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sanyu-thewitch05 · 1 year ago

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Yandere Superhero X Villain! F! Reader

Wanna buy me a coffee: ☕

TW: Dubcon, spankings, kidnapping, bodily horror

PT.2

Your real name is Y/N L/N, but your villain name is Anima. After your latest failure in trying to find a job, you went into the woods to end it all. Then, by some miracle, an entity older than any Abrahamic religion found your dead body and brought you back to life. Your senses were heightened, and you could hear the animal's chatter and noises as words. With a new feeling of power, you went through society doing whatever you wanted. Even if it meant a few people with broken bones or blood on the floor. That was until a superhero by the name of superhero by the name of Ultimate Man appeared and started defeating you in battle.

He isn't going to be a problem anymore after you take him out with your new suit. Not only does it have the abilities and strengths of every animal alive, but it has the strengths and abilities of the extinct ones. It took kidnapping a paleontologist, but it is so worth it.

"Anima, surrender, and you won't get hurt," Ultimate Man commands, floating a few feet above the ground.

"Sorry, but rent's due," You say, running off with the bags of money from the bank.

As you run, he shoots lasers at you, but you dodge them by zigzagging. Unfortunately, this leads to you not paying attention to where you're going, and you run yourself off a harbor walk. The money sinks into the ocean, and you struggle to swim back up. You switch to the abilities of any marine animal, but it's still not helping you. You see your feet entangled in seaweed and try to break free. Your struggle to free yourself has worn you out, and it seems like this is your last run. Your vision goes black as your instincts tell you to go up to the surface and breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you open your eyes, your jaw and ass feel sore. You try to talk, but there's a gag in your mouth.

"How dare you be such a bad girl and cause so much trouble? Do you have no respect for anyone in this city? Who cares if your rent is due? Get! A! Fucking! Job!" Ultimate Man rants, spanking your ass after every word.

"MM! MH! AWCH!" You scream, your legs kicking as Ultimate Man uses his godly strength to spank you.

The tight latex suit didn't help with the spankings, in fact, the material made sure your body could feel them at their full force.

"Oh, I see the worst girl of the century has awakened. How does it feel knowing you almost got yourself killed trying to steal money?" Ultimate Man asks, taking off your gag.

His blonde hair with light blue highlights, aquamarine eyes, and skin-tight latex white and blue suit is a sight for the eyes. His appearance is ethereal, representing his alien origin from outer space sent to help out Earth on its newest supernatural threat(you.) Who knew having the power of every animal in existence would warrant alien help for the planet Earth?

"I'm sorry, Ultimate Man. I was only trying to pay my rent. Honest," You plead, bracing for another swat to the ass. "I didn't get the raise at my job, even though I deserve it, and I couldn't pay this month's rent."

"I believe you," Ultimate Man says, his hand still rubbing your ass. "But that doesn't mean I forgive you for what you did. I was so worried when you didn't rise from the water. I thought I lost you forever. I need a suitable mate, and you're the only one with abilities almost equal to mine on this planet."

"I'm sorry, WHAT?! I thought you were in a relationship with that news writer, Lora?" You ask, lifting your head.

"Are you kidding me? We're just friends. She couldn't compare to your beauty and strength. Now then, how about we get to know each other."

Ultimate Man peels off your eye mask, then takes out his contacts. There are no pupils in his eyes, just pools of aquamarine. It creeps you out, but at least he's still hot.

"I'm ☍⍀⍜⎍☍⟒⋏ ⏃⏃⍀☍⟒⋔. But you can call me Krouken Aarkem, which is pronounced Cro-oo-can Ar-kem. My human father calls me Ken. Now, what's your name?" Ultimate Man asks, lifting your body with ease.

"It's Marnie," You lie, not wanting to give him your real name.

His fingertips glow blue, and he places them on your head. Pain takes over your head as he searches through the deepest parts of your memory.

"Y/N M/N L/N. What a beautiful name. I'll make sure to bring over your cat so you can have your baby," Krouken says, removing his hands from you.

You slap him and stumble to the other side of the couch.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You groan, holding your head.

"What did I do wrong? Please don't be mad at me!" Krouken cries, jumping onto your body and hugging you tightly. "I'll never do it again unless you want me to! I promise! Just don't be mad at me!"

"Alright! Alright! I'm not mad at you! Just get off of me!" You yell, pushing him off you after feeling his boner on your leg.

"Yay! Now, we can engage in the Plutonian ritual we call Improving."

Krouken starts taking off his suit, revealing his naked body to you. You back up but bump into the couch, leaving you nowhere to run. He touches your suit, liquifying the material and making it fall off your body like water. Krouken kisses you, his hand tracing every part of your body as if he were memorizing it.

"Your heart is beating fast? Do you want to fight me?" Krouken asks his hand on your chest.

"No. It's just something the human body does when we feel certain emotions," You explain, holding Krouken's hand.

"So you are excited to Improve too? Excellent, I can move forward," Krouken replies, his two dicks merging into one with the width of an adult's fist.

Your eyes widen in fear of the inhuman cock in front of you. There was no way it was going to fit. It was too wide to fit in your human pussy. If it were to go inside you, you'd feel it in your lungs.

"Wait, I think we should-" You plead, only for Krouken to shove his massive cock inside of you.

You can feel it moving inside as if his dick was made from thousands of little suction cups that were kissing your vaginal walls. Krouken's arm holds you in place, and he thrusts.

"Keep going, Krouken!" You moan, lifting your leg and putting it on his shoulder.

Krouken bites and sucks your nipples as he thrusts faster, his dick suction cups losing their grip and becoming more slippery.

"You're never going to be a bad girl ever again. I'm going to fill your stomach up with so many babies that you'll never be able to think of doing stupid shit without having trouble standing up. You're going to birth the next generation of my people. You're mine, all mine. Not those villain's colleague or someone else's enemy, mine," Krouken rambles, thrusting at an inhuman rate, destroying whatever tightness your pussy had.

