#bre-is-stoned

[bloodtwin]

apolocheese if my replies are a bit shorter than usual... i'm not sure if they will be (because sometimes i just start yapping & don't stop) but i think my tendency to write a lot has made me feel like i can't reply w/ one-liners or single paragraphs anymore. makes writing feel a bit more taunting lately.

[writer-rider-flirty-thirties]

Tom and Sabine hang out with some of the other parents. 16/25 of Fanfic Wars (2023)

[fortjester]

just did the math, and including wip's, I've written nearly 250k words already this year. and yet somehow, i still have imposter syndrome. anxiety/autism/adhd brain just built different ig

[bumblehaven]

y'all what if my truesona was a selkie

[angel-of-the-moons]

Marc x reader smut where reader is down in the dumps and is getting insecure of not being good enough (compared to Layla) and hates that but can’t help it so Marc figures this out and fucks the insecurity outta reader?

More Than Enough

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader (Implied Steven/Jake x Reader)

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Feelings of inadequacy, unprotected PiV, Mirror Sex, Praise, Mostly-clothed sex, Marc has a few of his own issues and is not a licensed psychologist

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I am so sorry this has been sitting in my ask box for so goddamn long, enjoy the word vomit aksbldbldbld

You knew it was a stupid thing to worry about, your insecurity. You felt... sub-par.

Compared to other people, compared to other women, compared to... her.

You could tell they had something special at one point, something almost-unbreakable. But then the issue with Steven realizing who he was, hunting Harrow, fighting Ammit, finding out Marc was there when her father was murdered... Jake goddamn Lockley...

Layla el Faouly was, honestly, a head-turner. She was funny, smart, beautiful and had a way of getting people to open up to her.

Even you, to a point. But you still felt inadequacy, even a bit of envy when it came to Layla. She was with Marc for so long--hell they had been married!

You couldn't keep lying to yourself, and you couldn't keep lying to them. So... You came clean. And the look Marc gave you made you wilt.

It was even worse because he was silent. You couldn't bear to be under his scrutiny so you turned around and wrapped your arms around yourself, staring into the floor-length mirror with a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

Your eyes darted towards Marc's reflection. At first, you thought he was looking at you; but then you realized he was having a mental conversation with Steven and Jake about the situation. You wished you could be privy to those conversations, worrying about any possible arguments that may be waging behind his eyes.

Your shoulders drop and you sigh, eyes closing. "Just--forget I said anything? Please, I'm sorry that I..."

Your eyes open and you instinctively gasp--Marc was standing right behind you, his dark and stormy eyes locking with that of your reflection's. "M-Marc--"

"You fuckin' kidding me, doll?" Marc asked you, frowning. The tone of his voice alone made you wince.

"I--I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." You try.

"Damn right you shouldn't have."

You squeeze your eyes shut once more, hating yourself as that stone of regret pings around in your belly.

That is, until he growled, hands bunching your shirt at your waist, yanking you against him, his lips barely curling into a snarl at your ear, "Cause that's my girlfriend you're fucking talking about."

You shiver, a small gasp coming from you as Marc's mouth was on your throat; licking, kissing, mouthing away at your skin, making goosebumps prickle across your body.

His mouth comes to a halt for a split second, his eyes focusing on his reflection once more; "...Right. Our girlfriend."

He takes a small bit of your skin between his teeth and nips; "And we know for a fact that our girlfriend isn't doubting for a single fucking second if she's "good enough" for us."

"I... I just..." You babble as his grip goes white-knuckled in your shirt.

You gasp loudly when he grips just a fraction tighter and rips your shirt open, the buttons flying in different directions in the room, skittering across the floor to be hidden until Steven's next "cleaning day" spree.

"M-Marc! My shirt--"

"Is hidin' you. Gotta show you what you're blind to, baby." He muttered against your skin, his hands spreading over your belly, one going up to pluck at the bra you wore. It wasn't fancy or sexy by any means. Just one of those stretchy, mesh, wire-free ones you opted to wear when you didn't want your skin irritated by the wires and elastics fo your typical ones.

"Wearing Steven's favorite one, today." Marc hisses in your ear, groping at one of your breasts through the fabric, running his thumb over the bump of your nipple as your heart begins to pound.

"I... I didn't--"

"Wanna know why he likes it?" Marc asked, biting onto your earlobe, grabbing the loops of your jeans to tug you against him; allowing him to grind the growing bulge of his cock against the curve of your ass.

One of his fingers pluck the stretchy fabric, letting it go to ever so slightly smack against your skin; "Because it don't fucking hurt you. Because, it looks way more natural--way more comfortable."

He chuckles warmly, a soft smile playing on his lips, "That, and the way that they bounce more in this bra than the others tends to distract him, too. Makes these," His index finger swirles over the bump of your nipple once more. "way more visible."

Shame and the heat of your self-esteem make your cheeks flush, and you look away. Marc frowned stubbornly, "Baby..."

"Marc, I don't think that I'm..."

He growled again, the typical sound that came from him when he was frustrated. He'd never used it on you, before; so the sound made a thrill run down your spine.

He shoves his hand from your bra to the front of your pants, yanking the button open and pulling your fly down. He hastily shoved the denim down your thighs, revealing your soft, lacy panties.

They were a dark gray color, with bits of green and red--vines and roses across the lace. They left very little to the imagination, but they were so soft sometimes you'd forget you were wearing any at all.

"Damn, baby... wearin' Jake's favorite, too?" He grinned against the skin of your shoulder, staring down your reflection with the hardened gaze of a soldier sighting down his target.

His rough and calloused hand stroked over the fabric, his fingers dipping low to tease the seam of your panties, feeling a damp spot that was slowly spreading. It never failed; you were light a string in a guitar, waiting to be plucked so the most melodious of tunes would come from your weet lips.

Marc continued to stroke your damp panties for a moment, humming against your soft skin. "Wanna know what the favorite thing that you're wearin'?"

"Wh-what?" You breathe.

Marc withdrew his hand and gently encapsulated your fragile wrist in his fingers, holding your left hand up, where a gold ring was snugly fit around your ring finger; "This. This here means that you're mine. That you're ours. So don't you think for a minute that you're second-best, that you're not good enough for us."

In that moment, you felt stupid all over again. How could you forget? The weight of the ring felt so obvious to you, now. Marc's fingers caress the cool metal, smiling in a gentle way at your hand.

"Baby, you gotta understand... You're right."

Your heart thudded against the delicate cage of your ribs as he let that sentence hang in the air, keeping you in suspense.

"You're not Layla. You're nothin' like her." He continued, "You're you. You're funny, you're soft-spoken, you have a habit of always finding animals to play with and pet when we go out... And that little giggle-snort you do when you laugh so hard you're outta breath? All. You. We fucking love every single goddamn piece of you, baby. So... Please stop comparing yourself to Layla... If you keep doing that, you'll just tear yourself up inside until you're all hollow. Believe me, I did it so much that... well, you know what happened."

He brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles, "And we can't have you falling apart on us... you're the closest thing we have to normal... we need you."

Your heart squeezed in your chest and you sniffled, feeling tears well up in your eyes as your lip wobbled. Lingering feelings of doubt still clung to your subconscious, even in the face of all of Marc's affirmations, "But... but I don't feel like I'm good enough, Marc... Sometimes... sometimes I just feel so useless, and..."

Marc grunts, the sound coming from his nose in a hefty exhale as he drops your hand. "Alright... Maybe you need a little extra convincing."

You almost turn, confused by what he meant, when his hand flattened between your shoulders, shoving you against the mirror so your hands were spread across the reflective glass.

"M-Marc--!"

"Shush, and don't you stop looking at that mirror. Want you to see how fuckin' pretty you are while I fuck you." He murmurs, leaning back to undo his own jeans, hastily shoving the and his boxers down to free his cock, red and throbbing.

His rolled his hips against you, his cock grinding against the soft lace of your panties, smearing a small droplet of precum onto the fabric. Marc lifted his eyes to lock with yours in the mirror.

"Don't look at me, baby. Already told you."

Your breath leaves you in a stutter, your eyes dragging down to look at your own flushed face; your parted lips and torn shirt, your breasts heaving, the soft fabric stretched across them as their soft weight swayed and bounced as Marc maneuvered your body.

He slides your underwear off to the side, gripping the base of his shaft as he slides the tip of his cock through your budding wetness. Your eyes go wide when you feel his tip catch at your entrance, and you barely have a moment to breathe as he slams his hips against you, sinking inside of your body in one fluid thrust.

The stretchy was sudden; the lack of proper preparation left you with a stinging sensation that battled evenly with the pleasure of having his thick cock settle deep inside of you as he pressed against you; the dark hairs at the base of his cock tickled the skin of your ass.

"Baby, you're--fuck." He whined, his brows creasing as a stray curl falls over his forehead as he bows forward, relishing in the moment how good it felt to have your soft, velvety heat wrap and cling around him.

"Shit, honey." Marc sighed after what felt like eons; his hands stroking and gripping the flesh of your ass in his meaty palms. "You're like fuckin' heaven..."

He pulled back once, and slammed back in, making you cry out as the burn and ecstasy once more fight each-other in a bare-handed brawl; making your eyes roll back and flutter closed. God, why did it feel so good?

His mouth was at your ear, his voice tight and strained as he rocked his hips into yours, his cock sliding in and out of you easier and easier as the pleasure began to mount; tickling your spine. "...and I should know, angel..." Marc grunted. "I was in heaven for a little while..."

"Marc..." You whimpered, dropping your head as he began to pound into you, your chest burning with every heavy breath you took as Marc roughly crammed his cock inside of you, pressing hard on every single spot inside that had your head swimming with euphoria.

"Gh--fuck!" Marc barked, grabbing a fistful of your hair (carefully, ind you, he didn't want to hurt you at all) and pulled your head back so he could see your face, "I told you... watch yourself, baby. Don't look away."

You hiccup. Marc was fucking you so roughly from behind that you were almost concerned the pressure you were putting on the mirror would shatter it.

"That's it..." Marc groaned, his eyes rolling back with a blissful sigh as he tipped his head back.

You could see his Adam's apple bob, his jaw tighten as he fucked into you like a rutting dog. His hand lets your hair go and slides down your back, beneath the fabric of your torn shirt to caress the curve and contour of your spine.

Marc's eyes meet yours in the reflection, and his lips quirk up as he gives you another sharp thrust; your voice punching out of you in a breathless cry.

"Baby... do I gotta tell you again?" He sighed, gripping you by the back of your elbows and yanking you upright against him, so your back was pressed against his chest.

You groaned in bliss as you felt him shift inside of you. This position was new... and not unpleasant.

One of his hands curls around you, gripping your chin and jerking your head up, snarling in your ear; "Fuckin' watch, baby."

Your eyes slide down, and between your spread legs, your panties hastily shoved aside... You could see Marc's cock pull out almost to the tip before he slammed his hips up, rutting up into you in another frantic thrust.

"'m gonna show you how fuckin' good you are to us... Even if it means I gotta prove it to you all night long."

He slammed into you once more, his lips curling against your ear as he watches himself disappear inside of you.

"Even if Steven and Jake gotta take over after. I'm done with you."

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 26

The Question | Loki x Reader

The clean up of Tønsbergbegins and you settle back into life with Loki at your side. But there's still some questions still left to answer.

Warnings: 18+ A bit of angst, language, sexism & mysogyny antagonist character death and discussions of prisoner death. But also...FLUFF, suggestion of sex.

A/N: This is the penultimate full chapter! We have Chapter 27 and then a short post-credit sequence epilogue. Thank you to everyone still reading!

Divider by @reveriesources and @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

There was only so long the cloak could keep you covered with so many others at risk. You were sure another may have been able to hang onto its protection for longer, but the soldiers, beaten back as they were, were becoming desperate. Those still in the village had begun smashing windows, hammering on doors and climbing the walls where the stones allowed, searching for ways into the strongholds of the villagers. The very homes of the Asgardian people were at risk and, despite the blood still seeping from your side, you knew that they were far more vulnerable than you or Loki could ever be. 

Before you could make the decision consciously air rushed around you, the lights were brighter and the sound louder. The bubble you’d been protected in with Loki was gone but, so was a large portion of the village. 

Bres and the Vanir Prince rounded on you immediately, savage grins on their faces and blood dripping from their swords. 

“There you are,” the Prince growled. As quickly as you could you pushed up from the ground, supported by growing vines and leaves, to your feet. Your spear glowed blue, spitting fire at the approaching attacker. 

Beside you, Loki rose too. His leg, still at a strange angle, seemed to be healing slowly. Despite his odd weight distribution he revealed his daggers and flipped them both, eyeing Bres’ approach. 

“My lady said no, Bres, it’s time to retreat.”

You could feel the well of magic around you, Loki’s sedir gathering at full force. Your own magic, currently burning through its energy, knocking soldiers out of the way to return to you, flared a rich blue leaving burnt land and then flowers in its wake. 

Loki couldn’t take anymore of the desecration of his home, the disrespect shown to his family. He grabbed your hand and at once you felt your magic gather, a vacuum in it’s place and then. Loki. 

Together, my Goddess

Together

 A blast of green and blue magic shot from your joined hands, hitting Bres full in the chest and throwing him backwards. The Vanir Prince rallied his own, meagre, power but it was no match for your shared strength, he went flying, careening into Thor and Jane who held him down with Mjolnir. 

He maintained the assault with his left hand, magic flowing through him and out onto the battlefield, his right he wrapped around your waist, pressing on the flow of blood and supporting you to stand. 

“We win this together, my darling, I want you by my side.” 

You lifted your own palm, allowing the ebb and flow of your magic to dance inside of you, the hollow feeling before the blast becoming more and more familiar as it grew, crashing onto the enemy before you. 

Bres fell further and further back, his men now fleeing left and right until he lay on the harbour cobbles, sprawled at your feet. 

