#Black Magic Removal In London

[rudramaster]

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[panditsairamguru]

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[vishnuastrologer]

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[holland-vosijk-antari]

@ravencromwell put it perfectly!!!! how many people travelled to white london in pursuit of power because it was considered stronger than red or grey? only to find themselves trapped in a dying world unable to get back to their family? were the people left behind treated with suspicion? how many of those trapped away from their home and culture had to spend the rest of their life afraid to speak their native tongue? how much warning did they get, was it enough for the people closest to the red crown to tell their loved ones to come home before it happened? or maybe they weren't allowed to risk it in fear that word of the plan would spread leading to retaliation from white, so some simply had to watch as their friends were cut off, knowing they wouldn't see them again.

wonder how many people in red london would have white or grey london heritage? surely people made some Connections back when there was open travel between londons? besides, all it takes is one particularly slutty antari a hundred or so years ago laying pipe in more than one london to make quite a bunch of descendents.

[vishnuastrologer]

[sodamnradd]

She never imagined an adolescent flame could turn so deadly.

At fifteen they kissed one another on patrol. The first time a boy slipped his tongue between her lips and made her feel desired.

She kept Draco to herself and suspected he did, too. Hermione, his dirty little secret. After three kisses in June, school came to a close. She dreamt of peppermint lips and the drag of solid white teeth all summer long.

At sixteen, she learned how to comfort someone and expect nothing in return. Tight-lipped, subtly explosive, selfish, and uncouth, Draco pushed her away and reeled her back in. He took her virginity in Filch’s supply closet. It was harsh and unromantic and horribly cruel when, afterwards, he revealed his Dark Mark and asked if she still wanted him.

At seventeen, he saved her life.

“Where have you been?” he wanted to know. An unmasked face in a sea of secret soldiers, intent to torture and kill them. The wild jealousy in his eyes was really asking: who have you replaced me with?

“Nowhere.” No one.

He slipped her his wand, told her to stun him, save her friends, and run, promising to find her again.

Seventeen was the longest year of her life.

Draco used his wand to track her whereabouts.

She didn’t know if she could trust him. If he was the cruel sixteen-year-old who hurt her all year long, or the fifteen-year-old who’d kissed her, pulled away, stunned, as if he’d come to a shocking revelation, then kissed her again with reckless, open-hearted abandon.

By eighteen he was her confidante and closest friend.

They met in public spaces. Chiswick. Richmond. Hammersmith. She wore Muggle clothes, and he showed up in all black. Autumnal chic. Trendy Londoners didn’t blink twice. He’d sweep her onto an empty double-decker, a vacant pub, a locked greenhouse in the botanical gardens, remove his leather gloves, and touch her face, her hair, rub her cold hands between his palms and kiss her fingertips. He took note of her scars. The ones he recognised and the ones he didn’t. Demand who did it, vow to make them pay, then offer everything he knew about Voldemort’s next moves.

At eighteen, he confessed he loved her.

It was the worst of the war. She’d been beaten, tortured, scarred, and branded. Draco hardened, trained and bathed in Dark Magic. They did not belong with one another.

Keeping her safe was like clutching a bar of soap beneath the tap and praying it wouldn’t slip from his fingers. But he tried his damned well hardest, and she loved him for it.

By nineteen, freedom tasted like luxury.

War-torn homes, constant nightmares, society’s vitriol, friends who didn’t understand, a world who wished them apart.

It was caviar and champagne.

The ability to sleep in the same bed and touch one another when they felt like it (always), and say I love you without the fear of never saying it again.

(494 words, photo prompt from twitter)

[wolfstarshipping]

wolfstar wips

So I'm using the @hprecfest day 12 prompt "a WIP you're following" to post a short rec list of WIPs that has been sitting in my drafts for so long now I even had to remove a fic that had been finished in the meanwhile!

