Every time the world dies

a new era is bestowed by the skies

never be broken, learn to bend.

Like flowing canes in the winds of change

who lie down while the storms rage

and resurrect when they end>>

Hayley got her wish when green vines sprouted from her fingers, twisting around her forearm with grace; a little additional effort gifted her with small white flowers blooming on her skin, and she felt a small tear trickle down her cheek: it was beautiful.

The knowledge that it was her doing amazed her even more.

Finally feeling happy again, she lay her hand on the wall and let the plants colonise her room, bringing some much-needed cheerfulness to the drab cell.

The white flowers even graced her hair, making her giggle and stand up to look in a mirror: she looked pretty like that.

Would Loki notice? Probably not.

Luckily, that thought was not enough to make her sad again.

[anavantgardener]

Frost and Mischief Ch. 5

Summary: The next installment of Frost and Mischief! Loki is learning more about Elska as he works to train her in magic.

Pairing: OC x Loki Laufeyson

Warnings: mentions of violence and abuse, fighting, swearing

Word Count: 4,000

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The Fight

-Loki's P.O.V.-

When Loki invited Elska to the Royal Library to learn his favorite spells, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. What he did know was that he wanted more time with her.

It was just after the midday feast; Elska would be just beginning her hand-to-hand combat training. Loki found himself sitting in his chambers, pondering which spells he would teach Elska this evening. As he thought, he realized he wasn't sure what she already knew. While he became aware of her "book borrowing" a century ago already, he had an inkling it had begun quite some time before his discovery.

She already knew how to turn herself invisible. He knew that much from the day she crept her way into the thief's sentencing, although he was still unsure whether or not Elska was aware of his knowledge of that incident. Perhaps she would benefit from a shielding spell that would hide traces of her magic.

Loki also remembered noticing her interest in the book on telepathy. Telepathy was how he first found out she had been taking things from the palace. It may not have been very polite, but she was the first person he practiced his technique for the spell on. She'd come in to clean the library in the mornings and he'd be there, waiting for her. As she milled about, he'd cast an illusion of himself that remained seated at his desk. He himself would find somewhere to perch, invisible, watching her, visualizing her mind opening its doors to him.

The first day he managed to read her thoughts, he was so pleased with himself he nearly exposed his cover by knocking over a pile of books. Thankfully, his illusion was convincing enough for her to believe that it was merely a little joke he had played, giving her a slight shrug and evil grin.

He found that reading thoughts was not what he believed it would be; rather than the mind acting as a book where the reader could flip to any page they pleased, it was more like a play. The reader watched and followed the thoughts as they flowed. Gifted readers could pick up on the emotions that accompanied thoughts. The better you knew who you were reading, the easier it was to pick up on the emotions. People were not necessarily "open books" unless the secret you were looking for was on their mind presently.

After that, he seldom read her thoughts, finding them dull and uninteresting. He crept into her mind every now and then, curiosity getting the better of him. She thought often of her friends and wondered what they were doing for the day. Sometimes, she wished she hadn't eaten her honeyed toast so fast. Other times, she would fret about what she would cook for the dwelling that evening.

So mundane.

Then, one day, he caught her planning her return to the library and take a book. That day, he remained in the library all day, just waiting to catch her in the act. He originally intended to expose her then and there, but something stopped him. So, he just watched her, running her fingers along the book bindings, looking for her prize. When she finally found it, a bright smile lit up her face with success. Tucking the book into her apron, his gaze followed her as she left, quietly closing the large double doors behind her.

After that, he peeked into her mind more often; she loved the imagination magic required, and flew through spells quickly. She was a master of healing magic, and wondered what ingredients would speed the work of her healing balms. Slowly, her research began delving into the history of magic. She hoped it would open her abilities to stronger, more defensive enchantments.

Admittedly, Elska's thoughts were much less bland than the others in Asgard. Even his own friends were consumed with thoughts of superficiality. Women, glory, food, family, friends - it all felt so trivial. Elska, though, she spent her time thinking of magic and history. Through his intrusion, he learned they shared certain affinities.

Once, Loki tried to read his mother, yet discovered the woman had an enchantment protecting her thoughts from masters of magic such as himself. This led him to his search for spells that would allow him to do the same thing, though he had yet to see if it worked. The only other person as gifted in magic as he was his mother, and he did not wish to risk letting her know he attempted to read her.

Teaching Elska how to read people would allow him to try this new spell out, to perfect it. This could prove troublesome, though. Loki worried that, if Elska was successful, she could learn far more than he was comfortable with. He'd have to be very careful in monitoring his thoughts, ensuring they didn't drift anywhere dangerous.

It is either take the risk or never know if your barrier works, he thought to himself, sighing.