Loki stared down at him in disgust.

“I ought to kill you for this. This was war, Bres, and you know it, this is not the way of things in the Nine Realms any longer-” Loki’s jaw ticked in anger. 

“Nine Realms?” Bres scoffed, still attempting bravado. His only back up was now being dragged to the centre of the village by Thor, Stormbreaker balanced on his shoulder. “I believe your homeland was destroyed, Loki, Prince of nothing and no one.” 

The Prince cowered at Loki’s feet though, looking up with pleading eyes. 

“He knows not what he says, Prince Loki, please show mercy upon us.” 

Loki stared back, then turned to you. 

“My darling, this is your kill. Last time I performed the deed for you, now you are strong enough to do this for yourself.” 

Silence fell, Thor and Jane stood behind the prisoners, Brunnhilde watched from the wharf, making sure no one climbed back up. Korg was helping villagers from their homes, righting people, doors and flower pots with equal care. 

“I have never taken a life.” You whispered, looking at Loki, searching for the right path. 

“If you do not wish to start, you could grant them clemency, we have a prison here.” The Vanir nodded in agreement, eyes wet with tears. But Bres looked cold. 

“I knew you were a coward, Loki. And you’ve made her cowardly too. Think of all she could have achieved with the Vanir, all the battles she would have ended if you had simply stepped aside like the second son you are. This is no place for you.” 

“Bres,” the Vanir Price sobbed, “stop!” He pleaded, crying fully now. “I thought it was the right thing. I did. I wanted a new world, a new realm and I was greedy and foolish. Please show mercy, Princess Estrid.” He gripped your thigh in his muddy hands, tears making tracks in the blood that coated his face. You’d only really seen him on the battlefield but now, stripped of his helm, he was just a boy, young and lost, betrothed as you had been for reasons beyond his own desires. 

“Thor?” 

He looked at you, shocked, but waiting. 

“Take him to the prison.” You declared, coldly. If you could put off this decision then you would, for now. 

“Let’s go.” Thor took him roughly by the arm and dragged him to his feet, but he went willingly, calmly. “I’ll come back for that one.” He pointed at Bres, but you shook your head. 

“I’ve not decided about him yet.” 

Bres spat at your feet while you spoke, but you burnt the filth away before it could even land. 

“Why would you want them to make a new world, when this one is so beautiful?” The question came out as a whisper, your confused evident.

His sneer returned, teeth blackened by drying blood. “He’s a boy, that one, a welp the same as you, I would never have let either of you keep that land. But I did very much enjoy Ragnarok. Your boyfriend took care of that for me, thoughI knew you could do it again.” He eyed the charred grass where you’d been fighting. “You would have burnt the world to the ground and then it would have been mine.” 

There was another hand on your back now, Brunnhilde’s. 

“Put him in prison, decide later.” She suggested gently. 

“Okay,” you rubbed a hand over your eyes, smearing blood from your fingers. 

“You look a true warrior now,” Thor laughed, returning from the prison, “a true warrior, I will escort our friend here -” before Thor could finish his thought Bres had moved, sliding a broad sword from his seemingly empty scabbard, he lurched towards Loki. Daggers flashed catching the sword, then it slipped, falling to the cobbles in a shower of ashes.

Everyone turned to look at you, your spear out, the tip touching where Bres had once stood, his own ashes blowing in the wind. 

In the aftermath you found yourself under Loki’s cloak, the deep velvet so intoxicatingly him that you felt safe and warm despite the wound in your side and the scars on your heart. 

Brunnhilde, with the surprisingly organised help of Korg, managed to set up a triage and refuge in the Long Hall. Before long the smell of stew was permeating out from the kitchens and the usual cacophony of chatter was filling the space. 

Despite Jane explaining that she “wasn’t that kind of Doctor, Thor.” With a roll of her eyes, she still helped the local doctor and nurse bandaging up any wounds and sending more serious cases off to the hospital. 

Thor had tackled the swarm of journalists at the edge of the village as best he could, trying to distract them with little effect and eventually sending them away with the promise of a full interview with the entire court as soon as they had the village in order. 

Yet all you saw was Loki, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight, romantic despite its necessity since the powerlines had come down. And all you knew was that you loved him and he loved you in return. 

“Do you think we could just…go?” You whispered, tugging on Loki’s hand, “I’m so tired, I already got stitched up. Or do you think we need to stay, as a sign of strength or something?”

“My darling, after how you defended our people today, I don’t think anyone could be upset with you needing to rest.” He cupped your cheek again, wiping away what was left of the mud after you’d washed your face in the bathroom. 

Loki didn’t comment on the house, the smell of burning that still lingered from your uncontrolled rage. He didn’t comment on the way the bedroom was a mess, your clothes everywhere and the sheets still rumpled from your restless sleep.

He didn’t have time to comment because his lips were distracted kissing every inch of skin he could find, his hands carefully guiding you backwards onto the bed, propping himself over you on an elbow so he could continue to pepper kisses down your neck and collar without hurting you. 

His cloak lay beneath you, his presence hovering above and you closed your eyes in bliss. He was home, safe, apart from some battle wounds that were already well on the way to being healed. And although he would take time to move past the mental weight of being trapped, the pain of his sedir being restricted, you were at least together and together you could weather any storm. 

By the morning the village looked better, most of the debris had been cleared away and everyone was in fine spirits, organising for a feast in celebration of your victory. Loki had been clear that you weren’t to lift a finger while he tidied the house, the magical way, of course, and had settled you in an armchair wrapped in only the bedsheets with a huge mug of coffee and as many pastries as the bakery could muster. 

Today was going to be a special day, he’d decided. 

He’d woken before you, running out of the house and returning with everything he needed before you could stir. Thankfully you’d slept late after taking your pain medication, giving him lots of time to plan. 

After your coffee he ushered you into the bathroom where a full bathtub steamed, complete with healing herbs and extracts would help you sooth away your pains and help the wound in your side heal. Asgardian healing was incredibly advanced, the stitches growing new skin and sinew as well as holding the wound together, so Loki had no doubt you’d be fighting fit in no time. With you in the bathroom he could make some calls. 

That afternoon Loki coaxed you out from the warmth of the cottage to take a brisk walk through the village. 

“We were supposed to do this, do you remember? I promised you a walk on the cliffs.” He said, his normally long stride was tempered so you could keep up and enjoy the view together. One of your hands was tucked into the crook of his elbow for warmth, the other touched the budding plants that had covered the battlefield in just a single day. Although Loki had been hurt too, he’d healed quickly and now there was no way to tell that there had ever been anything wrong with his strong, lean body. Not unless you peeled back the layers of his sweater and wax cotton jacket to find the scars beneath. 

One the other side of the cliff the land swooped down towards a second beach, less hospitable to the boats and so more widely used in the hot summer for bathing. Now, with the winter still nipping at your noses, it was deserted except for a single green blanket, folded on a dry rock. 

“Loki…” You gave him a sideways look, clocking his mischievous smile. His eyes though, there was something else in them you couldn’t quite place. 

“Yes, my darling?” 

With a flourish he opened the blanket, letting it float through the air before landing on the soft wet sand. Inside magic shimmered - a picnic basket, cushions and a large umbrella to protect against the wind appeared, artfully arranged on the green wool. 

“Loki! This is gorgeous! Did you do this for me?” You dropped his arm, running forwards to touch the delicate tassels on the umbrella. “How did you even do this kind of magic, it’s amazing.” 

Lost in your excitement you didn’t notice the movement of the sand behind you, or Loki kneeling down on the blanket. 

“Can we - oh!” 

You turned and there he was, right behind you, on bended knee. “What are you doing? Loki…”

He merely smiled up at you, “Asynja, my darling, my goddess. I should have asked you this question all those years ago on Asgard, I should never have left any doubt between us how I felt.” He held his hand out, taking yours gently and kissing your knuckles. “You are the most wondrous person I have ever met and I would be a fool not to want to spend the rest of my life, however long it may be, worshipping you as you deserve.” 

“Oh, Loki!” Tears sprang into your eyes, he turned your hand over, kissing your wrist where your pulse beat wildly in anticipation. 

“My darling, will you marry me?” He slid his palm across yours, leaving behind a gold ring, the band was engraved with a tangle of flowers and vines, so fine and delicate you could barely see them, they led to a flower of gemstones with diamond petals. The central stone appeared to be a light blue sapphire, but as you turned it in the light it flashed emerald green. 

“Of course I will, Loki, I love you so much there’s no one else I could ever want to be with!” 

Grinning, he slid the ring onto your finger and swept you backwards onto the picnic rug, kissing your cheeks and nose as you laughed with pure happiness. 

Thor could only hold his excitement in for so long, rushing to the Long Hall and throwing the doors open as soon as you told him. 

“My baby brother is to be wed!” He boomed, startling the Knit & Natter group that had the hall booked for the afternoon. “Where’s the King?!” He bounded into the room, hugging each member of the group around the shoulders before rushing to the back office and throwing open the door. 

You’d both told Thor over tea and cakes in your little cottage, the afternoon had spread out before you like the picnic blanket, giving you both time to enjoy your new excitements and dreams, as well as reminiscing on your old memories and love. 

Loki had requested that Thor visit as soon as you’d made it back to the cottage, thrilled to share the news with his overexcited older brother. 

Brunnhilde’s momentary shock was soon replaced with similar excitement as she followed Thor from the office and back out into the Long Hall where she found you both smiling and being fawned over by the knitting group, when Madam Gina would let them get close enough. The ancient lady, the grandmother in chief of all the village elders, had your cheeks cupped between her wrinkled hands, squeezing tightly and whispering to you with tears in her eyes. 

Thor and Brunnhilde gathered round too, patting you on the shoulder and back and mixing their congratulations with the voices of the others. 

“We must have a party!” Thor announced, lifting his hands, “a large party with ale and mead and feasting, oh and music. There must be music and dancing!” 

Loki watched him indulgently, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders and pulling you tight against his side. You looked up at him, his sharp jaw relaxed for a change, a twinkle in his eye and a healthy flush covering his cheeks and nose from your swift walk over. 

“Your highness, there must be a ceremony first.” Madam Gina interjected, tapping her papery hand on Thor’s forearm. 

“Well we shall have an engagement party, then the wedding ceremony of course and then an even bigger party after. We can’t have too many celebrations can we, not when my little brother is marrying such a fine woman.” He grabbed you both, kissing Loki on the forehead before bending to kiss you on the cheek. 

“Thor!” Madam Gina wrapped him on the knuckles with the end of her knitting needles, making the prince flinch and step back. 

“Please, Madam, tell us about the ceremony.” Brunnhilde offered, pulling her chair back out for her. 

“Well -” she coughed, “as you know Bres took you, my dear, to ascend and then be married.” She nodded, her eyes milky as her memories cast back through the centuries. 

“Yes, but I was never married.” Your heart was sinking, is there where she announced you had, in fact, been wed at some point. How did Asgardian’s get divorced, could gods get divorced? Your thoughts spiralled. Loki, sensing your anxiety building, lay a calming hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. 

“No, dear, you weren’t. Lugh took you and hid you and protected you from all that nonsense. But -” her cough was worse today, Loki noted with a frown. “You didn’t ascend either, you never joined Bres’ court as a named goddess.” 

“But, I joined the Asgardians, I’m a member of this court aren’t I?” 

“Of course!” Brunnhilde lept to agree, “we made you a warrior of the court, you are Loki’s betrothed now too, a Princess.” 

Loki squeezed you tighter at the word Princess. He’d whispered it to you countless times, mostly while he was buried deep inside of you, and now it had an almost pavlovian response.

“A warrior, yes, a court member, of course.” She patted your hand again. “But she has no role as a Goddess, no responsibility as Loki and Thor do.” 

“Could I ascend? Do we know how to make that happen?” 

Madam Gina looked at you and then narrowed her eyes, “of course I can dear, what do you take me for!” 

<< Chapter 25

Chapter 27>>

[bean-bean2000]

The Maid - Part 4

Pairing: Loki x reader (on going series)

Warnings: Angst, abuse, mental health (depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts), swearing, mentions of torture and rape.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Part 3 Series masterlist Main Masterlist

🧹🧹🧹

You don't see the king for a few days following your conversation in the kitchen, however, he specifically requested you be placed back as his personal maid exclusively and indefinitely.

You were surprised to have not seen the snake in a while, assuming he had taken some time off. However, once word got out that the king specifically requested you as his maid, the energy in the maid's quarters shifted negatively towards you.

The guards, albeit not the snake, continue to beat you every chance they got.

"You think you're special because the king requested you?" one asked as he hit your face.

"Is that why the snake is missing? What did you do to him? What did you say to the king?" he yells at you as he grabs the collar of your shirt and punches you once more. You can hear the bone of your eye socket lightly crack.

"We knew you're a witch. You cast a spell on him. That is the only reason he chose you. Admit it!" another yelled at you and kicked your side.

"Where is the snake?! Did you curse him you filthy witch?!"

"Maybe we have to burn her at the stake!" one shouts.

"Maybe, the king chose you because you're just a really good whore" followed by another slap.

"Shall we indulge in what the king is so intrigued with, hmmm?" they snicker as they approach you menacingly.

You're too weak to fight back as they tear off your night shirt.

Doubled over in pain, they notice the bandages around your torso.

"Oh, what is this? I heard the snake had you whipped. Who would want to fuck a whore with such ugly scars?" he spat at you.

"That's revolting. How could anybody ever want you. You're disgusting." another spat at you again.

Your eye is swollen, lip bleeding. They laugh as they walk away and leave you in agony, bleeding and barely conscious on the damp stone floor.

You cough as blood spills to the ground and you push yourself up to walk back to your cot.

Exhausted and in pain, you leave your bandages on, without airing out your wounds and cleaning them. You can feel that they ripped open again, blood spilling onto the bandages, soaking them once more.