Something rotten in Grimmauld Place by @plecotusauritus (8,802 words, Hamlet AU) This is a wolfstar Hamlet AU, need I say more?? I've never much cared or thought about Hamlet since I read it in school but this fic (almost) makes me want to reread Hamlet and I can't wait to see where the story goes next, I love the atmosphere this fic captures, the lovely writing style and just seeing all these characters we know so well fit into the plot of Hamlet is so, so cool!!

the oldest recipe for parsnip soup by @eyra (10.639 words, modern AU, christmas fic) Getting another fic by eyra for the holidays has been such a wonderful treat! I love the whole setting and the characters of this fic so much already, especially Sirius!! And the writing and all the descriptions are so, so beautiful, as always, highly recommend checking it out!!

Welcome to Aphrodite by @de-sire-blog & @rhabarberjunge (18.957 words, magical AU, secret identities) this is one of those fics I've read a while ago, but I keep thinking about it because I loved it so much. I don't want to give away too much of the plot, but the premise is Sirius finding a hidden, adults-only club that makes people's secret desires come true, and of course Sirius's secret desire is Remus... It's hot, it's fun, and it's incredibly angsty, I love it.

Stitched into My Skin by @squintclover (19.297 words, canon divergent AU, memory loss) I love the heartache and all the bittersweetness that comes with memory loss fics so much already, and I am so obsessed with the way it's been done in this fic. The premise of the fic is Peter casting a memory loss charm on Sirius on October 31st 1981, which leads to Remus raising Harry and randomly coming across Sirius years later, only Sirius doesn't remember him. I'm so intrigued by the first few chapters already and can't wait to see where the story goes next!

Marauder FM by @hollyivydruzy (26.402 words, modern AU, radio AU, enemies to friends to lovers) I know I've recced this fic before but I will never shut up about it because I love it, and especially this fic's Remus so, so much! It's an iconic, funny radio AU set in London, and I wish the radio shows from this fic were real because I would listen to Sirius's radio show every morning if I could. I just love the vibe of all of them working at the radio station together and the slow burn enemies to friends (to lovers) is so delicious!

The Patchwork of Us by @tracingpatternswrites (27.502 words, modern AU, enemies to lovers, co-parenting Teddy) This is such a lovely fic about Sirius and Remus navigating the difficult situation of co-parenting Teddy after Tonks dies, I love the domesticity and the enemies to lovers vibe of this fic so much!

The Picture of Sirius Black by @lynxindisguise (30.049 words, Dorian Gray AU) okay anyone who has ever seen my blog knows how much I love lynx's writing, which is why I am also obsessed with this fic, even though it's a genre I'm usually not that familiar with. It's a Dorian Gray AU, it's gothic horror but especially the first few chapters are also giving victorian romcom with murder sideplot vibes (and I mean this as the biggest compliment), this fic will make you laugh and cry and want to murder some of these characters yourself maybe.

Only Fools Are Satisfied by grumposaur (@pancakehouse) (38.353 words, modern AU, tennis AU). I really love the exploration of Sirius's family dynamics in the context of him being a professional athlete in this fic, and Remus with his tanlines and freckles is everything!!

Neon Moon by @krethes (47.698 words, modern AU, cowboy stripper Remus AU, Las Vegas) I didn't know how much I needed Remus to be a stripper and a cowboy before I read this fic, but now I do and I love him!! The whole premise of them meeting at a strip club while Sirius is out on James's bachelor party is so iconic, and the vibes of the fic are just overall excellent, highly recommend checking it out!

on another ocean by @colgatebluemintygel (118.148 words, modern AU, backpacking/interrail, friends with benefits) Where do I even start? This is an incredible fic, one of my all time faves, I've reread some of the chapters several times now and am so obsessed with this fic's Remus in his socks and sandals, driving Sirius crazy with lust. Also I will not spoil it for anyone who hasn't read it, but the scene in the budapest chapter in the club bathroom features one of my favorite Sirius moments of all time, across all universes haha.

marginalia by @spindrifters (266.547 words, magical AU, canon divergent AU - Grindelwald won, slavery AU) I'm having a hard time trying to put my love for this fic into words in just a short paragraph. This fic is so unique in its setting, and it's so beautifully written and asks & answers the question "what if Grindelwald had won?" in such an incredible, highly political and also very immersive way, if you haven't read it already I really recommend checking it out (as well as the already complete Tedromeda spinoff set in the same world, history books!!!).