His eyes become white as he cums, his alien cock suction cups releasing thousands of sperm. Upon his sperm's release, his genital suction cups regained their grip on your walls, and sucking on them, making you go into overdrive. You cum on his dick, and he shudders. Both of you relish in your afterglow, sweat dripping from your body.

"So, what did you think of Improving?" Krouken asks, his head resting on your breasts.

"It was good. By the way, why do your people call it that?" You ask, rubbing Krouken's wet hair.

"Because we improve each other's bodies. Once my seed is in you, it will rework some human DNA so you'll be more like me and vice versa. Your skin is already starting to become shiny and ethereal like my skin," Krouken answers, kissing your neck.

Your body feels extremely hot, like lava is in your veins, and your eyes are burning like no tomorrow. Your spine releases a horrifying crack as your body involuntarily jolts upwards. All you can do is scream as your bones and body transform permanently.

#yandere superhero #yandere alien #yandere x reader #f! reader #yandere dubcon #yandere teratophilia #villain! reader #sanyuthewitch05 #yandere smut

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kcscribbler · 11 months ago

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Seven Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the ever-early @elodiah.

I'm still fiddling with a few WIPs right now and won't be online a lot of the week, so instead have the scene I cut from a recent chapter. I posted bits of it here before and eventually decided to cut it completely. Hope that's okay. 😅

--SOME HOURS LATER--

A warm hand on his brow is what wakes him however long it is later, startling him out of what feels like a remarkably painless sleep, all things considered.

He is not destined for godly or mortal paradise, and this surely cannot be Hel?

Mobius makes a vaguely surprised noise when he realizes Loki’s eyes are open. “Hey, there you are.”

His own eyes are dark-shadowed, pinched at the corners as they always are when he has a headache, but he seems much calmer than Loki remembers last seeing him. And looks utterly exhausted. His hair is sticking up everywhere, as if he’s been dragging his hands through it repeatedly.

“Are you really awake this time?”

Loki blinks for a few seconds, trying to sort through the confused muddle of his last recollection, before nodding somewhat uncertainly.

Mobius chuckles, and reaches somewhere beyond Loki’s vision, bringing back a plastic bottle of water and uncapping it. “Go slow,” he warns, slipping a hand behind Loki’s neck to assist with a better angle.

Cool and refreshing, the water is most welcome. It serves to slowly wash back what Loki now realizes must have been a very near-death experience, if his memories are accurate. The acrid bite of the cursed dagger seems to have vanished, as it should have within these walls and the cast Runes they hold; and while the wound is no longer radiating such agony as he last remembers, it is very much still in existence, that much is clear.

Even the small effort of drinking seems to sap the rest of his energy, however, and it is with great struggle that he forces his eyes open again, not willing to fall back into that darkness without first ascertaining their safety. He appears to be lying semi-sprawled on the ground, like a marionette with its strings cut. A downy pillow rests under his head, and he is covered with what feels like half a dozen coverings – but that is definitely the hard, chilled stone floor under him.

Oh. Yes, good. Mobius had understood Loki’s basically non-existent directions, and had opened a Door directly beneath them to drop them into relative safety in the Citadel. It would have been a bit of a tumble, but certainly better than remaining where they were. Loki spares a brief moment to be impressed that Mobius had figured it out quickly enough to keep him from exsanguination, but that full story will likely need to wait.

Mobius puts a hand on his shoulder, as if reading his confusion on his face. “I assume we’re safe, for now,” he reassures, calm and soothing. “And do I have a load of questions for you about this place! When you’re feeling better, anyway.”

“…Questions?”

“They can wait. You need rest.”

Loki shifts a bit against the cold floor, and immediately is informed by his own physiology of just how not healed he is. Mobius’ face twists in sympathy. “You’re doing a lot better than you were yesterday, but it’s not gonna be a fun recovery, I'm guessing. ‘Specially without magic."

“If this is a lot better,” Loki rasps, breathing heavily, “then I shudder to think of the previous state.”

Mobius worries at a little string fraying on one of the blankets. “You’re not the only one,” he finally says. “I was sure Valhalla was putting another place setting on that long table.”

Loki reaches up to place an unsteady hand on his, noting the absence of the ring which had done its job perhaps a little too well. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“You should be,” Mobius retorts, but he turns his hand to lace their fingers tightly. “Oldest trick in the book, and you fell right for it. Damn it, Loki.”

“Forgive me if I find it rather difficult to focus on myself when there is a lesser variant of me with a blade at your throat.” Mobius snorts, amused despite himself at the designation. Loki exhales in a pained grunt. “Might we adjourn to something softer than the floor?”

“I think so, yeah. If you can make it upright for a few seconds, I can use the momentum to get you settled. I’ll get you something to drink with sugar in it, too. Even if your magic kicks back in, it isn’t gonna fix blood loss. You really need a doctor.”

“I would like to try to heal myself first, if you’d be so kind as to assist.”

Mobius nods and gets to one knee beside what Loki now realizes is a makeshift pallet on the floor; and no wonder, since Mobius could never have gotten him up alone. The runes hidden in the walls were just enough to cancel out the curse from the blade, though it does not feel as if his magic is even close to returning. Perhaps assisting a bit with healing, but nothing more.

Brows drawn with worry, Mobius locks one hand around Loki’s and firmly grasps a bony elbow with the other hand. “Ready?” he asks.

Loki nods, braces himself with opposite hand against the floor, and clenches his jaw to prevent a shout of pain when he pushes off, hauled to his feet and kept there with remarkable strength given that it takes a moment for him to find his footing. It is only a few meters to the bed, but it might well have been light-years, for as much as he is exhausted again, limp and breathing heavily, when they finally reach it.