You're too tired and broken to care.

You fall to your bed, laying on your stomach and pass out.

The next day you are scheduled to clean the kings office. You wake up and notice your cot is stained with blood, so you go to the common bathrooms to bathe. You turn around and notice your night shirt is also soaked in blood. You take it off but it sticks to your skin, and you observe your back. They bandages are soaking wet and the skin around looks yellow.

You're eye is purple and swollen, your lip is split so badly it hurts to speak.

Banner isn't here for another few days, you ran out of the balm, medicine and have no spare bandages. You decide its best to leave them as is, and simply wash the rest of your body with a cloth. You convince yourself that you can survive a few more days before his return.

You're slower than usual, your back pulsates in pain, unable to properly heal from the constant movement of your work and the never-ending abuse from the guards. You can feel yourself getting warmer and stickier everyday, sweating more than usual.

Walking to the kings wing proved to be extremely difficult in this state. Every movement cause pain to shoot through your body, crumpling you over and having you groan out loud. It takes you significantly longer to reach his office, for which you are scheduled to clean for the day.

Unfortunately, it is the one area of his quarters that requires the most stretching to get between shelves and corners. You sigh and grab your supplies.

Taking a deep breath you start to climb the ladder and stretch to clean the top shelf of the library. You hiss as you work, doing it as quickly as possible to minimize the pain.

Are the consequences of the king's disappointment in my subpar work better than sustaining the current pain I'm in?

You slowly walk down the ladder.

Taking deep breaths you focus on finishing the each task and distracting yourself from the pain. It has been long over 2 hours by now since you started cleaning. Clinging onto the library, you feel your head spinning, you're panting and sweating.

You place your head down against the shelf to steady yourself.

The door to the office opens with a loud click and you pause in fear. You hear shoes clicking on the tile, bracing yourself with fear that it is the snake or any other maid manager that has come to reprimand you for being so slow.

"P-Pardon my tardiness. I- I am aware of my sluggishness. I am unwell and f-finishing soon.'

You're shaking, you can't bring yourself to turn around and face who may be there. Suddenly, you feel yourself swaying, your vision gets blurry. You grab onto the shelf to steady yourself but your weakened state has you slipping. Somebody catches you and you scream out in pain from the pressure on your back. The last thing you hear before passing out is "What happened to you?".

🧹🧹🧹

You wake up, laying down on your stomach. You shiver at the cold and realize your back is exposed. Your heart starts beating erratically as you push yourself up in an attempt to flee.

"No! I'm sorry, please!" you scream as you try getting yourself up.

Your shoulders are pushed down roughly and your head is forced down to look at the ground. You being to sob and shake.

"No... please.... stop..." you whisper between sobs.

"Hold her down. This is going to hurt."

Your head snaps up at the familiar voice. "Banner?!"

He simply shushes you and tells the man holding you down to keep me still.

You hear some liquid sloshing out of a bottle and spilled onto a rag. The doctor approaches you and places it on your back, dabbing the flesh. You screech in pain.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. It's severely infected. I have to clean it with alcohol. Be brave for me." Banner says to you as he continues cleaning your wounds.

You're screaming and crying out in pain until you can't anymore. Eyes sucked dry from tears and throat raw from screaming.

Suddenly you hear the door burst open.

"What is going on?!" he sees your wounds as you lay bare on the table.

"Norns, what happened?" he says in disbelief.

"I don't know. I went looking for her and found her in your study. When I approached she fainted and screamed when I caught her. That's when I noticed her back. Her entire attire was soaking in blood and sticking to her open wounds. I have to clean them, they're severely infected. She may die." Banner explains.

"Couldn't you have knocked her out first?!" he questions angrily.

You can't see who is speaking and you can't hear over the pulsing in your ears. You're mind is focused on the pain in your back that you don't notice him and Banner approach you. One more dab to your wounds and you pass out from the agony.

He curses and grabs the rag out of Banner's hands.

"Bring her to my chambers, carefully. Make sure nobody follows." He commands to the guards.

"I need to figure out what is happening within my castle's walls. This is not how I rule my palace and this is not how I will let the guards treat my staff." He turns on his heel and walks out.

Reaching his chambers, the guards gently place her on her stomach in his bed. He reaches his window and opens it, as his beloved pet flies to the ledge. The crow caws for greeting.

"Hello my pet. I have a job for you. Find out what is happening in the maid's quarters. I want names and details. You have never failed me, don't start now. Report to me by morning." The crow caws in response and flies away.

🧹🧹🧹

Part 5

Tag list:

@gruftiela

@elegantcheesecakecrown

@chxco-hyujin

@cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson

@i-am-amora-the-enchantress

@cakesandtom

@dorck26

@buckitostan

[atarathegreat]

Heyyyyy, I was thinking some bakugo x princess reader... except Reader is not ANY kind if princess...Reader is an absolute menace of a princess, why? Well first of all she wasn't even royal blood, she just kicked her way in trough murder and intimidation...second of all, reader is also a witch...but...a pretty witch...she is brutal, cold, and wont think twice before destroying whatever is on her way, Bakugo decided to try and challenge her to a fight, and just JUST when he entered her room, he saw her, Right out of taking a warm bath...Reader confuses Bakugo with one of her servants and feeling a bit funny she decides to...well...you know what i mean right? ;) well, at the end she finds out about eho bakugo really is and decided to make a deal with his tribe...

She ruled her own small kingdom, having even the king bow to whatever she wanted. Y/n wasn't too far from a barbaric ruler, the only thing keeping her from being completely evil was the fact that the kingdom began to thrive under her rule. Despite the harsher enforcement of the laws, many of the villages loved her and praised the way things began to turn up.

But Bakugo fucking hated it. Who was this low-class sorcerer that thought she was the best? Some seed stain on a pair of discarded trousers who had high hopes of becoming known. Bullshit! Second-rate duelist with a beginner's tool bag!

Bakugo glared up at the castle, remembering the last time he was there. A grand feast with the biggest animals that could be hunted and the best ale that had ever been made. Wenches at the ready, though Bakugo hardly messed with any of that, he was too busy trying to out drink his father. He always failed.

"Come out, you stinking boars ass!" Bakugo shouted as he hurried down the halls. Not to be confused, Y/n's maids tried to stop him, but there was little to be done when a barbarian was crashing through vases, tables, and benches. "Wench! Show yourself!" He threw a door open, only to freeze.

The room was ugly and barren, but the one inside...

Bakugo turned red as the woman stood from her trough, body bare for the gods to see and servants to touch. Soft thighs, plush hips, wet bre-

The man shook his head and turned the other way, growling.

"Oh, good. You're here. Fetch my clothes." Y/n walked calmly across to her bed, ass jiggling as if there was no structure beneath. He'd never been so stunned that he obeyed anyone, but he would blame it on the witch and whatever plants hung around her room. "Here." He threw the clothes at her and crossed his arms, not really in the mood to watch her dress, he liked her naked.

Y/n stared at him, her eyes a little angry and a little amused. "You throw my clothes at me? How brave. Why do you do such a thing?" It was the way she twitched her lip, that had to be the way she enforced her spells, her incantations. Why else would his tongue feel too thick for his mouth, or his throat too dry? "I will not be dressing you. It's not my job." Bakugo crossed his arms, trying to fight the magic. She was attractive, that had to be a part of her craft. She was putting him under a spell, clouding his mind with her dark ways.

"Come closer, young man." Y/n propped her leg up on the bed, exposing her most vulnerable to him, "Get on your knees, here." Her hand! When she pointed, Bakugo felt the absolute need to do as she said. How strong was this woman that she didn't need a wand? A staff? A stone? Just her little pointer finger and an order...

"Since you want me naked, I shall be naked. But you will pleasure me as payment." Y/n beckoned him closer.

Bakugo knew his place at the top of the foodchain, but this womans magic was making him forget it. To take back an ounce of his power, Bakugo gripped her thighs and dragged her closer, growling, "You'll be paid tenfold."

Gods above, she was delicious! Bakugo never wanted to pull his mouth from her heat, delving his tongue as deep as he could to taste all of her. Like honeysuckle or peaches. He wanted more. She gasped as Bakugo forced her other leg up, spreading her further to allow him deeper. "Yes, right there...good job, good job." Y/n threw her head back, gripping the furs beside her, "Oh, gods, slow down. Let me enjoy this."

He doubled down, applying more pressure with his tongue as he moved slower. Pride welled in his chest as she grabbed his hair, ordering him to give her more. The sound of a powerful witch begging for him to do more to her. Bakugo stood, ripping his trousers open and leaning over her, "You taste pretty, I want to know how you feel wrapped around me."

Nothing in the world, no sensation in the world would ever prepare him for the way his breath was snatched from him. "So fucking tight." Bakugo bullied into the witch, grunting as she squeezed tighter around him. He put her legs together and rested her ankles on his shoulder, making it a tighter fit, "There ya' fucking go, sweetheart. Now we're moving."

"Fuck...who are you?" The witch gasped, breasts bouncing in tandem with each of his thrusts, "None of my servants are so foul mouthed." Bakugo chuckled, beating his cock deeper so he could see the outline of himself in her gut. "Bakugo Katsuki, barbarian prince."

Her magical grip on him slipped as he got closer and closer to dumping his seed. Y/n shivered as the barbarian nipped at her ankles, leaving his own silent marks on her body, a mark that he had claimed her. But not his seed. Bakugo pulled free, fisting his dick until he covered her stomach in his mess, just to stick himself back in to finish her. "Oh, there! There!" She gasped, knees bending. It was then that she fully lost her grip on the spell laid over him and Bakugo was able to fully abuse her tight body, lifting her by her legs so he could stand at his full height.

"Gods above!"

Bakugo wished he could've tasted her orgasm, but he was happy enough to feel the way she squeezed him, riding out her high so she would come down easy.

It wasn't a traditional victory, but Bakugo had conquered the witch. Seeing his seed on her belly was like seeing blood on a hunt. Her spells, her magic, it all meant nothing now that he had won.

"Your magic is null now." He chuckled.

"I never used magic."

[boredzillenial]

Day 3: of @flightlessangelwings fawktober!

King John upholds his scandalous reputation and takes what he wants.

Themes: DEAD DOVE - DNE, degradation through Exhibitionism, hurt no comfort, Dub-con/non-con, power imbalance, mentions of blushing, f!reader servant, pinv, creampie, oral f!receiving, cuckholding if you squint

A.N: I do not condone any of this - this is a safe place to explore kink and erotica as writers and readers, not beta read, cranked out in a couple hours when struck by inspiration, exhibitionism is not my usual thing so lemme know what y’all think!

Word count: 1267

You knew as you headed into the castle the reputation of your new master. That his beauty was the only thing to rival his cruelty.

You had hoped that keeping your head down, keeping quiet, and keeping out of the way would save you from his wicked nature. Your hopes were dashed on your first meeting.

He lay sprawled in bed, a concubine beside him and his cock laying limply across his stomach.

He sat up to watch you as you moved about the room, his length springing to life as he watched your figure move silently about the chamber.

You managed to get about halfway through your morning tasks before he slipped out of bed and came up behind you, rutting against the curve of your ass as you bent over. Your panic sent you reeling forward away from him as a wicked grin spread across his face.

“You’re a quiet one…” he observed, stepping closer. You shimmied out of the way and ran out of his chambers, catching your breath in the hall.

The next day you found his chambers empty, sighing with relief for a moment as you go about your chores. As you emptied a basin of water out of the window you felt him come up behind you again, pinning you against the stone windowsill.

You felt him lean forward, his breath fanning across the back of your neck as he murmured, “quiet girl, I’m gonna make you scream.”

He threw your skirts up around your waist and rutted against you, your body betraying you and soaking against the pressure of him sliding into you. He moved slowly at first, drawing out his movements to pull anything out of your throat more than a soft whimper.

He huffed and began to move faster after a few moments of failing to make you so much as groan. The sound of him slapping against you echoing in the stone chamber as you got your hand up to your mouth to stifle your cries.

“No!” He huffed as he yanked your arms behind you, using them as added leverage as he slammed harder. “Nothing still?” He growled and you grit your teeth together and swallowed as much noise as you could.

“I love a challenge.” He growled and kicked your feet apart. Adjusting his grip he held both your hands in one and with the other he snaked around finding your clit and circling roughly. You couldn’t fight your body’s urge to arch back as you cried out, the sound echoing in the street below. “That’s it!” He he laughed cruelly as he continued to pound into you, sending you reeling and your knees nearly buckling as he ripped your orgasm from you and planted his own deep in your channel.

By the time he was finished you clung to the windowsill and managed to keep your shaky legs under you. You glanced out of the window as you adjusted your skirts, seeing a couple of weary guards looking around for the source of the cries they’d just heard. Shame peppered your face pink as you ducked out of his chambers and continued about your day, his hot spend and your slick slowly trickling down your thighs.

You made yourself scarce the rest of the day, breathing a sigh of relief as you saw him ride out with most of his knights the following morning.

In the weeks he was gone, you grew close to a young knight he had left behind, well mannered, strong but soft spoken, and he had even made his intentions known to start courting you. You thought your luck had changed until one chilly morning you heard the distant thrum of hoofbeats. The King had returned…

You nervously helped carry food to the long ornate breakfast table. Praying that keeping with the cooks and his long travels would have him too tired to try anything.

You flinched and backed away as the doors to the hall slammed open. The King threw his helmet down as he stamped inside, grime and sweat from the road caked his armor as anger etched the contours of his face. “Out! All of you!” He shouted.

You courtesied and moved to leave with the other maidservants till you felt his grip on your wrist. “Not you.” He growled, pointing at the seat beside him.