Staying Strangers by 3amAndCounting (319,368 words, modern AU, texting fic, university AU). This is one of my comfort fics, I love a good texting AU, this is quite a popular fic anyways but if you haven't read it and like modern AUs & texting fics (though it isn't all just texting) go check it out!

[maretinelli]

I WANT ONE

Sírius Black X fem!reader

Summary: Y/n and Sirius spend time playing with Harry, making them want a baby too.

Words: 1K+

Warnings: Baby Harry, Sirius and Y/n married, baby cuteness and much more cute.

Author: Always saying that English is not my first language, there may be spelling or typing errors, I apologize. Second, I also want a baby with Sirius😭❤️

MASTERLIST

James and Lily, Sirius and Y/n got married at practically the same time. With 2 months difference from one ceremony to the next.

It is clear that the four were inseparable. Since the time at Hogwarts.

Of course, there were also the other best friends. But these rooms had an inexplicable connection. Lily with Y/n and James with Sirius.

And when little Harry was born, it was obvious that James and Lily couldn't leave out the Black couple to be Harry's godparents. They were your first choice on a list of people.

The Potter couple knew that if something ever happened to them, Sirius and Y/n would take care of Harry as if he were a son. Of course, it wouldn't replace their parents, but they would do everything to make Haz happy.

But nothing bad could happen to them.

It was an autumn Saturday night in London. Lily and James had invited the Black couple to have dinner at their house and chat while missing Harry.

Obviously the couple did not refuse.

Y/n was talking to Lily in the kitchen, while she was sitting on Harry's rug playing with him. As for Sirius, well, James had pulled his brother to see the work he had done by hand.

Lily said he used magic while she wasn't looking, but James denied it saying it was all done by hand.

"James has now got it into his head to be a carpenter. There's a lot of wood, nails and hammers behind the house" Lily says indignantly as she drains Harry's pasta in the pasta colander.

Y/n lets out a sincere laugh, while she had a toy cup in her hands.

"I hope he doesn't put any idea into my husband's head. In the apartment there's no way to even think about making a space to be a carpenter" Y/n comments, still looking at Harry, but saying it with Lily.

"Lucky you" Lily sighs, and then they both hear a crash coming from behind the house. "It's not even worth seeing what it is. James is probably trying to persuade his husband to become carpenters together"

"Get out. I'll leave Sirius living here with James and take you and Harry to the apartment" Y/n says and Lily lets out a happy laugh.

"I liked the idea"

Y/n smiles, and continues to play with Harry.

The little one and a half year old boy had his new set of cutlery and cups that his grandmother Euphemia had given him last week. The baby mumbled things that sometimes Y/n understood and just agreed. Thus, enjoying the invisible 'food' that Harry had made in the toy plastic cup.

"Shall we sing happy birthday to the teddy bear?" Harry says in his baby voice, making the two women almost melt with love.

Y/n straightens up and crosses her legs.

"Lets start!!"

"Happy Birthday to you... Woww!!" Harry starts, but skips to the end, shouting with joy and throwing his hands up.

Y/n laughs at her godson's pressure.

"Eeeh!! but are the congratulations over yet?"

Harry shakes his head and Lily looks at her laughing son and Y/n exchanges looks with her best friend.

"I want one of those" Y/n says pointing at Harry.

Lily laugh.

"Have it, it's really good" Lily says lovingly and Y/n looks at her godson again.

"Let's eat cake now" Harry says. "Hey, where's the cake?" He opens his fat little hands and looks at his godmother with his eyebrows raised.

"Where?"

Y/n looks around and then picks up a small book that was behind her.

"Here, I found a cake" she places it in front of Haz, pretending it is a birthday cake.

"No, godmother. This is a book" He puts his hand on his waist and carefully removes the book from the front.

"Wow godmother, this is the book" Lily jokes with Y/n while looking at the two.

"No, look!! This godmother doesn't even bring a cake" Y/n jokes, making them both laugh.

With that, Sirius and James enter the kitchen, finishing a conversation.

Seeing this, Black smiles seeing his wife sitting on the floor with her godson and approaches the two.