Mobius fusses for a few minutes with the pillows, carefully arranging them so Loki can sleep on his uninjured side instead of his back, facing the middle of the bed. A glass of some sweet-smelling fruit juice is held to Loki’s lips, and then set on the table after he drinks from it. Mobius then retrieves the blankets from the floor, arranging and rearranging them until Loki, already half-asleep again, finally drags his eyes open and catches his wrist mid-action.

“What is it? What do you need?”

“You,” Loki whispers. “I need you safe, and I need you to rest. Please.”

It is telling that he gets no argument against the latter. Mobius just nods, and then after a moment of hesitation slips off his shoes and settles somewhat awkwardly on the other half of the not-exactly-oversized bed. Loki watches through half-closed lids as he fidgets with the unfamiliar sleeves of the pajamas. Discovered prowling around, no doubt, while Loki slept. He turns up the cuffs of the simple brown top, and then unrolls them again. And again. And again.

His hands are shaking.

“Are you all right?” Loki asks.

Mobius immediately stops and then squirrels under the sheet and quilt, offering what Loki can immediately tell is a forced smile as he settles in, hands folded neatly over his chest. “Don’t you worry about me,” he says quietly.

Loki’s lips curve in a faint smile. “I have done nothing but that, these last months,” he admits. It is, perhaps, a little too honest, a little too fraught with pain, for right now. “With good reason, it would seem. I told you that you were too trusting.”

A faint snort, but Mobius seems to then relax and fall back into old bantering habits, exhaling in a gusty sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.” He side-eyes Loki briefly, and despite the weight of these last months seems to silently agree that, and all its unspoken consequences, is a discussion for the morrow. Instead, he simply turns on his side to face Loki, watchful and silent.

Loki manages a shallow, measured exhale and inhale. Another, and then another, until the pain is bearable.

“Please tell me we’re not going to talk about things right now,” he then rasps.

A brief chuckle, even if it’s tinged with sadness. “Not unless you want to.”

“Actually, I do. But not – not until I can think clearly,” he says, a little more candid than he meant. He blinks a few times and allows the pain to settle, to become a Thing of the body, not the mind. He has had far worse, after all.

Mobius huffs what seems to be a sigh of relief. “Sounds like a plan.” He pats Loki’s shoulder and then turns to shut off the light.

Loki’s eyelids droop against his will, but he reaches out across the space, careful not to stretch too far, and settles for leaving his hand there as he loses the fight against sleep.

Tagging @lokimobius @doomed-spectacles @insert-witty-user-name-here @mirilyawrites @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

@in-my-loki-feels @andthekitchensinkao3 @mythical-magik @scifikimmi and @thosegayoldmen

Whatcha workin' on this week?

#seven sentence sunday #more like strikethrough sunday #but anyhow #loki #loki series #lokius

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tears-of-amber · 6 months ago

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Larvikite (My UPG on the properties of this stone as well as a few facts about its origins)

Larvikite is a stone I heavily associate with the Norse god Odin. Here is why; Larvikite originates from Larvik Norway, and is named after the place where it was found (Larvik-ite). It is also known as “blue pearl granite”, and after deep meditation i gained insight into its properties (or at least what energy I perceived it to have). It’s a dark stone with few ice cold pearly flashes, but is not to be confused with Labradorite or the flash of that very different stone. It comes in varying shades of grey and is very surprising in its beauty, because it contains so much depth in both energy and appearance. Why I associate it with Odin is first of all because of its grey hue (as many know, Odin is also referred to as “Grey-beard” in historical contexts) and its pale white-ish blue flashes remind me of the pearly blue of a blind eye. And as is well known, Odin gave up his eye to gain wisdom (meaning the eye he gave up would eventually glaze over in the color o Larvikite’s pearly pale flashes). Larvikite is unlike any of the darker colored stones I’ve encountered. Its presence is far from grounding, and it’s very much a divine wisdom type of stone that has helped me experience out of body spiritual visions and experiences. I think this lines up perfectly with Odin’s godly domain and associations. As for the element Larvikite is associated with, it is heavily associated with water according to many crystal healers and magic practitioners. I think this makes sense because in Norse mythology it is often from water or liquids that many types of wisdom, poetry, etc originates. Think about the well of wisdom, and in a more literal sense: one cannot live without water for very long. One cannot survive very long without being wise or at least savvy in one way or another, especially in old Norse culture. Anyway, as a bonus (like I mentioned before) Larvikite comes from Norway, a land tied deeply to Odin’s worship.

Mind you, these are just the conclusions I came to. There are no right answers in the sense of crystals and their properties, only personal experiences. So yeah! Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t!

-Velvet Rose

#witchblr #pagan #norse heathen #heathenry #spirituality #crystal witch #Larvikite #Odin #Norse gods #norse deities #norse paganism

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thatgirl4815 · 2 years ago

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I found it hilarious that Jojo has been loosely touting a Taylor Swift parallel when it comes to Mew and his relationship with Top (and it's obviously a surface level joke) but if you actually listen to the songs in Reputation and Lover...the storytelling is 100% Ray. It's finding love at your lowest. The self-loathing, seeking love as salvation, blowing up good things in fear and realizing too late, secret rendezvous where neither knows what game is really being played, finding their purported last love in a world that hated them--who is all of these things but Ray?

The Taylor Swift thing is mostly just an entertaining observation for me but the thing that the thematic elements and imagery in her music prompted me to re-think was that famous final scene in episode 10. While you watch Ray's eyes morph the therapist into Sand, there's a stoic golden glow to imaginary-Sand as he sits in the therapist's chair like a throne, as though you've walked into a temple dedicated to him--a temple Ray has dedicated to him. It's almost like Ray has always seen Sand as a god.