You felt as if your heart was going to leap out of your throat as you sat beside him. He began tearing into the food laid before him. Taking a bite then throwing whatever he was holding aside. “No. No. No!” He threw his plate aside, “What the hell has happened to the cooks since I’ve been away.” He grumbled, his lips tilted in a wicked grin as he looked over to you. “Now, there’s a meal...”

You gulped as you tucked your legs tighter against one another. In one swift motion he hoisted you out if your chair onto the table. Pulling your legs apart and shoving your chest hard enough to press your back into the wood. He yanked you roughly toward him and locked his arms around your legs as he dove his face under your skirts. Nibbling and licking like a man starved, up your thighs to your center.

He licked and sunk his tongue deep into your cunt, drawing out the slickness and relishing in it. His low rumble and moans of pleasure vibrated through you and sent your mind into a haze. He truly was eating you for his own pleasure but you couldn’t help reaching the edge after many a night with only your own touch that left you unsatisfied.

“Your grace.” You heard someone’s voice clear as you looked to see some of his knights standing awkwardly in the doorway. Shame rushed through you like wildfire as you lay locked in the king’s grip.

He pulled his head out from under your skirts, eyes half lidded with lust and face soaked from your wetness. He drew a hand over his mouth and wiped some of your slickness on the ornate cloth lining the table. “Can’t you see I’m eating?” His tone a warning to the men awkwardly watching your horrified expression unfold.

You locked eyes with the knight you had been courting, cheeks blazing as you saw his hand reach for the pommel of his sword.

“And what, pray tell, do you think you’re doing.” John spat at the young knight. “Best you leave before I make you stay and watch me take what’s mine. And leave the door open on your way out!” He dove back under your skirts, this time biting up your supple thighs. Drawing yelps and cries from you to make his point known.

The young knight released his sword and stormed out along with the others. Leaving you sprawled across the table at John’s mercy. Weary eyes peaked in through the open doorway as the king had his fill of his choice of breakfast. Shuffling away quickly but their expressions would be plastered in your minds eye for weeks to come.

You had never come so hard or so many times as that morning, and John reinvigorated his cruel reputation as your overstimulation turned you into a twitching babbling mess sprawled across the table. Never stopping despite your pleas till he was fully satisfied. Once he was done he stood slowly, smiling down at the mess he’d made of you and glancing at the open door. “Be sure I start every morning like this.” He cooed as he leaned over you and wiped his face on your skirts.

—————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[kissmenkillmen]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， "PROLOGUE."

⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， wordcount. 1,344 . . . ⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， nav. series. here !!! ⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， genres. psychological horror, thriller / suspense, dark fantasy. ⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， cw. religious fears, cult mentality, violent urges, obsessive thoughts, haunting presence, compulsive behavior. (+) ⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， summary. In a world gripped by fear and existential emptiness, the cult 'The Circle of Purification' promises salvation through total sacrifice and divine purpose. Led by the charismatic Suguru Geto, the cult's doctrine demands followers abandon morality and embrace a dark path toward "purity." Its members, each shaped by personal scars, carry out macabre rituals that slowly begin to unravel the group's seemingly perfect foundation.

Faith was once a sanctuary, a fortress that shielded humanity from the vast unknown. Within it lay a fragile promise: salvation, redemption, and purpose. But what happens when the hands that offer salvation are stained with blood? When redemption comes at the cost of the soul?

In the shadow of a crumbling chapel, where prayers twisted into screams and light dared not linger, a man spoke of purity—a purity that could only be achieved through sacrifice. His voice, silken and commanding, wove through the hearts of his followers, each word a thread in a tapestry of devotion and despair. They knelt at his feet, their faces bathed in the glow of flickering candles, their trembling hands reaching for a salvation they could never truly grasp.

There was no salvation here.

Only power. Only control.

The cult was born not out of faith but out of desperation. Out of loneliness. Out of hunger for something greater, something that could fill the emptiness carved into their souls. For each of them, the world had failed—families abandoned them, dreams withered, and hope died. And so they found him.

He called himself a shepherd, but his flock walked a path lined with thorns. Each step drew blood, each vow bound them tighter to a doctrine that blurred the lines between sacred and profane. There was beauty in the ritual, in the whispers of hymns twisted into cries, but beneath the surface lurked horrors they dared not name.

Some followed him out of love. Others out of fear. All were bound to him by the weight of their sins, by promises of absolution that grew darker with every passing day.

But the line between devotion and damnation is thin.

Fragile. Easily crossed.

And as the shadows deepened, as the rituals grew darker and the price of faith became steeper, they began to ask themselves a question:

Were they the sacred? Or were they the damned?

The answer lay in the bloodstains they carried, in the sacrifices they made, and in the truths they were too afraid to face. And when the final hymn was sung, when the altar was bathed in crimson, only one thing would remain certain:

The only gods here were the ones they created.

"Purity through sacrifice," he preached, his words woven with a charisma that left no room for doubt. His followers believed, not because they were foolish, but because they were desperate. In his doctrine, they found what they could not find elsewhere: purpose, belonging, and the illusion of control.

But devotion comes at a price.

For some, it was their blood spilled across cold stone altars, offered up to a god whose face they dared not imagine. For others, it was the slow erosion of their will, their identities stripped away piece by piece until they became vessels for the shepherd's vision.

Yet there were moments of hesitation. The tremble in a hand before a ritual dagger was raised. The fleeting glance of doubt exchanged between silent disciples. Beneath the surface of their unwavering faith, questions lingered: Was this salvation? Or was it something darker, something they were too afraid to name?

The shepherd, ever watchful, silenced dissent before it could take root. To doubt him was to doubt the path to purity. And so, with trembling hands and breaking hearts, they stayed.

They knelt. They obeyed.

The chapel, once a house of light, became a monument to their suffering. Its walls bore the echoes of their hymns, twisted into cries that no god would ever answer. Blood seeped into the floorboards, staining the very foundation of their faith.

And as the seasons passed, as the rituals grew more grotesque and the lines between sacred and profane blurred beyond recognition, one thing became clear:

This was not a path to salvation.

This was a descent into damnation.

Yet they could not turn back. The weight of their sacrifices chained them to the altar, their sins binding them tighter than any vow ever could. The shepherd's promises of purity were empty, but his power was real, and to defy him was to invite ruin upon themselves and the world they had forsaken.

Still, within the shadows of the chapel, something stirred. A seed of rebellion. A question whispered among the faithful: Could they ever truly be saved? Or were they destined to bear the burden of their bloodstained faith until the end?

When the final hymn is sung, when the last dagger falls, and the altar is bathed in crimson, only one truth will remain:

There is no salvation here. Only gods of their own making.

Only the sacred, and the damned.

But even in the depths of their despair, there was a kind of beauty—a haunting elegance to the rituals that bound them. The way the flames of a hundred candles would dance as hymns filled the air, voices rising in trembling unison. The intricate patterns painted in blood on the chapel walls, each one a symbol of their devotion. It was grotesque, yet mesmerizing, a reflection of the duality that defined their faith.

Each follower bore their own scars, both seen and unseen. The mother who had lost her child and sought redemption in the shepherd’s arms. The soldier whose hands were stained with the blood of countless battles, now wielding a dagger in service of a greater cause. The orphan who had never known love, clinging to the cult like a drowning man grasping for air. Their stories were as varied as the stars, yet all led them here—to this place, to this man, to this promise of purity.

And at the heart of it all stood the shepherd, Suguru Geto. His words were velvet, his presence magnetic. To look into his eyes was to feel seen, understood, even cherished. He was not a man; he was a force, an inevitability. He spoke not of punishment, but of liberation. Not of wrathful gods, but of a world reborn in fire and blood.

“To suffer is to be free,” he whispered to them, his voice carrying like the wind through the hollowed chapel. “To sacrifice is to transcend. Only through pain can we become divine.”

They believed him because they had nothing else. Because the world outside was harsher than the rituals within. Because his faith was infectious, and his promises irresistible.

But not all were blind.

They began to wonder: Was this really the path to purity? Or were they merely pawns in a game they couldn’t begin to understand?

Doubt was dangerous, and they knew it. To question the shepherd was to risk exile—or worse. Yet the whispers grew louder, until even the most devout among them could no longer ignore the cracks in their foundation.

Still, they stayed. Not out of faith, but out of fear. Fear of what lay beyond the chapel walls, in a world that had already rejected them. Fear of what the shepherd might do if he discovered their doubts. Fear of the truth that lingered just beyond their reach: that they had traded one form of suffering for another, and there was no escape.

And so they knelt, and they sang, and they bled. They played their roles in a grand tragedy orchestrated by a man who called himself their savior.

But salvation was a lie.

The rituals continued, growing darker with each passing season. The line between follower and victim blurred until it no longer existed. And in the depths of the chapel, the final act of their story began to unfold.

It would not end in redemption.

It would end in fire, in blood, in the shattering of every fragile truth they had clung to.

For the gods they worshipped were not benevolent. They were cruel, merciless, and born not of divinity, but of desperation. And when the end came, when the flames consumed the altar and the final hymn was sung, the truth would be laid bare:

Faith had not saved them. It had destroyed them.

Because here, in the shadow of the chapel, there was no sanctuary.

© kissmenkillmen 2024. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works.

[garfinkelstingle]

magic and maybes | draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (implied slytherin!reader but only once i think)

warnings: swearing; implied mentions of verbal abuse; this is not in chronological order, but i do think it makes sense this way (especially if you've listened to the song); angst

word count: 5,2k

summary: based on “wendy” by maisie peters; loving draco is like something out of a fairytale. but not all of those always end with happily ever after, do they?

a/n: oh my!! hi!!! my first full-length fic in over a year!!!! so exciting!!!! this came to me while listening to wendy (which you should defo listen to if you haven't yet; the whole album is too good!!) and i just sort of rolled with it. i will never understand why i keep coming back to draco, but i just do. i have never written anything like this, and i certainly have never written draco like this, but the song called for it!! and also, let's be honest, this really matches draco better than it would most other characters. oh and i put it in the warning, but please beware that this is not written in chronological order. it's supposed to showcase the rollercoaster of relationship that reader and draco share, and i thought this was the best way to do it! let me know if you like it, it would really mean a lot <3 happy reading babes

masterlist

rolling like a stone / laughing like a kid

She had never seen him like this before.

Correction: She had never seen him like this before in front of people that weren't just her. Because this is the only way she had ever seen him, really seen him. She knew the charade he kept up, could see right through it better than anyone else. And if you took all of that faux meanness and excruciating ass-ness away, this is what you would be left with, what she's been left with all these years that she's known him. A silly kid, rolling around in the grass, holding his stomach laughing, eyes glistening with tears and shining brighter than any star ever could.

This is how she saw him, always, and how she hoped she would get to see him forever. This, and nothing else.

calling like the future / closed up like a fist

It was always the same. He always did this, and she swore that one of these days she would hex him into oblivion for it.

"What do you mean I can't come with you? We've been planning this for months; I told my parents to make plans without me and they have. What am I supposed to do now?" They had been at it for close to an hour now, going back and forth, nowhere close to having this argument reach its conclusion.

Usually, she didn't mind backing off. He was stubborn; she knew that. This wasn't something she had discovered only recently. She had known him for longer than she hadn't, so she was acutely aware of this quality of his. It didn't surprise her, but that didn't mean it didn't annoy her, either. So she'd just let it slide and move on—one of them had to.

This time, however? She wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm not responsible for you and how you spend your time," he provocatively stated, his eyes ablaze with fury that nearly matched hers. How dare he? As if this was in any way, shape, or form her fault.

"You have got to be kidding me! You were the one who invited me to spend Christmas break at your house! You were the one who wanted me to meet your parents! You were the one who made all these grand plans, and now you just blow me off the day break starts and talk about responsibility?" She couldn't believe him. She really, truly, couldn't.

Except that, maybe, she should. This wasn't the first time Draco blew off their plans. In fact, it wasn't even the second or the third. But he usually had a not-so-terrible reason for it, and the worst thing he had ever cancelled before was a Saturday in Hogsmeade or a picnic by the lake. This, however? This was huge, a plan that had been set into motion during the summer, when they had sent their owls into a frenzy, corresponding through multiple letters a day and vowing not to spend another break apart. She had told her parents before she boarded the train to take her back for another year at Hogwarts, that she would spend the Christmas break with her boyfriend and that they should take that trip to the sea they've been dreaming of forever. And since they did just that, and she didn't feel like ruining their holidays as well, she would now have to spend hers at the dingy castle, with people she barely knew and couldn't care less about.

She didn't even need him to change his mind at this point. While the reason he was giving her sucked, she was sure the real reason didn't—even if he wasn't planning on telling her. What bothered her so much was his refusal to just simply apologize for screwing up and leaving her hanging. If he would just say that he was sorry, she'd let this go. But she knew him well enough by now to know that the chances of that happening were non-existent at best.

"I will not apologize for your lack of a backup plan," he said, with a voice so cold that she could feel actual shivers run down her back. "I will see you after break is over. Merry Christmas." And with that, he turned around and made his way back to the castle, without even sparing her a backward glance.

And all she could do was stare after him, seemingly frozen in place, with tears flowing down her cheeks freely, and wonder if this was what loving someone was supposed to feel like.

lost my page when you kissed me

She hadn't meant to fall in love with him. They had been friends, or at least something very close to it. Draco believed that only people who had nothing else to their name cared about having friends, and she somewhat agreed with him. Friends were feeble; people came and went. There was no use getting attached to them, not when you couldn't ever be a hundred percent certain that they wouldn't just up and leave one day.

But he—he was something else. They had known each other for years, attending the same balls thrown by both their parents and their associates, riding in the same train compartment on their first trip to Hogwarts, reading the same books side-by-side on their common room's couch. They were put in each other’s orbits due to their inescapable proximity, yes, but they were welded together by baked goods that they would steal from the kitchen and share in some dark corner of the too-big houses they would be dragged to, shy smiles and squeezing of hands followed by it's okay, you're not alone's, two a.m. conversations in front of the fireplace in which they discussed whatever books they just finished reading and, sometimes, maybe even more. That's what made her the first person he would say "good morning" to at the breakfast table, and what made him her preferred potions partner. Nothing more and nothing less. They weren't friends, but they were each other's person. Whatever that meant.

