#boastful loki header

[natashowlet]

Loki — headers

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[ynscrazylife]

Hey !! i love ur writing style <3 i wanted to ask you if you could write a loki x reader where the reader and loki have been best friends for a long time now and after he faked his death in tdw he knocks on their door and the reader and loki have an argument and then they kiss?? maybe like the scene in crimson peak “you lied to me” “i did” “you told me you loved me” “i do” smth similar? :)

The Greatest Deception | loki angst fluff fic

Summary: After Loki reveals himself to be alive, Y/N has some choice words to say. Loki has a question.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting! Also, I want to say that I fully support and acknowledge that Loki is genderfluid. Seeing as this fic was requested with Loki having he/him pronouns, I will use those pronouns. (Also, I didn’t know which pronouns you wanted me to write since you mentioned they for the reader but typically I use she/her, so lemme know if you want that edited)

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 |  Main Masterlist 

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/someiconsx

“Lady Y/N?”

The voice was muffled through the door and the one in question rolled from her side and onto her stomach as she laid in her bed. A low groan emitted from the creature whose limbs were tangled in the blanket and sheets.

. . .

“Lady Y/N?”

A short knock-knock accompanied the repeating words, and Y/N had a feeling of that the lovely woman who she’d love to talk to at any other time wouldn’t stop until she replied.

She pulled herself into a sitting position, smoothed over her unruly hair, and finally pulled the covers up so her pajamas wouldn’t be seen and called out, “Come in!”

The woman opened the door and sent her a sheepish smile. “The All-Father has requested your present, ma’am,” she informed her.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Do you know the reason as to why?” She quizzed.

The woman spared a quick, darting glance at Y/N’s window. “Well, the All-Father has requested all of the palace’s royals and higher-ups to gather in the courtyard. He is gathering local citizens for a, ah, play, and more would like, in this words, his ‘most esteemed confidants to enjoy,’,” she answered, subtly bouncing her weight from one foot to the other.

Y/N thought for a moment. This was the first time she was hearing that the King was holding a play — not to mention, the fact that the last play (if you could even call it that, because by Heimdall’s recounting it was horrific) was held before any of the children of Odin were born.

Just thinking about that caused a twinge to hit her stomach and for it to twist up. Loki. Odin’s youngest child and the one that had most recently left her, as he sacrificed herself to save his vaillant brother, Prince Thor. It had been weeks, maybe even a month, since Y/N had heard the news and had been resorted to a lonely, saddened version of herself. Loki was her best friend, the person she trusted more than anything and—no, no, who was she kidding? He’s more than that, and he deserves to be remembered as more than that by her.

He’s also the one that she loves, and has loved for at least the past year when she realized it.

Nonetheless, she had taken many steps to get through the grief of Loki’s dead — as had his father — and she wasn’t going to let all her hard work crumble down on one, singular thought.

“Very well, then. Please inform the All-Father that I will be there shortly, thank you,” she said.

The woman nodded and bowed her head before exiting.

Once the door had been fully shut and she could hear footsteps no more, Y/N crossed over to her window and drew back the curtains, not having missed the look at said window.

The sunlight poured into her room but the stage was indeed sent. Rows of fine chairs sat with rows of fine people in them. In front, Odin stood with a red curtain drawn closed behind him. His arms were gesturing wildly and he had a big grin on his face as he gave his speech.

Despite the curiosity that itched into Y/N’s face, she pushed it aside. She had never seen the King conduct himself in such ways, but alas, everyone grieved differently. So, she closed the curtains and got dressed for the day ahead.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

The moment Y/N stepped outside, she could’ve sworn that there was already long beads of sweat trailing down her skin. She let out a huff but journeyed on towards the courtyard, as this formal royal wear was necessary and she had no intention of pissing off Sir Snotty-Dickhead — as she called him (he had some fancy and long name she couldn’t remember, in her defense) — who was Odin’s right hand man.

By the time she got there, Odin was still rambling on with his speech, but his sudden notice of Y/N saved the guests from boredom.

“Aha, the guest of honor! Lady Y/N, herself,” Odin announced, bringing his hands together in a clap and gesturing for her to come toward him.