Looking over to the sundial at his window, he noticed he had been lost in his thoughts for almost half an hour. After Elska's combat training, she'd be returning to her lady in waiting duties, so he truly would have to wait until the evening feast to see her again. He'd have to find some way to busy himself until then; perhaps he could try out the snake transfiguration with Thor...

Loki was excited by the idea of having a new friend. He hoped this didn't turn out like the Warriors Three; they'd begun as close friends to both he and Thor, but eventually became more loyal to Thor. He was a sort of fifth wheel when the group was together.

Regardless, Elska had agreed to meet with him, meaning he would get the time he so desired with her. Perhaps he would be able to grow closer to her, yet.

*****

After what felt like eons, it was time for the evening feast. After hours of internal combat, Loki continued to deal with his own self-embarrassment at his excitement to see Elska and to be near her once more. Striding into the main hall toward Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, he was disappointed to find that she was not seated with them.

He also noticed that Sif seemed to be seething with anger, and a fresh cut decorated her left eyebrow. On her cheek, a bruise was beginning to purple. Peeking into her thoughts, they were swarming with rage stemming from Elska's combat training, though not directly from Elska.

"Damn noble weaponsmen," she thought, her voice in her mind a wispy sort of wind-like sound to Loki. "They truly felt the grotesque need to kill her, actually try to kill her."

Loki's mind began racing as he retreated from Sif's head, sitting down next to his brother. Taking every attempt to mask his building anxiety, he thought what the least suspicious way to the topic would be.

"Lady Sif, where did you get your fresh battle wounds?" He asked.

Fresh battle wounds? She's a warrior, you imbecile, Loki scolded himself.

"Those damned racist nobles, that is where," she snapped, concerned glances coming from those sitting around the group.

"You will have to excuse Sif," Hogun said quietly.

"She, Fandral, and Elska had a bit of a run in with-" Volstagg began.

"She was doing absolutely wonderful," Sif cut him off. "Yes, she was unbalanced and a tad goofy at times, but it was her first day training. Fandral had come along to help with her training. We had finally sorted out what weapon was best for her." Towards the end of her statement, she was more speaking to the air than anyone in particular.

Sif shook her head and took another seemingly violent bite of her chicken leg, ignoring the expectant stare from Loki.

"The weaponsmen came to the sparring arena about three hours into Elska's training," Volstagg took over once more.

"You know, the nobles who think because they have the gold for a sword from the merchants they spar better than the All-Father's personal guard?" Fandral jabbed his fork into a pork chop, clearly frustrated with the situation, as well.

Loki shook his head, pushing them to tell him more as he began eating the greens he had set on his plate.

"One of them recognized her as 'that Devourer filth' and informed the men that they should, how did he put it, Fandral?" Sif was waving her fork in the air, words laced with residual animosity.

"Rid the Nine Realms of 'that vile bitch,'" Fandral set his silverware down, taking a moment to calm himself.

Loki looked over to his brother; Thor had yet to place any food on his plate. Instead, he sat with one hand pinching the bridge of his nose, one in a tight fist on the table.

"For hundreds of years," Thor's blue eyes glanced over to Loki, his words coming out so only he could hear. "Hundreds of years, father looks at her the same way those men do. Yet she served our family so diligently. She would tell me stories when I was upset, sneak into my room as a child to play games with me." Loki had never heard about any of this. "She's been my friend, and yet I have allowed people to treat her this way. It will go on no longer."

Loki looked to his lap, setting down his own silverware. It seemed the group's appetite was dwindling.

"How is she?" Loki looked back to Fandral.

"She is fine, she held her own fairly well, for a starting warrior," he responded. "She took several deep gashes to her legs and abdomen, but nothing she will not heal from."

"She is very shaken," Sif looked absolutely dismal. "Right now, I doubt she wants to be anywhere near a nobleman of any sort." She glanced around the room, a scowl replacing her frown.

"We planned on taking her a plate after our time here, but I think it might be better for us all to take plates for ourselves and for her, eat together," Thor spoke loud enough for the group this time.

"I think she would like that very much," Sif gave a small smile.

"I can make her a plate," Loki offered, and the group began gathering their things to relocate.

*****

When Elska opened the door to her chambers, Loki saw just how much the fight had taken out of the young woman. Her shoulders sagged and her nose was red, raw from wiping it. Still she gave the occasional sniffle. Her puffy gray eyes were a tempest, and dark circles decorated her lower lids. Her hair, now messily braided to the side, was still wet and fingers had pruned, telling him she had likely done nothing but sit in the bath since she was released from the healing ward.

Fury bubbled inside Loki, burning in his mind. He wanted to find the men who did this, and drag his dagger through their skin.

In the corner of her room sat her torn leather armor. It was littered with holes, and he could only imagine the constellations that must decorate Elska's skin under her night gown. It always confused Loki, the way they gave beginner warriors the least efficient armor.