Throughout the confession that follows, Imaginary-Sand is mostly emotionless, minimally responding to Ray as Ray maintains an incredibly reverent face despite breaking down in tears. The apology contains so many reused phrases as though Ray were reciting some sort of prayer, and even while sitting in the sofa, the camera kind of points up at Sand rather than at the even level he is really at when you see things through Ray's vision. Finally, when Ray gets on his knees and imaginary-Sand appears to console him, it's not clearly romantic or friendly. There's a godliness to it. The point is, the whole thing just felt akin to a religious awakening to me. And then I realized I felt those same feelings emanating from Ray in the caravan, in the music room, at the party, drunk in the parking lot, on the rooftop, in the kitchen(s), when they wake up together for the first time...

I don't know what this means for the relationship Ray and Sand have and whether it will ever really be healthy, but it certainly made for poetic cinema. Has Sand eclipsed the unattainable Mew? Has he become the unconditional heavenly father (I say, mostly in jest)? Another point of consideration is that Ray always seems to be wearing a cross. Just saying.

Anyway this theory is pretty out there, and in any case, it's less about proving the idea and more about seeing what others thought about it as a vantage point of discussion, and whether it colors how Ray, and Sand and Ray as a couple, are interpreted.

Those are such great observations! Taylor Swift's lyricism is so fascinating and complex to me, and I agree that there are so many lyrics that could easily apply to Ray.

In my opinion, Ray is easily the most complicated character in this show. It's no wonder they chose Khaotung to play him because there are so many feelings he has to work through, especially in these emotionally-charged scenes. When the camera pans behind Ray's head and Sand appears, Ray slowly looks up at him with tears in his eyes. That first moment when he meets eyes with him and says his name just speaks to how agonizing this confrontation is for Ray, because he's confronting himself through the image of Sand. This entire scene is the acceptance of just how much Sand means to Ray, just how badly Ray has screwed up yet again, and just how much gratitude Ray has for Sand in his heart.

Your analysis of the religious aspects of the scene is so compelling. The golden coloring behind Sand echoes a lot of what @thewayuarent has analyzed about the contrast between cold blue lighting and warm gold lighting for both Sand and Ray. Also interesting your point about how the camera is slightly angled up at Sand rather than at eye-level. Originally I wouldn't think too much of this but contrasted with the shots of Ray at eye-level, it seems super intentional.

"Religious awakening" is a great way of describing it. There's been a lot of discussion about Ray putting Mew on a pedestal and idolizing him, but I think we see a similar kind of reverence being displayed here, but with some notable differences. With Mew, it felt like he was always something distant, something Ray wanted but could never quite touch. But in this scene, we have Ray facing Sand, on his knees for him, embracing him. Despite the whole thing being imaginary, it feels very real in a way I struggle to articulate. There's a worshipping aspect, I agree, but there's also a realism in the way Ray is very honestly considering his emotions. With Mew, I'd argue those feelings of idolization were allowed to grow out of Ray's fantasy, but with Sand, it isn't something Ray has blown up in his head. My main point being--I don't think it's necessarily suggesting an unhealthy power imbalance with Ray as the worshipper and Sand as the godly figure (in the way we saw with Ray and Mew), though I think this scene does an excellent job of emphasizing how Ray views Sand as someone honestly and purely good.

Another reason I think Khao delivers this so well is that he speaks through his eyes in every one of those scenes you mention. He sees all of Sand's goodness, but I don't think he's directly confronted his own behavior until this moment. Yes, he's apologized and yes he's realized that he was in the wrong. But here he is laying it all out on the table. Following the topic of religion, it almost feels like a confession. In Ray's imagination, this is a space where he can expel all of his feelings to the image of Sand. It's almost better that Sand can't react here (seeing as he's imaginary) because it brings the focus back to Ray. Even though Ray is crying to Sand and about Sand, it's all a reflection of his own flaws in their relationship and otherwise.

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jflashandclash · 1 year ago

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Axel: Into the Lion’s Maw VII

The rest of the walk back was, admittedly, a little awkward. Axel didn’t mean to make Ethan go so pale or shut up so abruptly.

However, if he said he wasn’t proud of the Leonis Caput’s charm, he would be lying.

He and Ethan stepped through an archway of gold. The room on the other side was still illuminated with turquoise fire.

A cheer erupted. “It’s the Lion!” someone shouted.

“They didn’t leave us!”

From a glance over, Axel saw anger replace Ethan’s fear. His scowl returned. Someone, Axel suspected, didn’t like being rescued.

After their heart-to-heart, Axel wasn’t going to let Ethan out of his sight. Nor was he going to waste a moment where another hostile deity could appear. He was impressed Ailiseu had kept everyone corralled within his turquoise flames. These soldiers didn’t need to discover that the flames were nothing more than light tricks that Uncle Frasco had taught him to use in the circus.

“Get in two lines, side-by-side,” Axel said, pacing back and forth in front of them to establish the start of the lines. Like herding his siblings. “Everyone hold onto the person in front of you. Keep your weapon in your other hand. No one goes off alone—is that clear?” There were nods of understanding as the troop scrambled to obey. “If you hear Mary, do not engage.”

Axel pivot turned to face the golden-arched doorway. “And Mary,” he called, in the event the goddess had perked back up, “You are not to approach my troops without explicit permission.”[1]

“Kronos’ troops,” Ethan growled.

Axel glared. “Once we rejoin.” Then, they would be Kronos’ troops again. Until then, Axel pointed beside him. “You’re leading the second column.” To the others, “Protect your side of the column!”

He glanced around the floor for a dim glow. Not through the golden archway. Not through the silver one. This was going to make him look really stupid if he got them all organized to play Guess Which Way Leads to Death. He did have—what had Ethan called it? Clear vision? Right?

Something touched his neck—or hadn’t yet?—he saw a flicker of finger movement, felt the caress moments after, and saw the echo of the hand before it vanished. Three transparent white gloves that blurred into one: Hecate.

Always here to give a third option, the helm mused.

Axel couldn’t respond. His knees had gone weak, but he couldn’t reveal that in front of the other demigods.