She betrayed herself and her cheeks involuntarily reddened as all eyes laid on her. She approached Odin and curtsied out of respect, but her mind was full of wonderings of why she, of all, would be singled out.

“I’m sure you all know who Lady Y/N is, yes?” He began, briefly pausing before continuing. “If you sadly do not, let me tell you. Lady Y/N had been a friend of the royal family, specifically my child, Loki’s—” the name caused her to suck in a sharp breath, “—and she was granted the title of Lady to uphold the image of the palace and to complete very important Asgardian duties.”

Once he stopped talking and the crowd clapped politely, Y/N took the opportunity she was presented before it’s door could close and quickly went and sat in her seat, the only seat not occupied yet, in the front row.

Odin then began speaking against whilst he walked to the side, “Speaking of my dear child Loki, this play that has been put together is one designed to honor him and his heroic sacrifice. Without further ado . . . ” He let his words trail off, and the red curtain pulled open.

Y/N’s face contorted into surprise at the words, not expecting this to take place. Again, she reminded herself, everyone grieved differently, so she decided to give it a chance. However, as the play went on, she was quick to realize that honoring Loki wasn’t the intention here. The horrid acting could be excused but Odin himself allowing this mockery of how Loki died? Of how he sacrificed himself? Well, with every second that passed, her face heated more and more — and not due to the sweat — and she grit her teeth, just barely refraining from yelling.

The worst part for her came though when the actor who played Loki did a dramatic reenactment of his sacrificed and the actor who played Thor did the worst fake crying ever. Y/N turned to the others, expecting them to be just as enraged as she was, but was floored to find that no—they were laughing. And not just that, but Odin was having himself a chuckle as well!

Her fingers tightly gripped the edges of her chair and she forced herself to look straight ahead, just about able to hold in her tears until the play was over and the actors bowed.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Afterwards, while everyone was standing and giving Odin rounds and rounds of praises, Y/N stayed rooted in her seat. She couldn’t just let this go by as if it were nothing, but she was struggling to compose herself to confront him.

After a couple minutes of going back-and-forth, she decided, screw composure. She didn’t have to be composed. She was allowed to be angry.

So, she stood up and marched straight for him.

“All-Father,” Y/N said through grit teeth, forcing herself to curtesy, “I request your company in private, if I may.”

It took Odin a moment to tear himself away from accepting his latest comment, but the way he quickly glanced over at Y/N, she knew that he had not noticed — or perhaps he did not care — the state she was in.

“My apologies, Lady Y/N, but should I depart now, I fear I shall upset my comrades!” Odin said, ending his comment in a boastful joy, which resulted in laughter and cheers.

He didn’t wait for her response before engaging in another conversation, and Y/N’s lips remained tightly shut until she decided to just go forth and let her stuffed-up emotions out.

“Fine. I will say it in front of everyone, then!” She said, firmly and loudly, gaining everyone’s attention. “That was a pathetic excuse to remember Loki . . . It was an insult! You mocked him, your own child! How could you even— I . . . I just don’t understand . . . He sacrificed himself for your son and for Asgard and this is how you repay him? God. I expected much, much more from you for him because I . . . Let’s just say that we both love Loki, in our own ways, and I-I . . . I am very disappointed.”

Wanting to flee from the tears that were now streaming down her face and from the silence that was pounding, she turned around and she walked away, the realization that she had just confessed her love in front of everyone hitting her.

“Lady Y/N!”

Odin’s words stopped her in her tracks, but she did not turn around. Just stood. Waited.

“He told Thor, before he passed, that he, uh . . . He loved you, too.”

Y/N stared straight ahead, her hand jutting out to grab the pillar next to her to steady herself.

Loki loved her?

She didn’t stop the tears from coming this time. She let them, and the sobs, overwhelm her.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Lady Y/N?”

The voice and the knock were much more stiff than they were this morning.

“Come in.”

Her response was devoid of emotion, much more curt than it was this morning.

The same woman turned the door’s knob and opened it, sending Y/N, who was curled up on her bed, head nestled into her knees, a wary look. “The All-Father has requested your presence at his quarters,” she said.