"Hey, guys. What's going on here?" He asks, sitting next to Y/n and crossing his legs like her.

"It's teddy bear's birthday, godfather Pads." Y/n looks at Sirius smiling and then looks at Harry again. Who pretended to cut a cake and put it on the plate. "Look, he's cutting a cake now"

The four adults look at the baby and smile at the cute gesture as he pretends to cut an imaginary cake.

"Here, Pads." Haz hands an invisible plate to Sirius and another to Y/n.

"Thank you, darling"

"You can eat" Harry says and Y/n with Sirius eat an imaginary piece.

"Wow, really good little one." Sirius says. "What does it taste like? So good that I can't identify it"

Y/n and Lily laughed.

"Ah yes, you couldn't identify it"

"Shii, I'll tell you it's chocolate and it's not" Black whispers and Y/n smiles.

"It's carrot cake with banana" Harry emphasizes the 'banana', making them hold back their laughter. "...with raisins"

Sirius pretends to spit the cake out of his mouth, making Harry laugh with joy.

"Haz dear, what are they giving you to eat here in your house? For you to say that this imaginary cake is carrot with banana AND RAISINS?!!!" Sirius says indignantly looking at Harry's parents.

James and Lily let out a laugh.

"Lily's thing..." Prongs says, hugging his wife to the side and smiling.

"I imagine" Black stands up, helping Y/n to her feet as well.

Harry continued in his little baby world saying 'carrot cake with banana and raisins', making Sirius and Y/n look at each other with love.

"I want one, Siri" Y/n says looking at her husband and pouting.

"Ah, me too" he rests his head on Y/n's shoulder. "If you want, I can give you one tonight"

"Shut up, you ruined the cute atmosphere"

Author: College is slowly killing me. But if you have any story ideas for Siri, leave them in my ask box!!!

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 9

Fallen | Loki x Reader

Your captors attempt to break you and Loki keeps up his searching. With the help of the Avengers, can he finally rescue you?

Warnings: 18+, reader is imprisoned - lack of food, talk of being hungry/hunger strike, psychological torture, angsty, very angry Loki.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

“Change your clothes back you insolent little welp”

You refused to change, hugging the forest green cloak tighter, staring into the fire. The more he tried to control you the more the leaden ball of hatred grew inside. Every day your clothes were laid out for you, restrictive and traditional, cloying and controlling. And every day you changed the colours to match the man you missed. The insipid colours chosen for you gave way to the blue grey of his eyes. Brown became rich jet black. And the silver of your sigil became lustrous gold. 

“I’ve told you before about your behaviour. How can I make you a bride when you remain so headstrong? If you refuse to control your magic it will be removed from you.” 

You had been caught again, playing with the mortals. Sneaking away from your guards. Drinking at parties, making flowers dance for pretty ladies, listening to the poetry of the gentlemen as it fell from their lips, their fingertips. Making love appear between them, making love to them.

To his credit, he was no liar. Come the morning your magic couldn’t even fizzle. Your clothes remained the same huge petticoats, the colours and sigils a perfect match for your families. 

And Loki had vanished from your memories.

Somehow the memory of that day was clear, but then the next thing you could remember was the flat in London. Your Grandad, who you had genuinely loved and believed in. The warm memory of watching TV together and reading books. Grandad had always been kind, unlike the shadow of the men in your memories, he liked your jokes and you enjoyed the way he could do card tricks, often at the most surprising of times. And now he was gone too and the worst pain of all was that he was never truly real. The only family you could remember and he’d been another trick. 

Tears tracked down your face silently, cutting through the dust that settled there from your filthy surroundings. Perhaps he wasn’t truly your grandfather, but he’d spent so many years at your side. Hadn’t he comforted you when you were sad, didn’t he laugh along with your jokes, he took care of you when you were sick and, though neither of you left the flat for long, he’d imagined a better life with you as well. 

Perhaps he’d been told to do those things, perhaps it was a glamour or a trick of some sort, but his hand in yours, squeezing it tight as he said his final goodbyes, that was real. The indents of wrinkles on his papery skin, the feel of his pulse slowing under his wrist, it was all real. And that’s what you held in the dark on the night, when the days rolled past and Loki didn’t come, you had been loved before. You had loved Loki on Asgard and your grandfather had loved you in that little flat. 

