#(i may end up stressed out by how fancily they make it because it has been pointed out to me that my preferred way of having it 'butter and

[boomerang109]

I'm supposed to still be doing homework but I wanted to pause really quickly because I really think I might be getting better

I hit a wall last week (and hella actually really helped me, but I had to ignore her advice for a few days to see it) where I just kind of realized I don't actually do much to make myself feel better? And like. I want to be so specific that like. I'm feeling physically better these days so it's so much easier (not easy, mind you--I'm still in pain AND mental health is still making it hard, but it's easier)

But like I just had like three days in a row where I just tried to do homework in bed and instead I did NOTHING and I basically talked to no one and I was just making myself miserable and I was like. It's the end of the semester and at this point it's my fault I have so much work. So I need to make a different choice and do it. So I have?

And I spent HOURS doing work yesterday. And it wasn't perfect--I meant to go to an aquaintance's show and I didn't make it, but I did a bunch of work and got some late assignments turned in. And I'm still working today and it's fucking slow going. I thought I was gonna get through two modules (I don't call them that, god hella you've infected my brain) but I still have ten pages left of enlightened sexism (but my focus is a little shot at this point in the day. BECAUSE I SUDDENLY HAVE ENERGY?? like i'm gonna go put my laundry in and like. idk maybe even walk around a bit because i have energy. like not a lot. but for nearly 8pm at night? It's crazy.)

I just. I hope this is the iron and the medication change. Because I've been having such a rough go of it. But I think some of it has been me. I think I got really good at being sick and treating myself like I was sick and I'm not anymore.

Cause like when I was sick I let myself get away with all sorts of bullshit cause 'oh I can't, I don't feel well.'

But I'm getting better. So that means putting on my big person pants and doing shit. Even when it's hard.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[imagine-loki]

The Powers That Be

TITLE: The Powers That Be CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Thirty-Seven

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki discovering a hidden mutant when he realises they are at risk of being found by S.H.I.E.L.D. who experiments on mutants, he is the one to help them.

RATING: Teen and Up

Alex looked at Roan above her, her eyes focused on him, seething in rage, having heard everything he had done and what he planned to do to her. She had dismissed him as merely a foolish, self-obsessed elf; she had never imagined what he was willing to do to further himself.

"How?" He did not get to ask anymore before she used the element of wind to throw him across the room and into the far wall with a loud thud. The two dwarves looked at the fallen elf for a moment before looking at one another and then at Alexia, who did not even have enough time to sit up properly before they began to descend on her with their weapons raised. Looking at them both, she scoffed and threw her hands forward, forcing them into the far wall also, but with far greater force, causing them to leave large indentations on the wall and for their armour to buckle completely where it impacted, crushing the back of their skulls, killing them instantly.

She used that as her chance to get out of the bed and rushed to Diarmaid, ignoring her stiff limbs as she did. "Why?" She asked as she knelt beside him.

"Because I am of little use these days, I am getting old, but you, you are the deciding, which is why they waited until you were unable to assist; they needed you out of the way." Diarmaid coughed weakly, "You understand what I did?"

"Yes." Alexia looked sadly at the elf.

"I am sorry if you think I pushed you too hard, I am only sorry now I will not get to see how great you become Alexia."

"You called me by my name, you did it when I was asleep too, I heard you."

"Did you think I did not know it?" The elf gave a dry laugh, but it turned into a cough. "Now, go show the realms why they should fear it for the rest of your millennia’s."

"Thank you, for everything." She gave a small tearful smile.

"It was my pleasure, you were my greatest student, do not tell Prince Loki though." The Light Elf gasped one last time and closed his eyes, his chest stilling, telling Alexia he had passed.

Alexia bit her lips together, willing the tears to remain at bay. A cough from Roan made her turn to look at him again, the elf coming to once more close by. Standing straight, she looked down at him, as he was about to use his seidr against her, she flicked her hand and sent him into another wall. "You should have just killed me." She growled, throwing him to another wall, not allowing him to his feet before doing it again. "It would have been your last chance of seeing tonight." Again he forced him to collide with the first wall she threw him into. “As for your thinking Loki cannot help, you are wrong."

"What," Roan gasped, severely winded from the different blows she had inflicted. "Are you talking about?"