"My friends," Elska wiped a straggling tear from her cheek. "You must excuse my appearance. I was not expecting visitors." She sent each of them an apologetic look. "Please, sit where ever you like, I am sorry there is not more seating."

Elska walked over to her wardrobe, choosing out another gown.

"I shall return shortly," she walked into her bathing chambers, sniffling and clearly embarrassed.

The group sat in a sort of stunned silence, unsure of how to console their new friend. After a few seconds, they began debating the benefits of taking her to Thor's chambers. They would all be able to sit and eat in comfort there.

While they spoke, Loki muffled out their voices by peeking into Elska's mind. He pushed out the guilt that accompanied the action, telling himself it was to help him know how to make her feel better. Seeing her like this, her heavy heart's gravity seemingly pulled Loki down with it.

Her thoughts only pulled him down farther.

She missed Eira; she wanted to go home, to the dwelling; her efforts toward success in the palace felt futile. Everything spilled through the forefront of her mind in a constant flow. She felt unwanted, dejected, disastrous.

"I am a monster, the thing parents tell their children about to scare them into following the rules," she thought. Her thoughts were laced with her own feeling of disbelief, telling Loki that she was not accustomed to despising her own heritage.

"I hate for them to see me like this," her mind unknowingly spoke to him. "They are kind, yet they will soon learn to frown at me the way the All-Father does, the way those men did."

Loki put his head in his hands as Elska returned to the main room, not wanting her to see the pain he felt for her.

"We brought you a plate, El," Volstagg picked up the plate from Loki's side and brought it to the woman standing in the middle of the floor.

"El?" The corners of Elska's mouth perked up a bit.

"It is the name I have given you in my head, a sort of term of endearment," Volstagg smiled a big, oafy grin.

"I like it," she laughed gingerly, and the sound, while small, slightly eased Loki's troubled mind.

"We thought we would move this little dinner party into Thor's chambers," Hogun stood. "There is more room for us all to sit comfortably."

"Of course, whatever pleases you all," she shook her head, and Loki noticed that she was much more reserved when she was upset. "I will be right there, just going to put on my sandals."

As the group left, Loki stayed behind to wait for Elska.

"None of us will ever turn against you, you know," he said as she opened her wardrobe.

"Tell me, how do you read my mind?" she did not look at him as she spoke, and the question took him by surprise.

"Truthfully, I planned on teaching you tonight," he gave a cautious laugh, not knowing where the conversation was going.

"But you do not deny that you do it?" Elska asked as she finished lacing up her first sandal, looking over to him.

"No," he sighed after a few moments. "I do not deny it. I also do not deny reading Sif's mind, or Thor's, or Fandral's, or trying to read even my own mother's mind."

She remained silent as she laced up her second sandal, and it prompted him to go on.

"It is intrusive, I know, and I will not lie and tell you I feel guilty for the invasion of privacy, but you must know that I was doing it to find out how to best cheer you up," he explained.

"What about the times before?" Elska stood and held the door for Loki, and he felt a pang in his chest. When he did not answer, she continued. "Do you know how to keep others from reading your mind?"

"Possibly," Loki grit his teeth, now becoming annoyed.

"Good, you will teach me both tonight after dinner," Elska sniffled one last time before she began limping toward Thor's chambers.

Something told Loki she would not be accepting any help he offered.

*****

Dinner seemed to lift Elska's spirits, but she was still more guarded than Loki had ever seen previously. Their interaction in her chambers had left him baffled and frustrated. He was only trying to help, to learn her emotions enough to make her happy again, but his efforts were met with anger.

As she chatted away her sadness with their friends, Loki sat and sunk deeper into his own boiling annoyance. Despite her irritation with him, Elska chose to sit next to him on the lounger, and her closeness drove him mad.

First, he cannot for the life of him discern why his feelings push past platonic boundaries. Then, he feels the need to find a way to spend more time with her. And then, she gets hurt and he does what is in his power to lift her spirits, and she gets angry. And now, by merely sitting next to him, the tension in his body was reaching new levels. The man was reluctant to even set his hand on the cushion beneath him for fear it would possibly graze her own.

Even Sigyn never shook his emotions to the core in this way, yet this woman, who he had only truly known for a week and a half, was driving him up the wall.

Leaning against the arm of the lounger, he watched her as she listened intently to Thor's retelling of one of the battles he and his friends had fought in. Her hands were folded on her lap, legs crossed, back straight. The etiquette classes his father had ordered were certainly showing. Looking back to the group, Loki realized Sif had caught him staring as she gave him a raised eyebrow. Rolling his eyes, he looked over to Thor, pretending to be paying attention to the story he was telling.