Love would come for you again. 

When the sun rose you rose too, forcing yourself to leave your melancholy tucked between the thin blanket and the mattress of your bed. Instead, you paced the small room looking for a foothold to see out of the window that sat high in the wall. This morning your attempt was aided by a stool, left by a guard the night before. It wobbled terribly on the flagged floor, but it gave you enough height that you could reach across the rough rock, beneath your fingers you felt a small snag in the wall and dug your nails in, creating a hand hold. 

Pushing yourself higher using the very edge of the bed frame your feet left the stool and you heaved yourself forwards and reached for the sill of the window, pulling yourself into the alcove it created. 

Crisp air blew in your face, salty from the sea that stretched before you and fresh from the grass that curled behind. 

Outside the waves crashed against a towering rock face and you wondered if you were very far from your first prison. Hopefully moving you between locations was enough to draw the attention of your Prince, but just in case you ripped a length of fabric from your dress and tied it to the bars of the window, pushing the rest of it out to dangle and blow in the whipping wind. Judging by the long grass that grew around the base of the tower, there were very few people visiting the area, perhaps something as off as a fluttering in a normally empty window would be enough to grant you some means of escape. 

Slowly you climbed down, catching your feet on the hem of your dress. 

Your new outfit felt completely ridiculous. Gone were your sensible jeans and warm sweater, replaced with a balloon of chiffon petticoats and floral silks. Deep in your memory you knew that this was how you’d been dressed after you were removed from Asgard, the heavy skirts keeping you slow so you couldn’t run, the restrictive sleeves reducing your ability to wield magic as Frigga had taught you. 

At least in the flat you’d been allowed to choose your own clothes, at the compound Natasha and Wanda had ordered you leggings and sweatpants. Even the silken dresses and stylish, magazine inspired clothes you’d conjured with Loki had been more practical and comfortable. It seemed an impossible task to escape when you were dressed like a toy doll.

“You can’t escape,” a voice spoke from a dark corner of the room. His magic, pale yellow, swirled around him and yanked you back from the window and onto the thin mattress with a thump. The voice vanished back into the darkness, replaced with the shimmering vision of another, surrounded by a yellow yellow. 

Loki.

The image stalked across the room, his face full of malice and a sinister smile curling at the corner of his lips. It was a vision of him you’d seen before, on the television news during the invasion of New York, but then he’d been under the influence of Thanos, controlled and tortured, desperate for escape. He’d told you all about it while you were still at the compound, a hushed conversation bourne of a late night spent on his balcony drinking mead and staring into the inky darkness. You’d taken his hand then and held it, allowing your warmth to sink into his chilly skin, and he’d rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. 

This Loki was a different man, the God you knew would never dream of approaching you like this, with hatred and venom. He’d looked at you many ways, with intrigue and interest, as if you were amusing and entertaining, with lust and passion, before he lavished you with his pleasure, and, dare you think it, he’d looked at you with something akin to love. 

No, your Loki would never look at you like this. 

“Disgusting, fallen Goddess. Who could ever care for you?” He spat as you cowed back, the metal bed frame digging into your back, cold and unyielding. “Fit for nothing. We rejoiced when you left Asgard, you brought shame on my family. How will your own ever find a match for you when you display such depraved and wanton behaviour?”

The false Loki sneered again, eyeing you as if you were nothing. 

You wanted to reach for him and brush the anger from his brow with your lips, to sate whatever force was controlling him and bring him back as the bright eyed and mischievous God you knew. But this was not your Loki, your Loki never judged you for your escapades. He only teased, tangling your fingers together to help you clarify your memories, sharing in the joy of them and encouraging you in your whims. 

“Nothing to say for yourself, snivelling child?” You rubbed your face with your palms and made to stand, rising on the broken mattress instead of the stone floor, hoping that the height would give you some sense of control.

“You aren’t real, you can’t hurt me.” The words came out as a sob and you hurled the single pillow at him, expecting it to bounce through the vision as you’d seen happen with Loki and Thor while they fought and trained. But it hit his chest and fell to the floor with a sad thump. The Loki’s eyes followed it and then snapped back to you, and his grin made your skin crawl, your blood curdle. 