Y/N let out a small huff, in no mood to talk to the King after what had happened. She forced her head up and gazed boredom at the woman. “Is it an emergency?” She deadpanned.

The woman looked around the room and by her lack of response, Y/N knew that either she didn’t know or didn’t want to say.

She sighed. “I will be there shortly,” she said.

The woman nodded and wordlessly left.

After she did, Y/N stood up and went in front of her mirror, taking in her appearance. Her once brushed hair was now frizzy and in knots and her eyes were puffy and red. Angrily, she practically tore the hairbrush through her hair and dabbed at her eyes with makeup until the red could be seen no more. She had no intention of letting him see her this way.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Screw formalities, Y/N thought, as she walked straight into Odin’s quarters which composed of a small living room, a bedroom down the hall, an office, and a bathroom. She didn’t bother to curtsy or announce her presence.

When he finally and gradually turned around from whatever he was doing, a slight look of shock crossed his features, before he replaced it with a warm smile. “Y/N!” He said, but quickly corrected himself, “Lady Y/N.”

Y/N frowned and crossed her arms. “I hope that you have called me here to apologize,” she said, an icy edge to her voice.

Odin nonetheless looked at her kindly. “In a way, yes,” he vaguely said, before a magical transformation underwent before her.

His wrinkles disappeared, his beard disappeared, his grey hair turned jet black, and his clothes transformed into his usual wear.

No longer was the All-Father standing in front of her, but her best friend. The one she loved.

Taken by utter shock, Y/N instinctively stumbled back, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening. “What the hell is this?” She gasped out, not wanting to believe it at first. It was a cruel trick — it must be! There was no way.

“It’s me,” the mischievous deity said, a rare softness to his voice and in his eyes. He took a step forward, but then stopped himself. “I never died, I only impersonated my father.”

Y/N stared at him, angry tears coming to her eyes once more. “How?” She forced out, thinking that maybe she was dreaming. “Why?”

Loki looked around, slightly dumbfounded, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to question him. “I wanted the throne,” he answered, as if it were obvious and a perfectly acceptable reason.

Y/N stared at him as if he had grown two heads. To her, he might as well have.

“Oh, really? So you take over your father, trick everyone - me, your brother - into believing that you’re dead, you banish Sif . . . All because you wanted the goddamn throne?” She cried.

The cluelessness left his eyes and replaced itself with guilt, regret pooling inside him. He looked down, shoulders falling with a sigh.

“I’ve felt guilty tricking you ever since it had all went down. I wanted to tell you but, honestly, a part of me didn’t think you’d be that upset over my death. But you were really, so upset and I . . . I was lost. I didn’t know what to do. All I wanted to do was hug you and tell you that it was fine, that I was here, but I thought I’d screw up your emotions and hurt you even more,” he admitted.

Y/N just looked at him, her frown growing deeper. “That’s an awful excuse,” she hissed out, words laced with venom.

Loki immediately snapped his head up to look at her and his gaze held desperateness. “It’s not an excuse,” he said quickly. “It shouldn’t be. I’m . . . I’m so sorry. The last thing I ever wanted to was to trick you, and . . . I did. But today was the final straw. I couldn’t continue like that.”

Y/N took a step forward, having an inner battle in herself on whether or not to forgive him. “You lied to me,” she reiterated bluntly.

Loki nodded guiltily. “I did,” he agreed in a small voice.

She took a pause, taking in a deep breath. “You told me you loved me,” she added.

There was a brief moment of silence before Loki said, in the same small way but a little more firm now, “I do.”

Y/N kept walking, not even fully sure or convinced of what she was doing, but knowing that she needed to do it, until she was standing just inches away from him. They looked at each other for a couple moments, neither saying anything, until Y/N wrapped her arms around Loki. He returned the embrace.

“Never do that to me again!” She yelled through the tears that were now coming. God, was she tired of crying. Especially today.

Loki hugged her tighter, his own tears falling. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and repeated that over, and over, and over again. “I’m an idiot.”

Y/N leaned back and cupped his face with her hands. The love she had for him overwhelmed her pain, and more than anything she needed him now. Besides, she could see his guilt. She could see the truth shining in his eyes. He wouldn’t do anything like this again, because he loved her. And she loved him.