Hecate had trace up to his chin, tilting his head up.

There, above them, the roof was glowing with a Greek D.

Axel shook off the phantom sensation, unsure if it had been real. “Excuse me,” he said to Ailiseu, borrowing their pilum. He tapped the symbol.

A retractable ladder popped out of the ceiling, joints groaning as it extended. Demigods exclaimed and ooed. He used the pilum to tug it down within reach, thinking, no matter how badly he wanted to, it might look undignified to jump for the bottom rung. As though constructed by the Fates, the ladder was wide enough to accommodate two people at once. He just hoped it was strong enough.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder. This time, it wasn’t a crazed goddess or his friend’s godly mother. It was Ailiseu, nodding their head gravely. He handed them back the pilum. “Thank you.”

Behind them and behind Ethan, the demigod soldiers had lined up appropriately. They had expressions of scared hopefulness.

Was that a good attitude to take into battle?

Say something.

At times like this, Axel wished they had a better name for themselves. Camp Half-Blood had “campers” or “Greeks.” Camp Jupiter had “legionaries” or “Romans.” Kronians sounded too much like cronies. When Pax had suggested “Tambourines” for Mount Tam, Axel stopped the conversation before it caught on. They were a blend of nationalities and godly ancestry. Axel wasn’t even a demigod: the one thing the rest of them shared. What brought them together?

He cleared his throat, tilted up his chin, and projected the way Uncle Frasco had taught him.

“We were forgotten. We were abandoned. Neglected. Abused,” he glanced down the two columns, hoping each soldier felt seen. “Camp Half-Blood worships our abusers. They pay tribute at every meal to those who tormented us or left us to torment.”

One of the newer demigods raised his sword and shouted, “Fuck those guys!”

There came a cheer.

Axel grinned fiercely. He raised his own sword in salute. “We fight for Camp Othrys! We fight for freedom from tyranny!” Cheers continued between each sentence. “We will defeat those that defend the practice of dictators!” Axel remembered Pax telling him how boring it got when he speechified about tyranny and oppression and how he should keep it simple unless he was speaking with Witch Boy.

So, to finish off, he shouted, “Let’s go kick their asses!”

The tunnel echoed with a roar of approval and agreement.

As Axel and Ethan each placed a foot on the ladder, relieved to find it held their weight and that of the demigods behind them, the Leonis caput added, “I will lead us into battle!”

***

*Jack crawls from the grave to set this as a tiny offering to its followers’ shrine before crawling back into its grave to seek out a juicier offering for next time*

Thank you for reading! I hope all of you enjoyed! Hopefully, in two weeks, I’ll have the next installment in this segment for Into the Lion’s Maw. Thank all of you so much for your comments, artwork, support and patience! I keep thinking things are going to settle down and they might be soon!

***

Footnotes:

[1] Original draft, for those of you interested: “Everyone hold hands. I don’t want ANYONE going off on their own. Is that clear? I do not want anyone to listen to Mary here without first okaying it with me. Mary, you’re going to be integral in us getting out of here. Can you hold onto my hand.”

Axel offered her the severed bone hand.

She gleefully clenched it, immediately snapping a finger off.

#percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #fanfiction #hoo #traitors of olympus #axel #writing #tales from mount othrys #tfmo #ethan nakamura #Dear gods I'm exhausted guys #BUT GSDI I WILL FINISH THIS FANFICTION FOR YOU #thank all of you for your patience <3

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burinazar · 11 months ago

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it appears the last time i wrote a significant chunk of fiction was the first half of may. as i was saying to people earlier what happens to me can't honestly be called writer's block because i don't think this is what most people mean by that? like i can feel what's happened is just falling out of a habit rather than some kind of impenetrable impasse or mental well running dry. i think i personally no more have Writer’s Block than someone who stopped jogging for a few weeks has Runner’s Block.

anyway it's really not good, because i'm happier when i'm writing regularly. same old mental bullshit of Not Doing A Thing I Actually Really Like Doing, For No Discernable Reason other than complete nonsense vagaries of executive function

i've started again now; let's keep it up. I wrote an eeny weeny amount yesterday and if I just do it again tonight before i sleep I'll be on the right track.

so what is this one about? well, one of my fandom idiots has impartial-but-correct-ish views of the future, right? which other people consider divine and godly, but he doesn't necessarily subscribe to this view. he has a lot of confidence in his own accuracy, though. (note for people who know Waz: it's Waz.) and another character has an outsize amount of faith in him and his visions. (note for people who know Belaf: it's Belaf.)

it's been my textually-appropriate-feeling headcanon for a while that the former character, because he has a feeling everything will be fine, can have a poor sense of self preservation regarding himself (what's the big deal if he knows he'll come out the other end alive and able to achieve your goals, right? isn't it easier to happily accept that whatever suffering and pain does occur was simply inevitable, and not fear it?*)

*note: very dire things start happening if you apply this to people other than yourself. more on him and that some other time.

so anyway in this one the first character gets really injured and the second character is trying to keep the faith that he will Be Fine but this is difficult when someone you care about is bleeding on you. the conflict of believing in someone’s goal while also caring about their personal well being in a way they themselves disregard as they pursue said goal...

(“you worry because you care” is the younger, less dire and tragic sibling of “love is the curse”, or perhaps one rung on the ladder that leads there) (note: be careful on ladders in the abyss)

mostly just taking my favorite muses and wringing them out like towels yknow. as one does.

previously only explored in one goofy drawing but i've had this idea for a while lol. i'll write out more of my fic (i really want to get Vooko in there and peer at the contrast in how both of them view him -- as you might be able to guess, Vue is better at dealing with this whole thing, not just because of her medical expertise but because of interpersonal factors....

more rambling about what i mean tomorrow maybe.

here is the silly drawing i just mentioned.