“Loki?!” 

He approached.

 Your back met the wall as you tried to escape from the solid vision, cornering you. 

“You truly are an idiot. These powers of yours have corrupted your mind, your senses. You can’t be trusted with them.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. Leave me alone!”

But the vision continued, berating you for your misdemeanours, recalling every stupid deed, every unkind word spoken, but this Loki knew so little. Like your own memories, the stories cut in and out from Asgard to London to the compound, there was so much missing in between. For a while you could use this knowledge to fight back, to ignore the most cutting remarks and stand your ground when your anger boiled hot enough. 

But after a day, or two,  your voice became hoarse, your mind reeling and pained, and your body weakened by lack of sustenance. And all the while, behind the cruel Loki, your guard sat, a wicked grin tightening his features. 

After a week the lonely, stinging tears continued into the night, soaking your pillow as Loki’s voice haunted you, though the spectre of him had long since retired to whatever place it was these guards seem to spring from. Alone you clutched your pillow and thought of Loki, of the echo of home you’d built together in his rooms in the compound, the way his scent rose to meet you as he held you, cocooning you in the comforting richness of his presence. The way his arms held you back, solid and strong, his palms splayed on your back. 

You clutched to those dreams as tightly, praying for him in the darkness. 

During the day you sipped on stale water and nibbled on the dry bread left beside you, a far cry from the food that Loki had made for you. The bread made you heave and the stale water, though it kept you alive, only made the vision of Loki clearer to your eyes. So you stopped trying, allowing the dancing lights of your thirst to blur the image before you and the pounding of your headache to obfuscate his words.

In your dreams hands swarmed towards you, unforgiving and rough, the cruel whispers following you into the unconscious depths of your mind. And though you tried to tell yourself it was all a dream, your body ached when you woke, bruises littering your weakened body. 

Every morning, when the twisted vision of Loki appeared, you returned to the Loki that you kept locked inside of your heart, falling back into your memories of him. Your Loki whispered praises to combat the poison poured into your ear, your Loki held you close when you were cold and scared. Your Loki - you drifted out of consciousness again, hungry and thirsty and tired. 

Staring at the odd angles of the false Loki’s face. The pale imitation before you could never hold his face correctly, the subtle change to the rise and fall of his eyebrow, the twitch of a lip, you could read it all on your Loki. And nothing on this one. 

Occasionally your energy peaked and, when the fight returned to you, you tried to irritate this fake and his handler as much as possible. You sang pop songs, told terrible jokes. Anything to keep the flame of your spirit flickering and alive. Deep inside you felt Loki’s magic calling back to yours, and it was on these days that you were the strongest, tethered to his sedir and allowing your own to reverberate down whatever bond had formed between you. 

Your magic, bottled inside, continued to fizz, building on the already blinding headache that seemed to be permanent now. 

And then it changed. 

You kept picking away at the edges of the wards, kept pushing your magic forwards, trying to connect, trying to open the door. A little at a time you managed to let your magic creep through the gaps and you imagined it blowing into the wind like smoke, dispersed and invisible but still there, travelling into the distance, calling for help. 

It started with a single flower, blooming rapidly as you watched it grow between the cracks of the wide rocks, it’s soft petals nudging the tip of your finger. You moved your hand away, and it followed, the spindly stem curling into the support of the mortar and then releasing it’s bud in a flourish of purple petals. 

With a gasp you cupped your hand over it, turning your back to your eternal tormentor, and kissed the tiny flower, squeezing your eyes closed to stop from crying out with joy. There was something there, some magic, some feeling, that was still strong.

When your food tray was dumped on the floor you quickly took your glass, dipping a single finger into the water and collecting a droplet on the end of your nail. The water surrounded the flower as it fell, drenching the minute leaves, and then it bristled, as if shivering from the cold, and dipped its head back towards you. 