“At least you’re self-aware,” she whispered through a sniff, taking a page out of his book with her joking remark. Before he could quip back (and she was sure he’d have an excellent one), she leaned forward and captured his lips in his a kiss. Loki smiled against her lips and wrapped his arms around her waist.

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[whimsicallyreading]

“If I had a heart I could love you-”

Hello, this is for Rowaelin Month day 17th “a body guard au” and it’s also the beginning of a new multi-chap story that I’ve been working on! :) It’s loosely based on the show “Vikings” and I’m so excited to finally share this with you all.

Thank you to @westofmoon for letting me bounce ideas off of you and to @highqueenofelfhame for making me the beautiful header. 💚

CW- Graphic Violence

Chapter One~

Aelin watches her breath coil in front of her face. The frigid morning air curls it into vapor as each breath passes her lips. Pins and needles fill her lung, but she refuses to let any discomfort show. Even as the wooden posts contort her shoulders above her head and the ropes leave her wrists bloodied and raw. Pain is something she can handle.

It's the humiliation that she struggles with.

The stage she resides on is in the middle of King Hjamel's village. For three days, she's been strung out in the open. Left exposed for the elements, the animals, and the men.

After they'd beaten and strung her up, Hajmel had then split the front of her tunic, exposing her breasts to the crowd of jeering gawking men.

Days later, then men still ogled her aching, bruised form as they passed. Sone would try to steal passing touches, and others would shamelessly try to grope her.

Aelin would thrash and snap at their hands with bared teeth. It didn't faze them. They would continue their mocking, their touching, and with each insult, the men stoked that fire in her soul. It was only when she spat directly into a man named Grave's face did they lose their glee.

His grey eyes hardened like steel, and Aelin saw the slap before it came.

Her face whipped to the side, lip splitting on impact against her teeth. Water burned the edges of her eyes, but she blinked the tears back.

Crying was for grief and happiness, not pain. Vikings never balked from pain.

So Aelin suffered their abuse with what little of her dignity she could salvage. Her father raised her to be a warrior as strong as the fabled Valkyrie's themselves. She would not shame him by caving to their cruelty or pleading.

They wanted to make a spectacle of her demise.

Hjamel's men hungered to make her cower like a babe and plead for their tender mercies. Starved to break the fabled chosen one of the gods and watch her inner flame become smothered to ash.

Aelin would grant them no such pleasure.

If she were to return home to her Modir, she would walk with pride over the bridge to Valhalla. As a warrior.

Aelin watched the sun lower. Following the glowing orb as it made its journey across the sky, because as it disappeared, so did her time on Midgard. Aelin's execution would happen at nightfall. She'd heard gruesome whispers of how they planned to take her life.

Boiling.

Bludgeoning.

Bleeding.

The only consistent rumor was that they would sever her hands to send to her Fadir.

Hajmel had boasted loudly of his plans to ruin him. To savor bits and pieces of her to send to her last living parent. Proof of the torment he'd brought upon her because a grieving man was vulnerable to rashness. And a foolish error is the only way Hjamel could hope to bring down her Fadir's growing power.

Aelin was the key to Earl Rhoe's demise, his only god's-blessed daughter. It was rare for an Earl only to take a single wife, but something had broken inside him when her Modir died in labor. He was no less fearsome. The gods blessed him with victory, fame, and fortune. Yet, he'd never been bestowed the gift of luck.

With his wife taken by Freya into Valhalla, Aelin remained his only family. His heir. While most Vikings preferred sons, their village seer had proclaimed her blessed by the Allfather at birth. A child born of mortal flesh, blessed with the heart of a valkyrie, and a soul brimming with Loki's untameable fire.

It was enough. No one questioned Aelin's birthright.

Perhaps she'd inherited her Fadir's poor luck, though. When Hajmel raided their village in the dead of night, Aelin had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She had wandered from the safety village. No weapons. No shoes. Aelin had startled awake with her heart racing in her chest and a sick feeling in her gut. That sickness became a pull that she couldn't deny. So, she followed that tug and found herself on the beach right as Hjamel's ships reached the shoreline.