#ebil writes #orphan hole tag #wazukyan #belaf #vueko

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wolint · 1 year ago

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FRESH MANNA

A CERTAIN MAN

Acts 16:9 NASB

A certain man! The Bible is littered with a “certain” man but who is a certain man?

There is always a certain man that God divinely appoints, approves and assigns for a time and season in our lives.

The phrase “a certain man was used in the KJV translation 32 times, telling us that as powerful as God is, He will always use the help of certain people to accomplish His work on earth.

We don’t necessarily have to know or see the certain person that God may assign to assist us, it could be a woman or a child but what we need to grasp here is that there will always be a certain person for certain things.

All through the scriptures, we find a certain man stepping into our lives when needed directed by the hand of God, first in Genesis 37:15 with Joseph wandering around looking for his brothers who have moved farther north, but for a certain man, he neither know where to look and how far he would have gone. We may find a certain man appear in our lives, a situation and location for a timely purpose and season for a godly assignment.

A certain man may be a total stranger who just appears in the nick of time to aid us in whatever capacity we need at that time. This was the case of the certain man in Mark 15:21 who was forced to carry the cross of our saviour to give Jesus a bit of respite from the weight of the cross.

A certain man!

A certain man is a person who will step in when no one else will, the ability to step in having been granted by the Lord, not, particularly that the certain man can do so normally or personally.

A certain man is the one who, despite their circumstances, challenges and needs, is moved by God to go the extra mile for another who may sometimes even be in a much better state or position than they are but for a season or circumstantial need of God’s intervention, a certain man is needed to step in.

Could you be a certain man to others?

If the Lord moves you to be a certain man for someone, are you willing to obey and go?

Gamaliel, the most prominent rabbi of his day in Acts 5:33-35 willingly obeyed the leading of God as a certain man, publicly stood up in defence of the Apostles who surely could have been imprisoned or killed.

A certain man is the one whom the Lord instructs to care financially, materially, and physically for another irrespective of their situation, opinion and ideology, because ultimately whatever a certain man does is to glorify the Father. Ananias in Acts 9:10-15 will certainly testify that we wished someone else was the certain man sent to the newly converted Saul, but he obediently went as a certain man to help Paul regardless of his fear and opinion about Saul.

How would you treat those the Lord sent you to as their certain man? Compassionately, kindly or with resentment and disdain?

Cornelius was a certain man who needed another certain man-Peter in Acts 10:1-10 but Peter was disdainful that God had to use a vision to overcome his prejudice.

Don’t allow yourself to miss out on being a certain man to someone and don’t let your certain man pass you by, don’t miss your certain man.

PRAYER: Lord, help me to never miss the certain man you send me or me to but help me to always miss those who are not part of my story in Jesus’s name. Amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT. PRAYER MIN.

#spotify #devotional #christianpost #women's ministry #biblestudy #biblestudy christianpost women's ministry #biblestudy christianpost 'women's ministry #conference #family #prayer meeting

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mpxesther · 1 year ago

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The demigoddess looked up to the god once he spoke his name. She blinked a few times, but as her eyes refocused on the god, the confusion was apparent on her visage. She knew that name, heard many stories as she was raised. Was this a simple situation of someone with the god's name or was this truly the Yanluo? A bit of concern settled in her stomach. Her actions were already cruel against a mortal but a god.

As if to answer her questioning mind, the force of his energy consumed her body. Oppressive and thick, all she could do was press her fingers a bit deeper into her thigh. How could someone who had been so kind to her have such a heavy and dark energy? Even if it overwhelmed her, there was no look of fear on her features as she did not think he cared to hurt her, just the pain and weight of being consumed by his godly aura.

When it disappeared, she breathed freely, though she did find such a energy interesting. Esther did not quite know what to do next. Should she treat him as the god he was? Or, should she keep the personal, intimate nature of their current meeting? In her nature, she found a simple mixture. Both hands reached toward on his, gently cradling in her hers. The demigoddess tilted her head in a bow. "I feel guilty. To associate you with my ex-husband, it definitely feels like a crime now. Please accept my deepest apologies."

While there was stronger sense of formality on her end, Esther did not have to change much of her behavior to give the god the respect her deserved. Keeping his hands in hers as long as he would allow, she turned her gaze back to their hands, still partly to protect herself from getting emotional from the gloved touch. "Let me explain myself. From my birth, my parent's arranged my marriage to a family friend's child. I do not remember a lot of my youth as I have lost a lot of memories, but I do remember how much I loved him, everyday with all of my heart. I now wonder if it was only I that find our arrangement a blessing."

Pausing, the demigoddess tried to keep her head eye even though this was her weakest spot. So far, there were few that even knew the lengths of her cursed love story, and now, she only felt the need due to what hardships she had place on him. "I am sorry. I am not a good storyteller." She chuckled weakly before looking up at him. "One day, I saw a vision of him cheating on me, and to make it worst, it was on my wedding night. And, I had to live the next year knowing of his upcoming infidelity for to change it would mean losing my memories again."

Bitterness appeared momentarily over her features, but she sighed softly. "You look so much like him, but you are not him. I could not tell until you came to me at Noonas, but by then, it hurt too much." Though she had tried so hard not to cry, the tears by now had started to pool, waiting to spill. "Too many emotions. But out of all of them, I feel guilty to have put you in such an embarrassing situation, and I still am probably putting you in another uncomfortable situation."