It made sense, and it worked, and neither of them needed more. Or so she thought. Because when Draco kissed her after one of those infamous two a.m. conversations and told her „You just looked too pretty not to kiss", after she asked him why he would do something so ridiculous, she came to realize that maybe they were wrong. Maybe getting attached to someone wasn't the worst thing there was. It couldn't be. Right?

i know the girl you want / it scares me

He was scared. He was scared, but so was she. The future was uncertain and terrifying. It didn't make sense on a good day and was simply revolting on a bad one. So much could go wrong at any given moment in time, and not knowing when or what could happen made it sometimes feel like, maybe, life just wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

And when you add love to that equation? You're pretty much just signing off on a death sentence. Draco knew that, and so did she, but unlike him, she believed it to be worth it. Love was never something she saw herself needing, or even wanting, but now that she had it, she was certain it was worth all the heartbreak it might possibly entail. Draco, however? He still didn't trust her enough to let his walls down completely, to give her the power to destroy him and believe her when she said that she would never, ever do that.

She loved him, and she was certain that he loved her, too, but she also knew that he might never be able to let her know that himself. And she knew that he expected that to be enough, that her own knowledge would suffice her and that she would survive without his confirmation, and maybe she could. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to. Spending your time with someone who was emotionally closed off to everyone around you and made them feel like they were replaceable was one thing, but spending your life with someone who was emotionally closed off toward you and too proud to tell you that the one person he could never replace was you? She wasn't sure if she was strong enough for that. She doubted she ever would be. And that terrified her more than anything else ever had before.

pretty like a girl / vicious like a man

He was beautiful. She had always found him inexplicably beautiful; his was the kind of beauty poems were about, a beauty that ran so deep and was so intricate that she sometimes wondered if he wasn't put on this world solely to be admired and stared at.

Even now, when his face was laced with fury and his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping his desk, he was still beautiful.

She wasn't even sure what they were fighting about now, stopped paying actual attention to the ugly words leaving his mouth. Instead, she was questioning her judgment. She had always found him beautiful on the outside, just as everyone else did, but unlike them, she had also always considered his soul to be beautiful, too. And yet here she was, target to his livid shouts and insults, wondering if maybe that was just another thing that she had been terribly, terribly wrong about.

give up like a ghost / leaving halfway through

It was moronic at best, really. They had spent a fortune on these tickets and had been excited for this game for months now. So, the fact that they were now letting it all go to waste? It was pure idiocy.

Especially when you looked at the why. He was being a child, a petulant little toddler who got upset at the idea of giving his girlfriend of nearly four years a kiss in public.

And the worst thing is that she hadn’t even been upset because it hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. She knew Draco, knew that he liked keeping their PDA to an absolute minimum, and she didn’t mind it in the slightest. Or, well, not enough to be actively affected by it. So, when the kiss-cam panned to their faces, she blew it a kiss and winked for good measure and went back to talking to Draco about how pathetic Potter and his friends looked standing there on the very far side of the stadium, most likely not even able to see the scoreboard. She had moved on, and so had the camera, but for whatever reason, Draco didn't.

Instead, he started huffing and puffing about Salazar knows what, getting upset at her for what, exactly? For respecting his need for privacy? For not pushing him to do something she knew he wouldn’t be comfortable with doing, even though she really wanted to? For, once again, putting him first and foremost? Is that what he was trying to punish her for? Because he certainly didn’t seem to be able to put it into words, storming off like an actual imbecile instead, leaving halfway through the match.

And of course, she had to follow him like the ever-loyal girlfriend that she was, trying to catch up with him and calm him down, even though she was seconds away from losing her bloody mind herself. She was sick and tired of his juvenile behaviour, was just so exhausted with having to put up with his shit instead of just enjoying herself, and yet it seemed as if some invisible string kept on pulling her in his direction, not allowing her to choose her own needs and herself, ever.

She wondered if he would ever grow tired of this pretence of his, or if this was what being with Draco Malfoy would entail, forever. She didn’t want to believe it, but it became harder and harder with each passing day. Maybe this is who he was, who he always would be.

But maybe it was just a matter of time before he would finally give it all up and be who she has blindly believed him to be all this time. All she could do, it seemed, was to hope that she wouldn’t be the one to give up, first.

if i'm not careful we'll be married

"Do you ever think about the future?" His voice broke through the quiet reverie they had both found themselves in. She was used to him being the first one to speak up after a long beat of silence; he didn't find it quite as peaceful and tranquilizing as she did. Not that she minded, though. She liked his voice, and she liked talking to him even more. To say that the question surprised her, though, would be an understatement.

Putting the book she was currently reading to the side, she snuggled further into him. The fireplace was providing a fair amount of heat, but the chill seemed to be inescapable in the Slytherin common room. It was also just very nice to be able to have him hold her close like this, even if the only reason he did so was because it was far past midnight and everyone else was already fast asleep.

"Sometimes, yeah," she said. "Do you?"

"Yeah." She didn't expect him to elaborate, so it stunned her when he did. "I see us. You and me, together. Married. But not like them. Like us. Does that make sense?" It did. She knew exactly what he meant. Not like them. Not like his parents, who didn't love each other in the slightest and could barely stand each other most days. And not like her parents, either, who cared deeply about one another, at least as much as you could care about someone you didn't choose to marry. They found a way to be friendly and cordial, mainly because they didn't want their daughter to grow up with parents who were constantly at each other's throats, but it was still far away from the real deal.

Were they the real deal? That's what Draco was implying, wasn't it? That if they would get married, it'd be because they loved each other. He's never even said it, she thought. And he hadn't. But he's said this now, hadn't he? And that should be worth more than any stupid three words ever could be, right? Because he wanted to marry her, really marry her, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. It rarely happened for people of their status, so she should be beyond delighted that it was happening to her. Plus, she loved him, too, and unlike him, she hadn't been afraid to say those three words. Marrying Draco was what she was supposed to want; finding out that he wanted to marry her, too, was supposed to be the greatest news she's ever heard. So why was there some nagging part of her brain that knew that saying yes would be the worst thing she could possibly do?

"I know what you mean," she said. She had never lied to him before.

you want me / you're sure

Blaise Zabini was flirting with her. Then again, Blaise Zabini flirted with everything that had legs and a mouth he could kiss, so it did nothing to impress her. It did, however, do its damage by making Draco furiously jealous. After all this time together, she prided herself in being able to read him like a book. Him storming off like a petulant child made her think that, in this instance at least, even a visually impaired person would be able to deduct the fact that he was (unreasonably) upset.

Sighing, she made out to follow him, annoyed that she had to make yet another excuse for her friends. It shouldn't be her job to smooth things over every time his tantrums killed the mood at a get-together, and yet it seemed like part of the "Dating-Draco-Malfoy" package.

She found him at the lake, the same way she always did. She wondered if there was any specific reason he chose this place to run off to , but she doubted he would tell her even if there was. Some secrets just weren't worth the effort of trying to figure out.

She expected him to be upset with her, to accuse her of leading Zabini on and whoring herself out to him—Salazar knew it wouldn't be the first time. It used to upset her beyond measure. There would be a good amount of crying and screaming on her part; calling him a pretentious douche, telling him to screw off if he really thought so little of her. It always ended the same: he would storm off, eventually, and disappear for a good few hours. Then, he'd come back, without something even remotely close to an apology, and tell her he wasn't mad anymore. She knew what he really meant when he said it: I expect you not to be mad anymore, either. And even when she was, she was usually too exhausted to keep on fighting. After a while, she decided there wasn't even any point in being upset in the first place. Draco was who he was; she knew what she was getting into. Or so she kept telling herself.

This time, however, seemed different. She was sure he could hear her approach him—he always did. So why wasn't he turning around? Why wasn't he yelling at her and making her feel as if the affection of others was her fault?

He stayed quiet until she finally reached him and made to stand next to him. "I don't like it when others try to make a pass at you," he said. She waited a beat, wondering if he was going to add anything else. He did. "I know I have no right to be upset with you." This was new. It surprised her. So much so that she wondered if she might've misheard. "It's not your fault Zabini has no respect for boundaries, or anyone else, for that matter. I just... it's paralyzing, sometimes. Realizing that you could leave me for someone else at any given moment, and there's nothing I could do about it. I want to be with you. I know I'm not always good at voicing it, but I do. I'm certain. That's why I get upset. Because it terrifies me."

She took his hand in hers and gave the back of it a soft kiss. This was possibly the most vulnerable he had been with her, ever. She understood him; of course she did. Didn't he know that she was just as terrified? That a life without him in it didn't seem to make any sense whatsoever to her? She loved him, and now she was sure that he loved her, too.

Nothing else mattered.

lose the world that you live in / pretend that it's what you wanted

“This isn’t okay, and you know it.” Maybe she did. Maybe she knew that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel like. But it’s all she’s ever known, and sometimes it felt as if this was all she’d ever want to know. Because when it was good it was great. It was all she could ever want and then some, and she honestly didn’t think she would ever find anything better than it.

Draco wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. She had her flaws just like anyone else, so to expect him to be something she herself couldn’t be? That seemed unfair and illogical at best.

“Look, you don’t get it, alright?” And she didn’t. None of them did. Not her mother or her father, not her friends or his. They were complicated and messy, but they were right. Right for each other, right in all the ways that mattered. She loved him, and he loved her. If there was anything in life she was sure of, then it was that.

“You can’t let him treat you like that.” That’s what it always boiled down to. Every fight she ever had about him—and there were probably too many to count—always came to the same conclusion: She shouldn’t let him treat her like that. But what did that even mean? No one would ever treat her the way he did. No one would ever look at her as if she was the reason they got up in the morning, as if she hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. No one would ever be able to make her feel like she was the thing they lived for, someone they’d die and kill for in the same breath.

So, what if he’d yell at her and insult her and make her question her worth sometimes? He’d never allow her to question herself out loud to him; he’d make sure to show her how important she was to him. And Salazar forbid someone else dared to say the wrong thing when it came to her—he’d made sure it’s the last thing they’d ever say.

Maybe she knew it wasn’t okay, what they were doing. There were a million words to describe their relationship, with toxic and unhealthy being the prime examples. But no relationship was perfect. Why should theirs be?

it's a life i could have, i know

They were invited to someone's birthday. She didn't even know whose, just knew to wear "that green dress that makes you look like actual royalty". There also had been a promise by a certain someone that the dress would later be carefully taken off, and that there would be some... not so careful actions afterwards. It was the prospect of that that kept her from making up some excuse as to why she suddenly had to leave this awful and hollow house and curl up with a book and one of Draco's sweaters in her bed.

The party in itself wasn't awful; on the contrary, it was lovely. The music was played by a live orchestra, and the entire house was decorated in different shades of blue and silver. There were white roses everywhere, and the food was exceptional, too. But she didn't know anyone here except for Draco; she didn't even know the birthday girl. She was a couple years older than the two of them, and from what she understood she was the wife of a son of a business partner of Draco's father. Or something like that.

She was currently standing in a corner all by herself, with a champagne flute in hand, trying to find Draco in the crowd. He had snuck off some time ago, claiming that he had to make the rounds or else "my father is going to chew my ear off about it", convincing her that it wasn't necessary for her to introduce herself tediously to every single person he would have to shake hands with. He wasn't wrong, but somehow standing in her lonely corner appeared to be an even worse fate.

Eventually, she locked eyes with Draco and gave him a small smile. She knew it was pointless to beckon him to her; he'd just shrug her off. Instead, he sent a quick wink her way, before turning back around to speak to whatever important person he was speaking to right now.

This could be my life, she thought. Going places with Draco, having him wink at her from across the room, promising to take her dress off at the end of the night and make it all worth it. This could be the rest of her life. She could see it, could see herself be one of the important men’s wives, gossiping away in some lonely corner just like hers, on their fifth or sixth flute of champagne already, trying to hide the hollow look in their eyes. This could be it. It was nothing like the life that she had wanted for herself all this time, and yet it didn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it should.

throw your rocks / scream that you hate me

She didn’t even know how long it’s been. All she knew was that her mother had been up twice to tell her that she was this close to hexing him away from their property, and that she had begged her just as often not to.

“He has every right to be upset,” she had said, and could feel the bile rise in her throat at the bitter taste of the lie. Because no matter how often she told herself just that, it didn’t sound any more truthful to her ears than it did the time before. Yes, maybe Draco was allowed to be upset. She certainly was. But standing below her window, completely wasted, and throwing rocks at it, whilst yelling profanities at her? No one should have the right to do that.

And it wasn’t as if it was her fault, either. She had given him a choice; she shouldn't have had to do that. She hadn’t even meant to. It was supposed to be clean cut. She was supposed to tell him that it was over, that it should have been over a long time ago. If he still couldn’t tell her that he loved her after five years together, chances were that he never would. And she was just so tired of not hearing those words.

But she had looked him in the eyes and something—something made her believe that maybe, just maybe, he would realize that she was worth so much more to him than his pride and that being with her was worth more than being whoever he kept on pretending to be.

She should have known that her stupid, childish hope would be the death of her.

So here he was now, screaming that he hated her, that he wished that he had never met her, that being with her had been the greatest mistake of his life. And what if he wasn’t wrong? Would things had been different had she been different? Would he have been able to tell her how he felt if she had been more like Daphne? Would she have been able to leave him sooner and protect her own heart had she been more like Pansy?