They were unprepared for the scale of the attack Hajmel waged. She fought with fists and the small knife she carried on her thigh, but soon she too was brought down.

Thankfully, her father's warriors were more skilled, and they began to push back. The attack would have been an outright failure, but Hajmel had recognized Aelin before Grave could slay her.

He changed his tactic. Hjamel called his men back to their ships and took Aelin as his prisoner.

She now hung limply from her restraints. After days of beatings and never being able to truly rest, exhaustion was slowly eating her resolve. The only thing that stirred her was the growing activity around the stage.

Darkness clung to the corners of the village, but the torches cast light around the people slowly gathering. Their faces were brimming with excitement. Men, women, and children.

They'd come to watch her die.

Grave and Cane separated themselves from the throngs of people with hungry expressions. Climbing onto the platform, Grave grabbed the edge of her filthy tunic and ripped it from her torso. People, even the women, cheered, and if Aelin weren't so cold, her face would flush.

"Are you ready to bleed Rhoesdottir?" Cane purrs in her ear.

Aelin offered him no response, not as Hajmel materialized on the platform dressed in ceremonial robes. Grave and Cairn were just lapdogs. He was the true predator among them.

"Brothers," Hajmel addressed the audience. "We celebrate a victory—a triumph over the great Earl Ironside."

Men howled and beat their chests. They looked like wolves, circling the platform, eager for the blood soon to be spilled. Aelin glowered at them. She knew they were nothing more than cowards who'd turned tail and ran as soon as they could. They would never truly have the gods' favor.

If she hadn't been so foolish, they wouldn't have her either.

"Tonight, we thank the gods with a sacrifice," A hand caressed Aelin's gold hair. "We offer them the blood, meat, and marrow of our enemy."

Lash her.

Slit her throat.

Mount her head on a pike.

The crowd called out their suggestions, and Aelin could feel her stomach twisting. Hajmel, however, said nothing as they spoke. Finally, when the men had started growing restless, did he raise a hand to silence them.

"The gods spoke to me in a dream. Her means of death is already fated."

Silence. Aelin could feel her own heart throbbing with unwanted anticipation.  

"She shall die by the Blood Eagle," Hajmel's lips curled, and the hollering grew loud enough to wake the dead.

Aelin shook in fear. She nearly cleaved her tongue between her teeth to keep from begging. There would be no mercy for her tonight.

Odin, keep watch over my Fadir's in my absence. Thor, grant me the strength to earn my place in Valhalla. Freya, please have mercy on me and bring me to my mother when it ends. Aelin prayed silently.

Hajmel's silver eyes gleamed with delight as they wandered down her face to her breasts. "I'm going to enjoy this."

Aelin spat at his feet. And Loki may he die castrated with his head hung over my fadir's hearth.

The Blood Eagle. A death so gruesome her Fadir had found it too bloody for even their worst enemies. Her ribs would be severed from her spine with an ax. Then they would be pulled up, up, up to resemble wings rising from her back. Hands would reach into her body and set her lungs upon her shoulders.

It could be minutes, hours, or days before she died, and every second leading to that point would be horrific torment.

Hajmel disappears behind her, and she feels cold hands run the length of her spine. The last soft-touch Aelin would experience in this realm.

Cane kneels in front of her, nose-to-nose, a hunter's smile on his face. "You know, they say if you scream during the Blood Eagle that Odin will bar you from entering Valhalla."

"Then I shall remain silent," Aelin vows, her voice cracked from the little water they'd given her. "And when I enter Odin's realm, I will be waiting at the gates to strike you down. The gods have blessed me, and I swear on my blood that you shall never find peace."

A deep chuckle rumbles his chest, and Cane pulls her face into a deep kiss. She tries to bite the tongue that invades her mouth, but it only eggs him on further. When he pulls away, he wipes a line of spit from his lips. "If only the Earl had granted my request. You would have given me strong sons Rhoesdottir."

Aelin growls, but whatever insult she wished to throw at him was cut off by the tip of a hot knife. The cold steel bit into the meat horizontal to her spine, tracing a path for the ax to cut. It digs in deep, and Aelin swallows a grunt.