Dipping her head, she took a deep breath. "Again, I am so so so sorry."

she was timid, yanluo noted. and only able to look at him for so long. her smile was weak, though pretty and it made the god feel relieved that she had the ability to smile in his presence. it probably took her a lot of effort, knowing how being in his presence pained her. though why, yanluo did not know but hopefully would come to understand once the demigoddess would explain herself to him. yanluo was used to mortals revering him, and some also dared not look at him but the feeling he got from his worshippers was different from the heartbreak he felt whenever she looked at him.

she sat beside him, and it appeared as if she was making herself small. hands neatly on her lap, head slightly bent and her voice soft; esther yu was the perfect image of one subjecting themselves to another. the god's gaze lingered on her figure as he mused. her name was lovely. esther, denoting a star. also often associated with venus and thus with love and beauty. the woman was a musician, and definitely easy on the eyes. her name was given well.

the god hummed and diverted his gaze out towards the field of flowers coloured rose, pink and purple. the field he'd traversed just minutes ago. in that moment, esther asked if he was willing to let her know his name. the god had a habit of reigning in his divine energies around demigods, having experienced that some were quite affected by his divine presence. it would not be strange for her not to realise exactly who he was, and yanluo was not offended.

"i'm wang yanluo." he responded in dulcet tones. and as he spoke his name, the god unleashed his divine essence, allowing it to blanket over the demigoddess for a brief moment. his divine energies were strong, oppressive even, and while yanluo had absolute confidence that a child of china knew exactly who he was, there was no mistaken it now. wang yanluo, the god of death and ruler of diyu, was one of the old gods still revered in modern day china. people whispered his name, begging for their loved one's safe passage, and erected altars for him in their homes where they prayed for the souls of the departed.

as quickly as he had unleashed his energies, yanluo reigned them back in. he didn't want to scare the demigoddess. he merely wanted to express who he was. though it wouldn't hurt to send the message that esther be careful with her words once her explanation rolled around. yanluo was a fair god, a just person. but it would not do well to anger him. there was a violence within these bones that always ached to be released. his worshippers knew this, kowtowing deeply as they made offerings to appease the god of death.

#mpyanluo #[a sad girl]

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 4 years ago

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"The party could be anywhere"

Tags: Smut :)

Prompts from @justforshitandcackles and @palettes-and-prompts

Pairing: Loki x AFAB!reader (gender not specified)

Word count: 3.4K

Warnings: DNI IF YOU’RE A MINOR, 18+ only. Dom!Loki, choking kink, slight degradation kink, alcohol, consensual but insistent (don’t be like this in real life, if it’s not explicit consent then it’s a no), dirty talk, fingering, partially public sex, bruises, voice kink, teasing, control play, marking kink, daddy kink, slight pain kink.

A/N: If you know me, no you don’t. This my my first smut so beware the shitty writing :)

If Loki had not caught you staring so intensely, you would probably be still at the bar, leaning over the counter ever so slightly to reach for a drink from time to time, safe from risking everything you never thought you’d risk.

But he did see you. And he smirked. You tried to ignore him and went back to your conversation with Vision, actively fixing your eyes on him as he talked, avoiding to show just how hot you were feeling.

“And that is why I cannot actually get drunk”, he said, finishing his explanation. You hadn’t heard a word. Everything in your brain right now was Loki’s silhouette in those leather skin-tight trousers and a black shirt with the sleeves carefully rolled over the elbow. Him and his raven hair neatly collected in a messy low bun, that left his neck veins so exposed —agh.

You shook your head and faked a cough, trying to come back to reality.

“Right. Then I guess I’ll have to do it for the both of us”, you said, grabbing his glass and drinking it.

“I sense you are not being yourself today”, commented Vision, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m fine. I just want to have fun”, you said, emptying the glass and asking for another one. But he was right —you weren’t yourself. Your limits were feeling a little bit blurrier than usual, and you knew you shouldn’t have gone to that party; not when Loki was there too —not when you had specific instructions to not get anywhere near involved with him unless necessary —this felt necessary, and that was what scared you the most. Vision gestured to the bartender to not give you a refill. “Hey! I’m not a kid”.

“If I’m correct in my speculations over what you want to do, I assure you, it is not a good idea”, he warned, eyeing a certain God you’ve been checking out all night. You didn’t think Loki was hearing the conversation, until a grin appeared across his lips. “I’ll get you a lemonade. Stay here”.

“Yeah. Great idea, leave me all alone, drunk and…”, you began saying, but the words fell off your mouth as you realized he wasn’t there anymore.

As soon as Vision left, you felt like an unsupervised chaotic child. Your eyes fixed back to Loki’s body, roaming around while he supposedly talked to Thor, and when they finally got to his face —lingering a little too long on his well defined arms— you realized his eyes were already on yours.

You tried to pretend like nothing happened, looking away and searching for Vision in the crowd. But you couldn’t escape the voice inside your head, low as a groan, seductive and mocking at the same time.

“Enjoying the view?”.

You choked on your drink, and looked at him perplexed.

“You can…?”, you thought, and he, pretending to listen to his brother, kept eyeing you with a smirk across his face. “Of course you can”.

“I can also see what you’re seeing in your head”, he pointed out. You were about to retort, saying that it was none of his business, but you soon recalled every single thought you’ve had since you’ve seen him in those godly pair of trousers, not leaving too much to the imagination. Maybe it was a little his business. “Ah, I love that shade of bright red”, he chuckled, and you felt your face get redder, if possible.

“Please, get off my head”.

“I seem to be very installed already”.

“Get off my… stop being here. I don't want to be working on my day off".

"Who said you'd be working? I just want to chat".

"Chatting with you means working".

"Well, then work".

You rolled your eyes and fidgeted with your watch. It was late, and you had to make presence in that stupid party that was mind-numbingly boring. You didn't want to work, but you wanted to talk to him. Lately, he seemed like the only one worth talking to in that compound. The only one who actually listened.

"It feels weird that you've hidden from me for so long you can talk telepathically".

“Would you like me to walk towards you and talk face to face, instead?”.

You thought about it. Yes, yes you did. Of course you wanted him to come near you and talk to you all night long, as much as you wanted him to do other things all night long. But Vision came shortly after, and you repressed every single action you could’ve done to walk towards Loki and flirt. You really, really shouldn’t flirt with him. It was for the best, you thought.