It was driving her mad, the never-ending question of “what if?”, and yet her silly mind didn’t seem to be able to put an end to it. Because no matter how awful being (or in this case not being) with Draco may have been, it was still the most magical time in her life so far. And she didn’t even doubt for one second that the rest of her life might have been just as magical, too. Except that there was only so long a person could survive on magic and maybe’s, before eventually having to put an end to the madness and realize that the whimsical dreams weren’t anything other than nightmares hiding behind a pretty façade.

She loved Draco, loved him with her entire being, loved him more than she could ever imagine loving or even wanting to love anyone else. But, somehow, along the way, she had come to realize that just because she couldn’t see ever loving herself even half as much as she loved him, it was still enough to realize that leaving him was the only way she could ensure that she wouldn’t lose herself completely.

So, when her mother came up for the third time, this time with her father in tow, she didn’t fight them when they suggested to call the authorities to remove the Malfoy boy from their property. After all, just because Peter never wanted to grow up, didn't mean Wendy couldn’t.

i could love you / wait 'til you're ready

It was the little things more than it would ever be the big ones. She knew Draco, knew that the only way she could expect big romantic gestures from him was if someone were to put him under a spell, which is why she came to appreciate the small gestures and hold them as close and dear to her heart as she possibly could.

It was the little enchanted paper cranes that would hold little love notes of “your hair looks pretty today” and “how lucky I am to be dating the smartest witch in this castle”.

It was how he would lend her his robe without a second thought when he would see her rub her hands together in a fruitless attempt of warding off the cold, even though he had adamantly tried to convince her to wear a jumper underneath.

It was how he would press a kiss on her temple first thing in the morning, without fail, every single day, no matter if they had fought the previous evening or not, letting her know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It was how he would rub her feet at the end of a long day in Hogsmeade, knowing that her boots were a size too small but that she loved them too much not to suck up the pain and go out with them anyways.

She loved him, and whilst she had no problem with telling him just that, he had no problem with showing her, either. And maybe he wasn’t lying when he told her that he just needed time, that she ought to just be patient, that sooner rather than later he would feel ready enough to say it, too.

The question wasn’t whether she could wait or not; she knew she could.  The question was whether she loved herself enough to know that she shouldn't have to.

forever 20

Twenty.

That’s how often she had said it, and how often he had stayed quiet. And every time he hated himself just a little bit more because he knew that with every time that she would say it without hearing a reply, he would get closer to hearing it for the last time.

And now here he was, stuck at twenty, forever, because he knew her well enough to know that it was over, really, truly over, with no one to blame but himself.

The worst thing was that for every time she said it, he had wanted to say it tenfold, had wanted to shower her with those words until she grew sick and tired of them. Had, on the worst days, wanted to just grip her by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake her and tell her, over and over, that he loved her, that he had loved her all this time and would love her for all the time to come.

But he never did, and now she was gone beyond his reach and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that, maybe, this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The best thing he had ever done for her. And that had to count for something, right?

[wolframtheregulator]

Mors Dictares Joint Task Force

—Kill Team Project Megapost—

Our Kill Team campaign will start shortly, my friends had a session 0 the other day and atm were racing to get our models finished in time for the first night of matches.

Here’s what I’m starting the campaign with.

Moritat Bres, the Spitebound (Chosen with plasma pistol) [FINISHED]

https://www.tumblr.com/wolframtheregulator/757282462536810496/should-fortune-turn-away-turn-to-me-ancient

[UNNAMED] Balefire Acolyte [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Anointed [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Icon Bearer [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Heavy Gunner [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Gunner [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Butcher [FINISHED]

https://www.tumblr.com/wolframtheregulator/761089425946099712/regulators-butcher-badulf-transferred-to-the

[saccharinemeat]

I'm sorry but HOW do you find sodapack to be worse than lairy??

Oh anon, you've opened a Pandora's box.

Let's go through it in parts,shall we?

First, Why people consider lairy to be 'bad'?

From what I've seen, it's often mostly based around the fact that Airy himself had Liam trapped on the Plane, and it can be considered that Airy has an inherent abusive dynamic with Liam because of this. This is the major one,since Airy doesn't show any animosity, negative or positive towards Liam immediately. He didn't pick Liam out of malice,or abuse,or anything. It just was coincidence,and he wanted them to play the game,but didn't punish him for not playing. Even stuff like the drowning is shown to be unintentional or at least, Airy himself doesn't seem to consider it a punishment. When it was time for Liam to be returned home after the 5 month period, Airy did so without major hesitation, it's not like he wanted to keep Liam more than wny of the other contestants.

Second, why is sodapack seen as wholesome?

No, seriously. Liam and Bryce are mostly friendly and amicable within the game, especially while Amelia was still involved,and after they are placed on the same team along with Texty and Stone but without Amelia, Bryce becomes quite less responsive and sort of gives up on trying to communicate with Liam, he is mentally checked out. At this point, it's more of a traumatic bond than it is a deeper friendship. The later development,which i will comment on, is mostly driven through Liam pushing Bryce,and Bryce only ever says hes glad they went through it way past the point of no return. There's implications that this is how Bryce just deals with things,he tries to see them as 'for the best' to compartmentalize them. Same as never mentioning Stella, same as deciding that his life post-plane was better. Bryce is not particularly attached to Liam on his own volition.

Third, fandom blindness

Okay,this part is where I criticize the fandom. So here it goes: At this point, the fanon versions of Liam and Bryce are forcefully fit into what you (general you) want them to be,rather than actually acknowledging them as they are. ONE's characters are all morally grey,however the interactions within themselves are more or less harmful depending on intention or disregard of care at an interpersonal level.

Let's look at 'fanon' liam,for example

fanon!Liam is:

kind

awkward

romantically interested in Bryce

trying to save the others

traumatized

non violent

caring for the fellow objects still in the Plane

Canon!Liam however is...

Obsessive

Manipulative

Doesn't care about Bryce's trauma

Selfish, wants to solve this mystery because he feels his life got ruined

Uses Bryce's guilt to make him go along with things

Traumatized

He's considerably violent

My point here is that the fandom has a particularly skewed vision of both Liam and Bryce and their friendship

Fourth, Intentional Harm

In the case of sodapack, let's see how these awful behaviors are spread or balanced within canon. Liam's bad or harmful actions toward the other in green, Bryce's are in red

Liam seeks the unknown address,and hitchhikes his way over there, fully on impulse.

↓

Once he sees Bryce's terrified reaction, he insists on having him open the door. He starts by explaining why hes here but starts getting mad, accusing Bryce of ignoring or not caring for the other contestants

↓

Liam yells about how bad things were for him in the 7 month period,drawing a comparison of how 'easy' it must have been for Bryce to forget it,guilting him.

↓

Liam walks away....and comes right back,instead deciding to sleep against Bryce's door,effectively trapping Bryce and making it so he can't leave his apartment or home at all.

↓

Bryce lets him in and states his boundaries about listening Liam out and giving him Bradley's address.

↓

Liam IMMEDIATELY manipulates him into driving them to Bradley's house. Bryce pays for the laptop,too.

↓

Bryce states his boundaries AGAIN and Liam insists until Bryce breaks and agrees to seek Oscar. At no point Liam has even TRIED to learn Bryce's name,he gets told his name on the drive there, Bryce is clearly uncomfortable with his game name.

↓

Bryce helps get some information out of Oscar and PAYS HIM for his time,which Liam didn't even consider. Also he does this without reviving Oscar's possibly traumatic memories,which Liam was willing to do and hadn't been considerate of the other's mental health

↓

Bryce,AGAIN states his boundaries,and tells Liam that he is NOT driving him to the smokestack. Liam says he understands.

↓

And immediately steals AND CRASHES the car. has a fight with Bryce,holds the car keys hostage,and calls Bryce 'soda bottle' during the fight. Bryce calls Liam out on doing this out of selfishness,and hits him.

And as an extra:

Liam couldn't have not noticed that Bryce said the waiting room looked like his childhood neighborhood/Bryce trying to reach Stella. He just didn't care enough.

Liam got himself and Bryce killed several times during this ordeal.

Bryce let Liam stay in his home out of guilt,not kindness.

Through all of these interactions, there's not an ounce of balance, it's mostly Liam doing shit to fuck up Bryce's attempt to return to normalcy,and Bryce doing mostly emotiona self-harming

Now, let's look at Lairy,and how Liam and Airy interact in terms of intentional harm

Liam in green, Airy in blue

Airy picks Liam as a contestant for ONE,at random

↓

Liam freaks out and breaks a leg during the challenge

↓

Airy forgets about Liam's cast and accidentally drowns him during another challenge

↓

Airy disappears for the 7 month period,then sends Liam back to san Francisco

So far,none of this is intentional harm. Let's jump forward to their out-of-game interactions

Liam pushes Airy out his chair and yells at him,trying to hit him, upset.

↓

Airy remains polite and a little confused and explains why he can't do that yet

↓

Liam talks to texty,and refuses to consider killing Airy

↓

Liam Negotiates with Airy

↓

Liam falls and loses his belongings, Airy attempted to hold him from falling

↓

After Liam does attempt to kill Airy,a tree breaks his leg, and Airy makes him a wooden cast,and a bed of reeds.

As it's visible, there's almost no intentional harm from Airy to Liam,and even the murder attempts from Liam to Airy are mild at best.

Fifth, Intentional Kindness

I'll keep this shorter,but, Bryce,once he meets Liam again back on Earth, doesn't show kindness to him unprompted at all. It's always guided through Liam's manipulation and behavior. He let's Liam in because Liam had him physically trapped. He goes along because Liam insists and guilts him. He helps get information out of Oscar and keeps it vague for OSCAR'S SAKE NOT LIAM'S,because he doesn't want to do to others what liam is currently doing to him.

He gets on the smokestack to ask for his keys back. Not a single act of kindness is unprompted. Bryce is a better person than Liam,and he falls for Liam's controlling behavior and struggles to say no.

Now, Airy is... tough,just as morally grey, Airy truly believes he's doing his best,and he has no animosity for actually hurting others,not even Liam. Not even when Liam is trying to Kill him. Airy, unprompted, makes Liam a reed bed,attempts to save liam from the fall, makes Liam a cast after his accident,and is generally open about his backstory to Liam. Airy has been alone 10 years,only with the plane and it's contestants for fun,trying to do something relatively harmless,and he is willing to send everyone home in exchange for the cassete player and because Liam asked and negotiated. He's happy to have Liam around. And Liam mourns Airy's death,too. He looks horrified when Airy speaks of how he was trying his best,and how his life was beforehand. There's even a hint of Liam basically becoming the next one to fill Airy's role at the end. He seems to understand this deep loneliness,and hears Airy out. Liam can resonate with someone he called a monster especially when in retrospective, Liam himself is more of a bad person than Airy is. Airy just,lost part of his mind in the process,but he stays kind. He could've killed Liam. with the computer,leave HIM in the waiting room,forever.

So... yeah

in the big picture, Airy is just a guy whos trying his best after then years of loneliness,and tried to do something that's morally abhorrent but without intention of harming anyone as long as it could be undone. He's not harmful or a threat to Liam,or at least,not more than Liam is a threat to him. It's sad,and doomed,and balanced

And Bryce is a poor traumatized man who got forced into doing stuff he never wanted to do,ans to relieve trauma he never wanted to relieve,just to be thrown back into the plane,for no reason,just to be trapped in a looping hell. He fears or at least really dislikes the way Liam manipulates him,and stays in denial about it. And Bryce is not a threat to Liam,in any way, other than Liam making Bryce responsible for his life as long as this own.

I think that's all i got in me,at least right now

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 24

Escape | Loki x Reader

Lugh accompanies you to the Avengers Compound to rescue Loki.

Warnings: 18+ language, canon typical shenanigans.

A/N: Yes that is the Avengers Assemble scene rehashed I just couldn't help myself

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

Thor, Jane and Brunnhilde stared at you in shocked silence. The soldiers that had teamed down the mountainside had vanished, either vanquished and tossed into the water or simply…gone. But then, so was the village. The long hall, the houses, each shop with its large stone front and sweeping roofs, gone. Except…when you really looked, when you tried to find your doorway, the wreath and light that made it feel like home, you could see it, shimmering where it should be as if from the corner of your eye. 

“Can you guys still see the village?” You asked, mouth dry, hands trembling.

“No.” Thor answered. 

“Not even a little bit?” 

“Not even a little bit.” 

“But you can, child, is that right?” Lugh placed a hand on your shoulder. 

“A little.” 

“I am so proud of you, your mother would be proud too.” His hand squeezed gently, as if he wanted to pull you in for a hug but was restraining himself. 

“What did I do?” The reality of vanishing the village was setting in, all the people, the families and friends inside, you heaved in a ragged breath.

“Calm yourself.” 

Thor took up space on your other side, rubbing a large palm up and down your back. 

“The village is not gone, you did a wonderful thing, you protected them.”

You turned your shining eyes back up to Lugh.

“You have manifested your mother’s cloak, I thought it either lost to the eons, or that you had hidden it deliberately. But here it is, back where it belongs, with you. The village is quite safe beneath it, Bres will not be able to enter and no harm will come to those beneath, just as it protected the precious flowers during winter. The snow may settle above, but the village will be ready and waiting to bloom again when it is safe to do so.” 

Brunnhilde swept a calculating glance over the protected village, “can we get in, to help them?” 

She looked at you, but her eyes flicked quickly to Lugh. 

“That entirely depends on whether young Estrid can lift it and, as she did not know that she could manifest it, perhaps we should plan for them to remain under it for a while. I trust you have others in your court, besides the warriors before me?” 

It felt comforting to still be included as a warrior, despite the gaps in your knowledge and experience. 

“They have supplies under there, but it’s a modern village, we expect food deliveries every few days or so, I don’t think we should leave them longer than a week.” Brunnhilde chewed on a nail, counting boxes of emergency supplies in her head. 