She can feel the hot blood slide in rivulets down her skin. The first warmth she'd felt in days. Hajmel creates an identical line adjacent to the first, dragging the blade down to the bone. A shiver courses through her body at the strange sensation.

Sweat beads along Aelin's brow. It hurts, but it's not outside the realm of what she can tolerate. Cane maintains his position in front of her, watching her with the rapt attention of a raven. The blood is running freely down her back and pooling at her knees. It douses the legs of his pants, but he pays no mind, too entertained by the scene in front of him.

Hajmel begins chanting, and Aelin can hear a hush fall over the camp. The real show is about to begin. The shadows in front of her allow her to watch as Hajmel lifts the ax behind her back. She tries to swallow, but every muscle in her body clenches in preparation.

The first blow falls upon her.

Aelin bites her split lip so hard her teeth sink into the flesh. The ax lodges into her bones with a sickening thunk.

Hajmel swears as he tries to pull his weapon back, but it's stuck. Aelin's body jerks with each tug, sending stars to her eyes and chunks of soft tissue to the ground. She tries to blink the tears from her eyes, but it's futile.

He pulls back again, and Aelin rasps through gritted teeth. "You are a weak man. My shieldmaidens can split bone with one swing, and you call yourself our king."

The jerking stops, and she can hear Hjamel's angered breathing. Aelin didn't know if her bravado was from pride or a desire for her death to come on swifter wings. Maybe he would swing the ax through her neck instead of her spine.

"Your tongue is too loose, woman." Hjamel stalks out from behind her and grasps a tethered wrist. "It seems as if your father has not taught you humility. How can I send you before the gods without such a valuable lesson?"

He cuts the rope to her left hand, and Aelin gasps as her weight is now solely hung from her right shoulder. The bone aches and threatens to slip from it's socket, the fresh cuts on her back pulling with the stretch of her skin. Hjamel holds her wrist tightly.

"For your sake, I hope you learn from this." Hjamel looks to Cane, who hands him a long, curved blade. The sharpened edge is pressed to her wrist, and Aelin knows she's about to say goodbye to the limb,

Aelin doesn't let her gaze waver from Hjamels's. She takes a deep breath and prepares for the cut-

An arrow whistles past her head and strikes Grave through the gut.

The sadist folds in on himself, clutching at the shaft with bloody hands. Hjamel's eyes are wide with surprise, the blade in his hands forgotten. Cane grabs his king and pulls him to the ground.

Aelin tilts her head up as high as she can manage and sees smoke wafting above the houses. People begin to scramble as they realize their homes have been set ablaze. Another volley of arrows rains down, striking the men who'd gathered closest to the stage.

Blood is still pouring from her back, and spots dot her eyes, but Aelin strains against her bindings as far as she can. The knife Hjamel held is only inches from her fingertips. Another round of arrows falls, and one nearly strikes her outstretched hand.

Hjamel and Cane have disappeared to safety, leaving her strung like a snared rabbit out in the open. Aelin growls her frustration as the knife remains just out of reach. Men run around frantic as they try to find the hidden invaders. The arrows seem to come from every direction, and the spreading flames divide the warriors' attention.

Their king had fled and left them with no leader to guide them. Aelin's father would never have allowed such disorganized foolishness. He would fight among his men.

The spots in Aelin's eyes cluster her vision. Her fingers brush against the cold steel, and for a moment, Aelin thinks she has it at last. Yet, instead of drawing it nearer, it skitters further from her reach.

Aelin's head slumps with defeat. The will to fight draining from her along with her blood. Maybe she would bleed to death before they could crack her ribs, it wasn't a noble death, but there would be less pain. Her eyes are drifting shut when someone frees her other wrist with the flick of a knife.

Aelin's body rushes to the ground, but a pair of calloused hands keep her from collapsing into the puddle of blood. Her body is shuffled into a sitting position, and the stranger lightly pats her cheek to focus her attention.

"Aelin Rhoesdottir?" The man shakes her, and Aelin can make out the outline of a towering man. His white-blonde hair is illuminated by the flames, burning like a halo around his head. He is built like a Viking but speaks with the unmistakable soft accent of a Saxon.