Eventually, not as soon as he would have liked, the impromptu dinner party came to a close when Fandral suggested they should all go have a drink in the merchant district. Elska declined, telling them she was still quite uncomfortable with the idea of going out (which Loki did not doubt to be true). Loki informed them he had studies to attend to and would surely go out with them the next night.

Before he made his way to the Royal Library, Loki fetched his notes on mind barrier enchantment from his chambers. When he did enter the library, he found Elska waiting for him, sitting in the window nook. Their eyes met, and he could tell she felt guilty for her earlier words.

"While I refuse to apologize for my frustration at your actions," she began, posture perfect and proud. "I will apologize for my frustration with your intentions." Her shoulders slumped back as the words left her mouth. "I appreciate your care, your words brought me relief."

Looking at Elska, Loki found himself struggling to hold onto his anger. He wanted to be mad at her. He wanted to show her the notes that held the answers to her earlier questions and set them ablaze.

But he didn't.

He sat down next to her, looked into her eyes, and felt his feelings soften.

"And I am sorry for my intrusion, and for my blatant disregard for your privacy," he held his hand out for her to shake. "Still friends?"

"Always," Elska grasped Loki's hand in her own, shaking it.

"Well, now," he laughed. "I do not believe you will be able to tolerate me for so long."

"You underestimate me," she smiled, looking down at their still touching hands.

Pulling his hand away awkwardly, he began rubbing it slightly, as if her touch had burned him.

"Shall we get started, then," he tried to move through the strange moment.

"Of course," Elska smiled and stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her gown as she did so.

"Perfect, let us find a place where you may sit directly across from me," Loki began leading her to one of the larger desks in the library. Motioning her to sit down, he told her the basics of mind reading.

"It sounds much more simple than I would have thought," she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.

"I felt the same way when I discovered telepathy," he replied. "But you know as well as I, magic is a game of imagination, visualizing in your mind and forcing that vision into reality."

He watched her scribble down notes, the corners of his lips curling upward, and went on.

"I will inform you that you will not so much read a mind as you will listen to its progression," he said. "The mind is a stage, the person you are focused on is the actor. Their monologue is your goal." He leaned further into the table. "Now, look at me. Imagine doorways in my eyes, let the doorways become a version of myself if I was a door." She smirked a bit, finding his comment amusing. "You laugh, but giving each person their own door will make this process easier. Now, imagine my doors opening and yourself walking into them."

She stared intently at the man, minutes passing by. Loki had not yet put up his barrier; he needed to be sure she was successful first. After half an hour, she leapt from her chair, a smile plastered on her face.

"So you are not sure your barrier works?" she teased, very pleased with her work. She danced around the desk, and Loki watched as she beamed, a smile growing on his own face. Rather than reply, he just looked at her, wanting her to read his answer.

She accepted the challenge, seating herself across from him once more. Entering his mind this time only took her a few minutes.

"I have not perfected it, no," His thought echoed as he waited patiently for her to hear it.

"Your voice in your head sounds different," she smiled. "It is more musical, like an instrument playing a secret tune."

They continued this little game until she was finding her way into Loki's head in just seconds. Then, it was time for him to try out his barrier. He refrained from showing her his notes, wondering if knowing the enchantment before trying would allow her to break it.

"Now try," Loki envisioned a black wall made of stone encasing his thoughts. He gave the wall vines of ivy, believing that plant growth meant the wall had stood for ages, signifying strength. It was tall, and he imagined stacking another layer of stone on the top, just for good measure.

Elska looked into his eyes, and he could see her fascination in her failure.

"It is amazing," she exclaimed. "I can see the doors, I can open them, but I cannot enter them. There is a wall blockading my entrance." She sat for a moment.

"Truthfully?" Loki swelled with pride, thrilled.

"Truthfully! I wonder if one could envision breaking the walls, and if so, could the subject continuously fortify?" Elska asked, though not to Loki. He watched as she thought aloud, quickly writing notes.

"Here are my notes, if you'd like to see them," he laughed as she immediately grasped them, eyes darting through each word. He was surprised she could read his chaotic handwriting.

After writing, he watched as she sat and closed her eyes. She sat like this for quite some time.

"Now try me," her eyes shot open, and Loki could swear they had been red as they first opened.

Loki envisioned the doors he had assigned to Elska. Tall, wooden double doors, floral detail carved into them. The golden door knobs had once been shaped like roses, but after their conversation last night, they had changed to hellebores, a flower that grows even in the cold.

As he imagined himself opening the doors, he was met with something he hadn't seen in Elska's mind before - a wall of ice. Towering well above the doors he had created for her, as he got close he realized he could see his breath, as well as swirling designs glowing within the frozen barrier.

His admiration for Elska grew tenfold in that moment, finding a deep respect for her bold love of her heritage despite the fear others held for it.

"A wall," he whispered to the woman seated across from him, and she grinned from ear to ear.