You went to bed that night with a smile, but between dusk and midnight, the nightmares returned. Loki was always in official Asgardian leather, metal, gold. Sometimes he had a staff that he beat against the ground to wake you up and then keep you awake. So you clung to your reality of casual butter soft cotton shirts, dark jeans, the slippers he kept in his apartment and swore you to secrecy over, the brush of his fingers in yours, the way he held you, the way he touched your shoulder when he handed you a coffee over breakfast. 

So when he came, you kept the vision of him in Midgardian clothes at the front of your mind, reminiscing on your time together at the compound and ignoring everything else. 

Hands over your face you dredged up another memory. Showing him a tulip you’d grown in a pot overnight.

He had been impressed, you could tell just by the twitch of his mouth. It wasn’t a change in shape or a brief illusion, it was creation, organic creation.  He was speechless as you slid the plant pot across the table to him.

“A gift, my Prince,” you had smiled.

Thor laughed, declaring it to be girl magic and you had looked at him, incredulous.

“I am a girl. What do you do, oaf magic?”

Loki had turned away to hide his laugh but had congratulated you as soon as Thor stomped off, huffy and indignant.

The more you focused on a clear vision of him the more Loki could feel the vibrations of your magic. 

Somehow they’d picked up your trail, leading out of Norway, to Sweden and then into Denmark. Or, more accurately, Stark had been able to track your kidnappers.

The first set had, as Val worried, been the elderly men that lived in Tønsberg. Eventually they’d been able to trace some tourists who heard them planning the kidnap in the pub on the afternoon that you’d arrived, and a CCTV camera had caught them carrying your limp body down a side street before vanishing from the videos. 

They’d been gone for a few days before there was another hit, the pair returning, beaten, bruised and worse for wear. And empty handed.

Valkyrie had them arrested as soon as they crossed the village square, but between their incoherent ramblings the only information the Asgardian’s had been able to glean was that they had been on a journey to the coast. 

“It’s not enough,” Loki had raged, the cape of his formal leathers billowing out behind him as he turned to pace back down the length of the Long Hall. 

Valkyrie sat in her throne, her head propped on one hand and shrugged, “we’re doing what we can, Loki, but they’re old, ancient, wittering on about Odin and some prophecy or other, what do you want me to do with them?” 

“Let me look into their minds.” Loki kept to a stop, his hands on his hips, every bit the god and Prince he was brought up to be. Valkyrie’s council had left the room as soon as he’d strode in and now, alone, the hall was full of tension and unused, bubbling, power. 

“There’s nothing in there, they barely remember each other, we look at the coastline.” 

Loki glared and where anyone else might have withered under than look, Valkyrie sat taller in her chair. “I mean it, Loki, there’s nothing more to be had from those men. We look to the coast, that’s my final word.” 

“Fine.”

Loki strode out, his long legs eating up the length of the hall in a few strides, and then he slammed the door behind him. 

Refusing to speak to the Avengers directly, Thor passed information between the village and the compound. Stark had managed to track a trail of unusual energy into Sweden as well, but he failed to share the details with Loki. 

Every day Loki felt a deeper pain in his chest, a gnawing feeling that he had seldom felt before. When he described it, Thor confirmed his worries. Hunger, you were hungry, and he was feeling it too. Having spent his whole life in the luxury of the palace, it was a sensation he was accustomed to and it pained him further to think of you that way. 

In the night he woke to dreadful dreams, nightmares of his own doing, your screams ringing in his ears soothed only by a whisper of your voice, clinging to him and chanting his name like a prayer. His chest hurt then, too, and tears slid down his cheeks, wetting his hair as he hid his sobs in his pillow. 

Capitulating to Stark’s demands was an equally bitter pill that left him feeling hollowed out and cold despite the warm breezes that brushed along the coast. He would work one, single, solitary, mission and only after they had found you and returned you safe and well. 

By the time Stark denied to share his information with Loki the God was enraged, pacing like a tiger and snapping at anyone who looked at him wrong. The entire village scattered from him as he approached, Valkyrie’s council scurrying away when he slammed open the rooms of the Long Hall the day the Avengers arrived in Tønsberg. 

“Tell me where she is, Stark.” Loki barked, his fighting leathers manifesting as he walked until he was clad from head to toe in leather and metalwork. 