Aelin's face slumps against his shoulder.

The man rouses her with more urgency, "Are you Aelin?"

"Yes," she forces her voice out in a croak. "I am her."

A hand slips down her bag, and Aelin flinches from the pain. Her rescuer swears as he feels the weeping gashes. "I've come to bring you home."

Aelin is lifted from the ground and carried like a child in his arms. He mindfully keeps his hands far from her wounds as they weave between burning houses.

People crash into them, and many of her tormentors pass by them without a second glance. The chaos in the village is so great that no one notices as someone steals their prize right out from under them.

Aelin tries to tug at the man's and catch his attention as they duck behind a wall. A group of armed Vikings rushing down the street, Cane at their head as they storm towards the hill overlooking the valley.

"Your name?" Aelin coughs, pain squeezing her lungs with every wheezing gasp. Broken ribs were a bitch.

"I am Rowan of the House of Whitethorn." Rowan hushes her as another strangled cough cleaves her chest. "I've been tasked with returning you to your father, the Earl Rhoe."

"Hey," a haggard man spies them from a rooftop. Aelin recognizes him as Flynn, Hjamel's second. He points a bloodied finger in their direction, "Don't let them leave!"

Rowan swears and drops Aelin to the ground. Her body curls into the dirt as Rowan draws a gleaming sword against the gathering group of Vikings.

For a Saxon, Aelin had to admit his gift for battle was impressive. He cleaved through leather and bone with ease, and his feet moved with an agile grace Aelin had never seen before.

Placing her wavering arms beneath her body, Aelin forces herself upright. She slowly moved onto her feet, pain lancing through her torso like claps of lightning. Strong enough to almost send her sprawling back to the ground.

Aelin braces a shoulder against the wall to steady herself and grits her teeth. As impressive as the Saxon's fighting was, Hjamel's men were gathering too quickly. He wouldn't be able to hold them back alone. More and more men came running down the narrow alley.

She sees a plethora of hammers and axes littering the ground from Rowan's victims, but Aelin knew she wouldn't be able to lift them in her condition. Her eyes raked the alley for anything she could do to help as they were slowly overwhelmed.

Through hazy vision, Aelin sees their ticket to freedom. With Loki's hand on her shoulder, she thanks the god with a wicked smile as she hobbles down the pathway.

Careful to stay within the shadows, Aelin nears a cluster of wooden barrels. She cracks the top and gives one a cautious sniff to confirm her suspicions.

Perfect.

Aelin hides her face in the crook of her arm as her chest convulses again and her vision darkens dangerously. It takes much too long for her to recover. Glancing up, Aelin can see Rowan holding his own, but he's starting to flag beneath the pure numbers of opponents.

She makes quick work of opening the barrels and toppling them over. Thick, heavy liquid floods the alley. A few men slip in the substance and fall to the ground. Others march right through.

Aelin picks up a sword and feels a prickle of fear in her chest as a Viking notices her. "Rowan!"

Rowan's sword disappears into the gut of an opponent, and he turns back to look at her. He charges for her, shouldering the Viking out of his way, and sends him colliding into the soupy earth.

He runs to her, and Aelin has no complaint as the man tosses her like a ragdoll over his shoulder. The collision of her gut against his shoulders knocks the air from her lungs, but she knew her legs would no longer support her.

He only takes a few steps, but she stops him as soon as Rowan's feet meet the dry ground. "Wait." She grabs a mounted torch as they pass to force Rowan to a stop.

"What are you doing?" He growls, and Aelin can see the anger lighting his green eyes.

Yanking the torch from its holder, Aelin lobs it as far as she can down the alley towards Hjamel's oncoming men.

The torch lands with a thud, and Aelin thinks her plan fails for a horrible second. But then, screams fill the night as the oil catches, and the alley becomes a blazing inferno. Hjamel's men try to flee, but the men who had slipped become living torches, crashing into their comrades and spreading the fire. A dark glee fills Aelin at their suffering.