“We won’t need a week though, will we? Because Estrid and Lugh are going to get Loki back, and then we’re going to finish this, right?” Jane looked around, Thor nodded enthusiastically, Brunnhilde shrugged, her smile contemplative but Lugh squeezed your shoulder tighter. 

“Of course, King Brunnhilde and her wonderful court, will protect the village further and fight off the siege. I will accompany the Princess to…” he trailed off. 

“America.” You supplied, “the Avengers Compound.” 

“I will accompany the Princess to the Compound of the Avengers, aid in the rescue of Prince Loki of Asgard, and we will return to put an end to this ridiculous nonsense once and for all.” 

Lugh was so confident, his stance that of a true God tested by time and battle ready, for once you didn’t want to run from him, you were ready for battle too. 

The light remained the same throughout the day, always from above, no windows or natural openings.

Loki was considering going completely mad on purpose, simply to pass the time, when a door in the far side of the room snicked opened and a familiar face appeared. Loki stood, the picture of poise despite the basic clothes they’d allowed him, he kept his hands behind his back and schooled his face to look neutral, rather than simply bored, before speaking. 

“I wondered who they’d send.” He mused, taking slow deliberate steps across the width of his prison. 

“And are you happy, or not?” The Black Widow asked, stepping out from the shadows into the light cast by the prison’s eternal glare. 

“Is anyone particularly pleased to see their kidnapper?” He lifted an eyebrow, hoping for some reaction from the assassin, how did she view herself in this game that Stark had dragged her in to? She had always struck him as having quite similar morals as his own, firm and unwavering even if it meant getting your hands dirty. 

“Kidnapper? Hmm,” she mused, mirroring his stance, hands behind her back, but she was steady, ready to fight, dressed in her black catsuit, widow's bites glowing on her wrists and daggers sheathed on her legs and arms. 

“I do not recall leaving with Stark and Rogers willingly, so I can only assume this is a very ill thought out kidnapping attempt. I am intrigued to hear your demands and then we can begin negotiation.” 

“This is not a kidnapping, this is an arrest.” 

“And my crime? So that I may defend myself in some way?” 

Natasha’s face hardened, “New York, Laufeyson.” 

Loki rolled his eyes, “still? I have served my time in an Asgardian prison. My brother, the Crown Prince of Asgard and your colleague -” Loki sneered at the thought of Thor working with them, he’d always found it distasteful that his brother lowered himself this far, but the more he knew of them, the worse it became. “- freed me. You see, I may not always have the correct path, but I am a God, I am not one of your mortals to beat and bully. We have our own ways and they have been satisfied at the highest level. In fact, I now hold a vastly superior place in the Royal Court and I am quite sure they’re missing me terribly. So, with that finished, I shall be leaving now.” He stopped in front of her, he had a grudging respect for her, but he was tired of the games. 

“We can’t let you leave, Laufeyson. You know that. And there’s still the matter of Estrid.” 

“What matter could there be to resolve?” 

“You kidnapped her.” 

Loki let out a genuine bark of laughter. “How rich, I have kidnapped someone, have I? What kind of awful person would forcibly take another and lock them away, unable to escape?” He stepped back, lifting his arms and turning away from Natasha. “She has not been kidnapped, she just does not wish to work with you.” Loki sat on the cot and stretched his long legs in front of him, giving the agent a leisurely smile. “It just eats you all up, does it not, that she cares so little for you all. Did you think you’d found yourself a new pet? A new ability to consume like you have the others.” 

“Estrid is a danger to herself and others, we were containing the threat.” 

“My lady may be a threat,” Loki clenched his jaw, “she may be powerful, magical, in a way that you Midgardians cannot understand, but she is perfectly capable of controlling herself. We have no need of you, she never did. In fact, if I recall, you were so desperately outmatched you asked me for help.” He sat forwards slowly, standing to his full height and approaching the glass again. “And if she has experienced one ounce of pain, one iota of worry or sadness about this sorry situation then you will wish you had never made that call, you will wish you had ignored her from the start. You and your little band of would-be do-gooders have seen nothing of the power that Asgard wields, that I wield.” He snarled, slamming a hand against the glass. It rattled, but held firm. 

On the other side Natasha stayed firm, her feet set and back straight, but he could see a question wavering behind her eyes. What were they doing locking him back up, why had they sent her?

Natasha shifted on her feet and smirked. That raised lip, that quirked eyebrow. It made Loki’s blood boil. 

“Is this love, Laufeyson? Do you really think you’re defending Estrid’s honour?”

“What was it you said to me once? Love is for children? You owed the archer a debt, as I recall. I owe Estrid more than a debt, I owe her a lifetime that she has been denied. More than you and your band of self satisfied superheroes could ever imagine.” He spat, fingers pressing into the glass wall. He could feel anger rising within him, the need to let his magic lash out was unbearable, the controlling magic surrounding his prison tamping it down like a cork in a bottle of champagne. 

“We were never trying to take anything from her. You were tasked with helping her, you were tasked with a mission and you didn’t check in. You both vanished, Laufeyson, when you were supposed to return her to the compound. ‘Round here we call that kidnapping.” 

“I made a different call.” Loki’s voice was a low growl, “because she is no object to be bargained over. She is a Princess, a Goddess. And you must allow me to return to her to defend the Asgardian people, we both know there's been an attack. You cannot hide it from me.”

“How the tables turn, Laufeyson. This feels very familiar, in fact, it’s a shame you have nothing to bargain with. But you have to accept that you can't control her forever.” 

“There is no coercion here, merely the truth. And your hurt feelings of course.” 

“We have a job to do, an organisation to maintain and a government to answer to.” Natasha moved slightly to the side, no doubt some code or suggestion to her superiors. Loki admired her bond with Barton, he had been touched by her dedication to gaining him back and, though it hurt him to admit, he hoped she could see his need to return to you too. But it seemed she had other plans. 

“And regimes fall every day, Agent Romanoff. Or have you forgotten that, now that you’re so comfortable here? This regime of Starks, his Avengers. It cannot last forever, you mortals pass like butterflies in the summer and so will this. You’ve gone soft, I’m disappointed.” 

Loki moved, slow and calculated, like a cat about to strike. He backed away from the glass and placed his hands behind his back again. 

“I have a job to do, protecting Estrid. And I am tasked with making sure you don’t escape again.”

“You believe I owe you imprisonment? A punishment? We have not even begun to discuss what is owed to my Asynja for her sufferings in this place. So I would tread - oh - very, very carefully. I would think, very, very carefully. And I would scurry back to your superiors and tell them that I may be the one locked up, but I am certainly not the one to fear. You should have contained her while you had the chance, because my Asynja, my Goddess - she will be most upset to have woken up alone, so I would consider what that might look like - what that might feel like - for those responsible, when she does return.”

Lugh held your elbow as you landed on the outskirts of the Avengers compound tucked into the shadows forming from the rising winter sun. As you stared at it it seemed to glow warmer in return, light flaring in amber beams that cut swathes through the manicured lawn towards the lake. 

It would be a lie to say your time here had been completely terrible, though it was certainly a low point in many ways. But Loki had made it shimmer with magic. It had been here, in these grounds, that you’d practised your gifts with him, had seen him bring forth his armour for the first time and had begun to form a friendship with Thor that now felt like family. 

Loki was not to blame for this place being ruined, it was the Avengers and their need to control and box off everyone they came into contact with. 

You stepped forwards, over the still brown grass that marked Loki’s entrance into your life all those months ago and, as you did so, your armour strengthened. The silver breastplate that sat over navy velvet flashed in the sun, new patterns forming on the surface, a snake, a calf, the sun and moon, twined together. 

The cape at your back rustled in the breeze and your spear ignited with a blue flame, tall and proud even in the building wind. It was time, and you were ready. 

“I will distract these Avengers,” Lugh said, tripping over the unusual phrasing, “you will need to find Loki. Do you know the layout of this…castle? Where will their dungeons be?” 

“Don’t worry,” you eyed the large picture windows that faced out onto the grounds, “I know exactly where they’ll be keeping him, I just need to get inside.” 

“I can not use the bi-frost to enter.” 

“There’s an exit from the roof that no one uses, it’s locked but I can try and melt the mechanism.” You pointed to an overgrown corner of the building, “but I need you to go that way,” you pivoted to the water, motioning towards the towering entrance to the compound. “If you can lure them that way, to the water maybe, and hold them there it’ll give me more time.” 

Lugh clasped a hand to your shoulder and drew you closer, patting your back, “your mother would be so, so proud of you, child. I hope you know that. I will gladly cause a distraction for you.” 

Lugh strode off across the grass, bold in his gleaming armour, the sun dancing in his long hair. Immediately the guards at the gate began panicking, talking into their radios and reaching underneath their desks. 

Now or never, with a shimmer of magic, you broke into a run. 

The bottom of the metal staircase was, quite sensibly, locked tight and caged in with a huge padlock, but the metal bars heated easily under your flaming hands, twisting away until you could shove at the gate, forcing her way in. 

You took the stairs two at a time, racing towards the roof and towards Loki. You knew he was close and resisted the urge to send a wave of power through the compound. Anyone could pick up on that, you knew the Avengers had all manner of monitoring equipment and it had probably been ramped up since your swift entrance, and exit, from their world. 

The roof was as you’d left it, lawn chairs scattered around, an ashtray perched on one arm let you know the Bucky had still been using it regularly, there was a cigarette with lipstick on it as well - Natasha. 

You were expecting them all to be present, but confirmation felt worse, a rock settling in your stomach. You’d never wanted to hate them, to fight against them, you just didn’t want to be them but it seemed to amount to the same thing. 

From the roof you could see Lugh, popping up and vanishing around the perimeter of the compound. There were already a good number of recruits and agents chasing after him, but you needed to see Avengers, needed them to be out there to know that they weren’t inside. 

Each heartbeat felt like a seismic event, your breath whooshing in your ears and limbs heavy from the stress of keeping them still. You needed to get to Loki now, why was it taking them so long to respond! 

The air shifted and suddenly a blur of red shot across the open grass towards the perimeter, Iron Man. In his wake Captain America and the Black Widow took up flanking positions on the ground. No doubt the Soldier was hidden somewhere and the Falcon was probably airbourne somewhere as well, at least, you hoped. 

Your heartbeat loud in your ears you reached for the locking mechanism on the door. They were all biometric, you remembered the way the Avengers have clicked in and out of rooms using their finger prints or eye scans alongside the little cards clipped to their belts. You didn't have a little card anymore, but you were pretty sure Natasha’s fingerprints would get you in. 

The lock clicked, the door swinging open silently and - you weren't alone. 

There was someone in the shadows, a hand reached out and tugged you against the wall. 

“Shush, be quiet.” 

A woman then, but - “I wasn't saying anything.” 

“Shush, they're looking for you okay, Jane called me and she said ‘Darce there's this woman and-’ well anyway she told me you were coming and wow you’re sure fast I'll give you that.”

“I don't know who you were expecting but this is Natasha and -”

The woman laughed, “sure you are. The Widow’s out there -” she motioned with her hand towards the edge of the compound, “we all know that.” 

With a sigh you allowed yourself to change again. If you were going to be found out anyway you might as well be comfortable. 

 “Ohhhh I love this get up, very Goddessy I like it a lot -”

“Didn't you say I had to be quiet?” You hissed, looking down into the dark stairwell. 

“Oh yeah, quiet, yeah, so Jane told me you were coming and girl this is a stupid fucking plan but if you're for sure sure you're going down there then you'll need me to turn the cameras off.” She smiled, pulling her phone from her bomber jacket and tapping on the bright screen. 

In the light from the phone you could see her more clearly, dark curling hair tucked under a beanie hat, bright red lips and headphones around her neck. 

“There, okay, so I've moved the feed but you won't have much time. Do you need any help? Do you need a sidekick?”

“Do you know where they're keeping Loki?” 

She stared at for a minute and then a wide grin burst onto her face, “of course I do, the medical wing I can take you if-”

“Got it, thanks.”

“I could come?!”

“No need, thank you!” You stage whispered, running into the darkness. 

The compound was as you remembered it, cold despite the climate control, echoing and vast and full of people rushing around below. You crept across the higher levels of the atrium and made your way towards the medical wing. There was a cell there you’d seen that was wide and glass, made for the Hulk, if they were going to keep Loki anywhere, it’d be there you were sure of it. 

As you moved through the corridors the thrumming inside of you grew deeper, the bass drumming of your heart reverberated in your bones, called to you, drawing you closer and closer, faster and faster. Your footsteps beat on the floor, breaking into a run. Skidding down corridor after corridor until, finally, you were there. The medical wing - only a door away. He was here, your bones knew it, your magic knew it. 

As you passed each CCTV camera you noted the red live light flickering off, you could only hope you wouldn’t trip the fire alarm with the way your fingers flared with heat and smoke. 

There was movement, behind the small window in the door and there he was, Loki, your Loki, pacing and clenching his fists. 

Your flames sputtered, too excited, too overwhelmed to control and the smoke billowed. 

Smoke alarms blared and Loki’s head shot up. He looked dishevelled, upset and unkempt in a way you’d never seen before. Even when he’d found you locked in the castle he’d kept an air of controlled grace and cunning. Now he looked wrecked. 

Behind the glass his voice was stolen, but he was shouting, his neck and jaw tight with the effort of it. 

“I’m coming,” you shouted back, uselessly, your words swallowed by the soundproofing and ongoing flashing alarm. 

You tried your palm against the lock shifting just your hand into Natasha's and hoping that the Widow had clearance to open the prison door. But nothing happened, just a shrill beep and a flash of red on the screen. Access Denied, Clearance Level 1 Required. 

Fuck. 

“Loki, I’m going to get you out. I promise!” You called, hoping he could understand you even if he couldn’t hear you. 

The thrumming inside of you grew stronger, pulling against your chest as if it was reaching for Loki. 