"Well, you see, his magic is not in the Allfather’s staff." She pulled the amulet from under her clothes out for him to see. "It is right here, and all I need to is let him touch it, and it goes back into him." The elf's eyes widened. "Then he, Thor and I will destroy every last, filthy snake that we encounter, not that you will be alive to see." She sneered getting water to flow from the closed faucet and forcing it around his head, drowning him. She waited until he was clearly struggling to remain conscious and then let the water fall again, as he gasped and coughed for air, she stood over him, shaking with anger. "This is for Diarmaid." She roared, using her abilities to thrust the elf through her window and into the sky outside her room. Roan was about to use his seidr to protect himself from the fall when he heard a loud cracking noise below him. The rock that paved the pathway cracked open and earth came up as though lava erupting from a volcano, taking the form of a large snake with huge fangs, opening its mouth wide as he fell towards it, engulfed him before crashing back to the ground with great force. Alexia looked at the mess and caused the earth to withdraw like water after it crashes on a beach, leaving the battered body of Roan on the pavement, covered in mud; his eyes wide and glazed over in death.

With her jaw clenched, Alexia walked away from the window and back through the room, looking sadly at not only Diarmaid but the Einherjar that littered the floor, having given their lives to protect her. She knew the only way to repay their sacrifice was to put an end the current situation, so taking some trainers from her wardrobe, she put them on and left, not caring that she was in sweatpants and a sports top, ignoring the bodies of the two dwarves that had killed all the guards that now lay on the floor with them.

The other part of her rooms held the bodies of even more Einherjar, her jaw clenching so hard she was at risk of breaking teeth when she saw them, her anger rising. She used wind to open the doors and walked into the hallway, looking both directions for a moment before deciding her best bet at finding Loki and Thor would be near the throne room.

There were bodies littering the floor around the palace, as well as wounded. Both dwarves and some other sort of creature Alexia had never seen before all lay dead, and sadly, the bodies of Einherjar, but also of servants and maids that had been caught in the fighting. The more she witnessed, the more the anger within her grew. The throne room was void of life, all that was there were the dead, so she moved to where she assumed the feast that had been taking place, the hallway outside it was guarded, not only by Einherjar, but also Light Elves, Aesir, some that she knew to be Vanir, and others.

They stared at her in disbelief, not stopping her as she walked through them, instead making a clear path in front of her. One guard opened the door slightly and called into the feast room. A moment later, Sif walked out, sword at the ready, her eyes widening when she saw Alexia. "You're awake."

"Diarmaid used his seidr to rush the process," Alexia explained.

"He could not have done that sooner?" The warrior half shrieked in frustration.

"It cost him his life, he was left defenceless then when Roan attacked him."

"Roan? His nephew?" Sif’s jaw dropped open.

"He is the reason they are attacking, well one of them at least, I need to find Loki and Thor."

"I will take you to where I last knew them to be." She indicated for Alexia to follow her, which she did; as she passed the doorway, Alexia glimpsed in. There were wounded inside as well as fancily dressed people, all of whom were being so heavily guarded, though there were so many, she wagered it was not easy to maintain calm among inter-realm guests, amongst them, she was sure that she saw Odin, looking somewhat stressed.

"Why were you there? Should you not have been with the others?" She asked as she half-jogged to keep up with the warrior.

"Hogun was impaled on a spear; I was merely bringing him in to seek healer’s attention." The warrior woman explained.

"Impaled?"

"It was only through his side, he will not be able to drink ale and mead for a few weeks, but other than that, he should be fine." She dismissed. "Thor is in the sky, I can hear his thunder, Loki has a sword as well as his daggers, so he will be in the centre of the battle on the ground." Sif looked at Alexia up and down. "You are not fit for battle in that attire."

"I do not battle as you do, I will be fine." Alexia dismissed. "They will not be able to get me with weapons, for mine far surpass anything they may have." She smirked. "How about we announce our arrival?"

"What is it that you have got in mind?" Sif looked at her warily, knowing that whatever Alexia was planning, it would no doubt be spectacular.

Alexia's smirk turned into a full grin, but she did not stop moving. Sif looked out the next window they passed and froze, staring at what she was witnessing. She knew the reason for it and it scared her, she could only imagine what it was like for Thor, Loki and the Warriors, but also, their enemies, to witness.