"Shit," Rowan only stares at the fire for a second before he's running once more. Aelin keeps her eyes open as they escape the boundaries of the village and disappear into the trees. If Rowan has allies, she doesn't see them.

Only once the glow of the burning village is out of sight does Aelin allow herself to succumb to the darkness.

If you would like me to add or removed you from the tag list please let me know! :)

@thisismylibrary

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@bee55

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@acreativelydifferentlove

[spidey-babe-parker]

♡ So I have officially hit 1.5k and that just blows me away. When I created this account didn’t expect to even have a hundred followers. Thank you to anyone who follows me ♡

In honor of hitting this milestone I decided to throw my first writing challenge.

A big shout out to my love @chasecollins for making me a beautiful header for this contest, and for literally every other beautiful header and icons shes made for me  ♡

Rules:

Giving me a follow would be greatly appreciated.

Please reblog to signal boast!

Due by: April 5th (you can always shoot me a message if you need more time)

Send me ask with the prompt you would like and which character you will be writing for.

You can write for basically any Marvel Character (I really love Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers) or character Sebastian Stan has played (aka Lance Tucker, Dr. Chris, Beck, or Carter Baizen. These three personally make me swoon. You can use any of his other characters as well.)

These can be drabbles, one shots, multiply chapter stories.

It can be fluff, angsty, or even smut (but if you write smut please make sure the character is of age.)

AU’s are allowed, in a big fan of College AU’s right now.

Use “read more” if the story is over 500 words please.

They can be reader-insert, ocs, or ships if both people in the ship are both of legal age (nothing incestuous or pedophilloic)

Please tag me @spidey-babe-parker and use the tag #spideybabe1.5k also please send me a message linking your story.

If for some reason I run out of prompts, I will add some more.

Feel free to hit me up if you have any questions.

Dialogue prompts

“Some times I wonder what I did to find you?”

“You’re voice voice is the sweet thing I have ever heard.”

“Sometimes you have to realize that things aren’t suppose to work out.”

“Can you stop calling me cheesy nicknames?” @holy-captain - Bucky Barnes

“Maybe he’s not the write person for you?”

“I don’t think I will ever be able to get enough of you.”

“I knew you were the one when you learned my coffee order.”

“Can someone please explain to me why I’m actually in love with you?” @jewelswrites-ish - Bucky Barnes

“Why did you think I was actually going to be okay with this?”

“You sure are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.” @lookwhatyoumademequeue - Loki

“If you want you can scream at me, if it will make you chill out.”

“Wow you’re really being an asshole.”

“Are you going to return that sweater that you stole from me?”

“Maybe you should put down some of those walls you have built up.”

“I have never wanted to kiss someone so badly in all my life.”

“What happens if I ask you to dance?” @this-side-of-midnight5 - Bucky Barnes

“Maybe all of this was a mistake.”

“How many shots do you have to take before you admit how you really feel?” @colossalfvckup - Stucky

“Sometimes life isn’t a like a movie.”

“If I agree to marry you, will you promise me you won’t ever cook breakfast again?”

“I can’t imagine my life without you annoying me everyday.”

“He’s so pretty it should a crime.”

“Please shut up and kiss me.” @buckycheri - Bucky Barnes

“It should matter what I think, or anyone else.”

“I grew up expecting my whole life would be completely figured out by the time I was in my mid twenties, and honestly I’m just floating by.”

“I will continued to fight with you through the night if it makes you realize that nobody will ever love you like I do.” @hufflebucky - Bucky Barnes

“Sometime you have to swallow your pride and say you love someone.”

“Why do I want to kiss his stupid face?”

“Nothing matters when we’re together.”

“I never saw you coming.”

♡ I’m tagging some lovely writers who are mutuals ♡

@hufflebucky @hollyxxcxx1996 @buckychrist @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @rogue-barnes-16 @obrreogneon @lokissoul @geminimoonbeamx @blackberrywidow @poeticbarnes @brieannakeogh

If you would like to participate that’s amazing, if not if you would like to signal boast that would be also amazing. 

[natashowlet]

Loki — headers

please like or reblog if you save <3

Don’t repost

[natashowlet]

Loki — headers

please like or reblog if you save <3

Don’t repost