“And then you leave? We go together.” Tony didn’t even bother to look up at Loki as he spoke, continuing to press endless effusive buttons on the little device he liked to carry with him. 

“I could leave as soon as we find her, what does it matter to you?”

“True. Best not to give you too many chances though.” Tony smirked.

“Stark, desist teasing Loki.”  Thor cut in, gripping his brother’s shoulder, “this situation has upset us all, we should focus on the task at hand.” Silhouette by one of the floor length windows that lined the Long Hall Thor looked as if he belonged, strong and surprisingly measured while Loki simmered. 

“I’m not teasing, I’m being practical. We all go together.” Tony sighed, placing his device on the table between them. “You can either come quietly and behave, or we take her anyway and don’t tell you.” He shrugged. 

“You know that I would do anything, anything, to get her back to me safely.” Loki implored, “have I not agreed to work with you and your team? What more do you require of me?” 

Tony stared at the God, both towering in his physicality, yet somehow diminished. He had seen Loki commit atrocious crimes, had seen the reasons why and fought them himself, and had grudgingly accepted a quiet truce. But he had never seen Loki so earnest or cowed, despite the green leather and daggers, he was accepting defeat in the only way he knew how. 

“Nothing, Loki, nothing. Let’s get your girl back.” Tony fiddled with the device again, above them there was a roar of engines and through the windows Loki watched as the boats in the harbour wagged dangerously from side to side in the cross waves. 

Thor pushed the doors open and allowed Loki to walk through first, revealing the Quinjet hovering above the low lying buildings. “Ready?” Stark asked, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

Loki brushed past Tony, shouldering him out of the way, “don’t be absurd, of course I’m ready. And don’t call her ‘girl’.” He turned, his cape swirling behind him, picked up the wind, his hair was briefly wild, and the a golden helmet with two towering horns appeared, brushing each earnt curl backwards until Loki’s face was picked out and protected by the precious metal, “she’s a Goddess.”

<< Chapter 8

Chapter 10 >>

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[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: Week 15 (September 8)

TLDR: I have too many unread books, and I’m asking tumblr to help me downsize. Pick one or none - it doesn't have to be something you've read, just the one you think sounds the worst! Comments and reblogs welcome, book descriptions below the cut. See my pinned post for more info.

The Invisible Library by Genevieve Cogman

Irene must be at the top of her game or she'll be off the case – permanently . . .

Irene is a professional spy for the mysterious Library, which harvests fiction from different realities. And along with her enigmatic assistant Kai, she's posted to an alternative London. Their mission – to retrieve a dangerous book. But when they arrive, it's already been stolen. London's underground factions seem prepared to fight to the very death to find her book.

Adding to the jeopardy, this world is chaos-infested – the laws of nature bent to allow supernatural creatures and unpredictable magic. Irene's new assistant is also hiding secrets of his own.

Soon, she's up to her eyebrows in a heady mix of danger, clues and secret societies. Yet failure is not an option – the nature of reality itself is at stake.

The Silence of Bones by June Hur

1800, Joseon (Korea). Homesick and orphaned sixteen-year-old Seol is living out the ancient curse: “May you live in interesting times.” Indentured to the police bureau, she’s been tasked with assisting a well-respected young inspector with the investigation into the politically charged murder of a noblewoman.

As they delve deeper into the dead woman's secrets, Seol forms an unlikely bond of friendship with the inspector. But her loyalty is tested when he becomes the prime suspect, and Seol may be the only one capable of discovering what truly happened on the night of the murder.

But in a land where silence and obedience are valued above all else, curiosity can be deadly.

Devil and the Bluebird by Jennifer Mason-Black

Blue Riley has wrestled with her own demons ever since the loss of her mother to cancer. But when she encounters a beautiful devil at her town crossroads, it's her runaway sister's soul she fights to save. The devil steals Blue's voice--inherited from her musically gifted mother--in exchange for a single shot at finding Cass.

Armed with her mother's guitar, a knapsack of cherished mementos, and a pair of magical boots, Blue journeys west in search of her sister. When the devil changes the terms of their deal, Blue must reevaluate her understanding of good and evil and open herself up to finding family in unexpected places.