Summoning your flames back to you, you blasted the door, all finesse vanishing with desperate need. 

Loki stood back from the glass wall in his prison, waiting, patient now, staring in awe. 

The flames just licked higher. 

There was something on the other side and Loki motioned to the space above the door, there was nothing on your side, but he made a shape with his finger - runes. 

You sent another barrage of flame but it only tickled the impenetrable door, instead you wedged the end of your spear in the gap, attempting to leverage it open, but there was still no movement. 

Instead water began to spray from the overhead sprinkler system and your flames gave a last angry crackle before going out. 

On the other side Loki held his hand up to the glass, a twisting smile on his face but defeat in his eyes. He was so close, so fucking close, tears welled and you screamed despite yourself, allowing your anger and fear to fill you to the brim, sucking in every speck of light from the corridor, Loki’s prison turned pitch black and then there was a shattering, a rocking and the door simply melted. The doorway dripped metal and molten glass, the searing heat a mere ghost of a touch when you passed through and there, in the middle of the room, stood your Loki. 

You dropped the spear and ran to him, throwing yourself at him and trusting him with everything that he would catch you. 

He swung you into his strong arms, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, breathing you in for the first time in forever. His heart raced with yours, racing towards your freedom. 

“Loki -” 

“Asynja -” 

“I missed you, I missed you so much and I have so much to tell you -” 

“In time, my darling, but first -” he bent towards you, hands cupping your cheeks and drawing you close to place a devastating kiss on your open lips. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting your fear and need and, dare he think it, your love. You gripped him back equally as hard, your hands clutching in his messy curls, and pressed your body to his. 

From some inconsequential place in the room you both heard a creak but, wrapped in Loki’s embrace you ignored it until - your stomach dropped, the singular sensation of your entire body moving at once without your input, like a lift releasing too fast. 

“The prison, we must leave.” Loki tugged you towards the exit but it was too late, the prison was collapsing in on itself, the darkness below swallowing it and suddenly you were both plunging. 

You lifted your arms, ready to go with Loki wherever this dreadful place was taking you, but instead a comfortable warmth settled over you both, heavy, like a cloak, and smelling of spring rain on new buds, grass and flowers and the first warm day. 

“Hold on,” Loki scooped you into his arms, swinging your legs out from under you with an arm below your knees and one at your back - then the bifrost took you. Propelling you through space away from the compound, away from Loki’s prison and back to Tønsberg. Where the village lay bared to Bres once more, and you landed with Loki, wrapped in the cloak of protection, with an army at your doorstep. 

<<Chapter 23

Chapter 25>>

[riptideac]

"all dragons are obsessed with treasure and hoard wealth" okay. fine. whatever. but have you considered that they are individuals. and they are extremely long lived if not immortal.

I propose that with all the time in the world spent hoarding that which captures their interest, dragons are very prone to developing HYPERFIXATIONS.

Hey so this was supposed to be a joke post but i blacked out and accidentally wrote a nearly 2,000 word emotional short story so uh hang in there i promise it’s worth it

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A dragon takes notice that birds' wings are built differently from their own, wonders why, and spends the next millennia studying birds. Their lair is filled with colorful feathers. A region which has a known problem with trophy hunters and poachers killing exotic birds for their beautiful feathers suddenly sees a change in atmosphere when poachers who go into the woods stop coming back.

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A group of adventurers are hired to confront a dragon that lives nearby a village. The dragon's presence has been known for a long time, and it has never caused issues in the past, but recently multiple farmers have reported large sections of their fields being destroyed in the night. Upon reaching the dragon's lair, they discover that the land outside its laid is filled with rows of fertile soil that look as if they have been tilled with giant claws, with sprouts and flowers growing out of them. They talk to the dragon and discover that it has recently taken up an interest in gardening. A deal is struck to provide the dragon with various plants and farming advice, granted it does not touch the village's food sources. The creature enthusiastically agrees.

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A dragon who lives in the mountains is rumored to be an ancient among ancients, a million years old and more, one who has witnessed all of history with its own eyes and seen it become myth. One brave historian sets out to climb to its home with bags full of gifts in hopes of gaining the opportunity to speak with this living legend, if even only for a moment.

After a long, difficult journey, the historian finds the mouth of a grand cave buried in a crevice between two particularly craggy peaks, hidden from a casual glance by shadows and rough foliage. She creeps inside carefully, wondering if after the dozens of caves she has inspected, THIS may finally be the one she has been searching for. Glints of reflected light catch her eye - scattered around the cavern are various small piles of coins and gems. The woman's heart leaps. This is a dragon's lair!

But, hold on. There is far too little treasure here for it to truly be the home of an ancient great wyrm. Creeping deeper into the belly of the mountain, guided by sunlight filtering into the cave between the crags, she takes notice of more piles. Larger piles. But these piles are not of gold or jewels or treasure. They seem to be mountains comprised of thousands upon thousands of regular rocks. The smallest being mere pebbles, while some reached the size of her or even larger, but they were still just rocks. She hesitates for only a moment before inching towards the nearest of these mounds. The woman selects a stone, about the size of her fist and colored with bands of lighter and darker orangish tints. As she brings the stone up to her eyes, the small amount of light filtering into the space illuminates a less uniform face. Ridges twist and turn across the stone's smooth surface, forming an elegant pattern. No, not a pattern; a shape. An organic form. This stone contains the fossilized remains of some kind of rodent.

The light source which was illuminating this discovery suddenly goes out. The historian starts in surprise and twists towards the entrance. The light of the setting sun illuminates the silhouette of a winged creature in the doorway, staring directly at her with piercing eyes which seemed to breathe their own light, brighter than the sun far behind.

Dragons never stop growing. Their bodies will become larger and larger until they are one day defeated by the laws of the universe. The unknowably ancient, legendary creature standing before her, who had witnessed all of history and more, stood about eight to ten feet tall. This creature couldn't be much more than a century old, perhaps two.

The now curious historian drops to her knees and makes a display of peace. The dragon seems wary of her, but has not attacked yet; she must gain its favor to keep it that way. She proffers the gifts she had brought for the creature - gifts of treasure and knowledge and reverence - and keeps her head held down. The moments that follow stretch into an eternity. Rhythmic clicks echo throughout the expansive cave. With each step the wyrm takes, its claws scrape the ground. With her head held down, the woman struggles to contain her anxiety. A burst of warm air washes over her. Out of the peripherals of her eyes, a flash of movement. A scaled snout enters her view, covered with beautiful scales of a vibrant, shining blue, made to look green in some places by the reflected remnants of light from the setting sun. The mouth opens, revealing a sea of teeth. This is it. She has failed. She is going to be eaten.

But the mouth continues further into her view. Past her head, past her arms holding up her gift. To the ground. To the banded stone, which she had dropped at her feet in her fear. when the creature first arrived.

Gently, the opalescent beast picks up the stone, walks past her, and returns it to its place in the pile. Her stance broken, the historian watches in awe. With its back still to her, a presence pierces the woman's mind. A torrent of thoughts and feelings, images and visions pour into her, threatening to overwhelm her, before coalescing into a single, coherent voice that echoes throughout her skull.

Why have you come here?

The woman is motionless for a moment, and a moment further as she processes what just occurred. "I am a historian and researcher, from the college in the town of Arcturia, a few weeks north of here. My whole life I have heard tales of a legendary dragon, ancient beyond measure, who has witnessed history and seen it become myth. Since I was a child, I have longed to speak to this great being, to learn of what they know, to witness the wisdom of the millennia. I ask, could that story be of you?"

A low rolling noise emits from the wyrm's throat. With a shock, the woman realizes that it is reminiscent of laughter.

I knew that fool would tell others of my existence. When I was last visited by one of your kind a hundred years ago, I took something of a liking to him, and we spent some time exchanging stories. But my, it seems the stories he brought back have grown out of hand.

The great creature turned away from the pile of rocks. As it repositioned itself, the woman had to duck to avoid getting clipped by its tail, a cord of muscle and scale twenty feet long tipped by two large flaps of material similar to that which made up the dragon's wings. It swung its long neck towards her suddenly. She jumped in surprise again, but restrained herself from further reaction. For a moment, the creature regarded her, its brilliant jewels of eyes, wellsprings of deep blue mixed with tinges of green and slitted pupils which narrowed in focus. Then the creature shifted, tension gathering in its legs as its wings spread open, and jumped in a single explosive motion directly over her head. Craning her neck to follow its movement, the woman saw the gigantic wings snap downwards in one powerful stroke, and that single flap carried the creature upwards towards an outcrop of stone that overlooked the rest of the chamber, ten to fifteen feet off the ground. Landing heavily on the ledge, the dragon took a moment to align itself, then settled into a casual laying position with its front feet dangling over the ledge, its tail swaying gently in the air like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, and its head turned towards her. The creature blinked.

It's true that I know many things of many times. I have seen the distant past. I have seen things that have been and things that are, and I can guess things that may be. But the story you know of me is only a half truth. I am not ancient. I am not wise. I know much, but I have experienced little. I hatched less than two hundred years ago.

The historian attempted to calm her heart; the racing in her chest was nearly louder than the dragon's voice, and she couldn't afford to miss a single word. "Then, may I ask... how is it that you know so much? Humans tell many stories, and they are known to exaggerate, but even exaggerated stories whose truth is buried deep to have a truth. If you are so young, how do you know the past?"

The dragon's neck swung in an arc away from her, breaking eye contact. It turned to survey the inside of the cavern, casting its eye over the many piles of seemingly unremarkable rocks that filled it. You seem intelligent, as humans go. I believe you know that answer.

The woman turned her head towards the pile she had been inspecting before the creature's arrival. Her eyes caught the same stone she had picked up minutes before, placed carefully back onto the pile by its owner. A thought crossed her mind.

Her eyes darted throughout the chamber, to pile after pile. It was difficult to make out at a glance, but she began to notice them. They were everywhere. This cave was filled with rolling dunes of perfectly preserved fossils. It was a dragon's hoard.

You humans regard us with awe and wonder. Our existence fills your storybooks. You see us as mysterious and powerful. We are powerful. But that power is indeed a mystery, even to us.

Dragon magic is ancient, tied to the world itself, tied to things that have long been forgotten. From the moment of our birth we hold a flame within us. That flame can be shaped throughout our lives, and manifest in different forms. Every dragon has the ability of flight, and every dragon develops some primal breath of the elements. But every dragon also has something more. We do not understand or control it; many dragons spend centuries without discovering theirs. But it exists in us all.

Living beings do not simply exist without consequence. They are a part of the world. A part of our universe. And a part of time. Though they themselves are often not aware of it, they remember. No matter how much time passes, the imprint of a soul left behind when it dies will remember what it used to be. I do not know or understand it, but I can read these imprints. I can know them. I can see who, what, where, and when they used to be. This is how I know.

*********************

A great beast's shining eyes slowly open. The sun sets over the horizon, casting long shadows into its cave.

Slowly, the dragon stands up and straightens out. Its body stretches, its tail curls, its neck extends. It looks up to the roof of the cave, mere feet away. Straightened in this way, the creature stands over a hundred feet tall; it can hardly fit within its own home anymore.

The beast casts its gaze downwards once more. There, on the floor of the cave, sits a chunk of limestone it had brought back recently. Within the limestone, raised ridges form beautiful organic shapes of something that is not just rock.

A crystalline tear forms in the corner of the dragon's eye. the drop of water clings to its snout before breaking free, falling through the air, and finally hitting the floor of the cavern with a soft, echoing drip. The great dragon reaches down to pick up the chunk of limestone, and gently ferries it up to an outcrop of stone that overlooks the rest of the chamber. This one would not go with the rest. The stone was set down in a place of honor and importance, and the legendary dragon, ancient beyond measure, who has witnessed history and seen it become myth, let loose a roar that shook the earth and echoed across the valleys, one which was heard as far as the city of Arcturia weeks to the north, in mourning for the second human it had ever considered a friend.

[jadegretz]

Elisa Maza: Vigilante of the Urban Jungle by Jade Gretz

The gargoyle bells of the Manhattan Clan echoed through the night, a mournful knell amidst the chaos. Elisa Maza, her face etched with a warrior's resolve, stood atop the Chrysler Building, the wind whipping at her auburn hair. Below, the city writhed in the throes of a nightmare.

Demona, the malevolent demon queen, had unleashed her most unholy forces upon New York. Grotesque gargoyles, twisted parodies of the Gothic protectors, swarmed the streets, their eyes burning with a malevolent red light. Packs of feral hellhounds, their slavering jaws dripping with demonic ichor, tore through the city like living nightmares.

Elisa, clad in her black and gray bodysuit, her stone skin shimmering in the moonlight, was a lone beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. Goliath, her stone gargoyle mate, lay unconscious at her feet, his powerful body riddled with wounds inflicted by Demona's elite guard, the Pack.

Grief threatened to consume Elisa, but she tamped it down, channeling it into a steely resolve. Goliath, her love, her protector, couldn't be dead. Not yet. Not when the city, their city, needed them most.

A guttural roar echoed from the surrounding skyscrapers. The Pack, hulking figures clad in crimson armor, descended upon her like a plague of locusts. Leader Xanatos, his eyes gleaming with a manic glint, stood amongst them, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

"Elisa," Xanatos rasped, his voice like nails scraping against stone. "Your little gargoyle friends have fallen. Now, it's your turn."

Elisa, her eyes blazing with defiance, brandished her katana, its blade glowing faintly with a magical light. "Never," she snarled. "Not as long as I draw breath."

The battle commenced in a whirlwind of steel and shadow. Elisa, a whirlwind of fury, danced around the Pack's brutal attacks. Her katana, imbued with ancient magic, cleaved through their armor with chilling ease.

But the Pack were relentless. Xanatos, a master tactician, used their numbers to his advantage. One by one, he wore Elisa down, her movements becoming sluggish, her bre …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)