“Your lemonade”, said Vision, handing you a glass. “We were talking about the relationship between human reactions to…”, he started talking again, but you drifted off to Loki’s voice in your head.

"Your attires are overly flattering on that body of yours, tonight".

"Don't".

“Come on, stop pretending like you don’t want me to have you on all fours and…”.

“Don’t do this”, you warned, “don’t do this because I don’t want to be all bothered and flustered”.

"Ah, is that the reason? I thought you were just being professional. You know, if for one night you give up your control over me and let me be in charge…".

"Stop smooth talking, I don't… I don't want to be like this all night", you whined. You could already feel the heat between your legs, and pressed them to pretend you weren't getting hot by just his words.

“You wouldn’t be bothered if I actually did what I’m planning on doing”.

You could feel your brain burning at the implications of those words. Was Loki just mindlessly flirting? Was he doing this to annoy you or trick you in some way?

“Tell me”.

His wide grin made you shiver in anticipation. Oh, boy, was he a dark one.

“If it were up to me”, he said in an even lower tone of voice, “I’d eat every inch of you until you shiver and tremble and beg for dear mercy”.

Your heart skipped a beat, and your face flustered even hotter. The air around you thickening, dense as water, dense as blood. Vision didn’t seem to be aware of what was happening, too immersed in his own explanations. You swallowed and tried to compose your posture, ignoring Loki’s piercing gaze across the room.

“Loki, now you’re being inap…”, you began, but he interrupted you, knowing you were only trying to convince yourself. He could see every thought in that head of yours, he knew you didn’t mean it —he knew you were far from meaning it.

He also knew he meant every single one of his words.

“I’d pass my tongue through every little spot of yours, grabbing you tightly until you’d bruise so that you couldn’t squirm away from me. I’d lick you up and down, taking my time to make you see stars”.

You squirmed in your seat, trying to stay still. Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You inhaled and exhaled deeply, and finally redirected your eyes back at him. He smirked again and kept talking.

"I'd penetrate you with my tongue until you begged for my cock. I’d make you come over and over, your grip pulling on my hair so tightly you’d think it'd rip my scalp off. I’d make you come until all things that could come out of that filthy mouth of yours were my name, and my name only”.

The heat in your face was now too evident to deny it. You knew Vision asked you something but your brain was almost numbed by his words. You nodded, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“I’d bend you over in that counter, and I’d claim you as mine. I’d bury myself in you, filling you in and out, and in and out, and in and—”.

“Alright, stop it!”, you said out loud, and Vision frowned, stopping his words.

“What’s wrong?”.

“Sorry. No, not you. I’m… I’m sorry, I need to do something”, you stuttered as you could, leaving towards Loki.

“Me?”, chuckled Loki from his spot. You rolled your eyes and walked to him, asking Thor to leave you alone. Once you were finally free from others’ stares, you punched his shoulder.

“Stop doing that, you’ll be the death of me”.

“Well, I can stop teasing and start living up to my promises, love”, he whispered, looking you up and down.

You lowered your head, thinking about it. What would be the damage in fucking the God of Mischief that was under your supervision, in domiciliary arrest because he tried to take over the world? Surely nothing bad could happen. Except the possibility of getting fired, or tricked by him, or hurt.

“You’re not taking me to bed. Ever”.

“Who said it had to be in bed? I did say counter, did I not?”, he chuckled darkly, and you swallowed. He kept going. “It could be anywhere. On that pretty couch of Stark’s, too. I’m sure you’ve touched yourself thinking about it, don’t deny it”.

“Come on. What are you doing?”, you asked. You felt so stupid. He definitely was playing with you. He knew you had the hots for him and he was pushing his own limits to see just how much on the tip of his fingers he had you —maybe not enough—not in the way you wanted.

“Is it not obvious enough? Do you want a physical exemplification?”.

“I mean… why are you doing this?”.

He sighed and put a strand of your hair behind an ear, smiling. In the same deep velvety voice he’s been making you flustered with, he purred in your ear,

“I want you to be mine”.

You didn't suppress your shivers, and he chuckled darkly once again. Maybe he was being serious. Maybe you could bend your boundaries a little bit for him. You whispered on his ear, trying to not catch the attention of other people,

"We can't leave the party. We have to stay".

"Or… we could just go for a second. We don't even have to leave. Darling, we're here, but the party could be anywhere".

“If we get caught…”.

“We won’t. If you want to scream, I’ll gag you”, he teased.

It didn't take much more convincing. Soon, you were following his long steps down the hallways of the compound, not even leaving the floor. He suddenly grabbed you and pushed you with him into a small room, like a janitor closet. The place was so small, if you tried to stretch your hands to the wall, your elbows would be still bent.

Loki was right behind you, your back against his chest, and he began placing soft kisses on your skin. His hands moved to your hips and stomach, pressing you against him. Your breathing was unstable, too loud for it to not be heard. If anyone passed by the hallway, they’d hear you panting.

He got a hold on your neck, squeezing enough for you not to move, and slowly sliding his other hand down your abdomen, through your pelvis, until just beneath your underwear. His breathing grazed your ear, and he purred,

"May I?".

"Please", you breathed out, almost too quickly. He slid a hand further down, stopping before touching you, his digits lingering to be where you needed them to.

“I want to hear you say it”.

“Please, touch me”.

He moved his hand from your neck to your hair, pulling from it to expose your clavicles, and sank his teeth into you, finding all of the right spots for you to let out breathy moans. He groaned against your skin.

"I like those. I want to hear more", and bit you harder, making sure to leave a mark.

You began slightly rubbing your ass against his bulge, and he rocked his hips, showing you just how much you turned him on, too. His cold fingers traveled to your entrance, and your breath hitched at the feeling.

“Ah, Loki—”.

"Mmmh", he smirked. "You're so wet for nothing, darling", and then whispered harshly "let me give you a reason".

His fingers began to work on you, rubbing slow circles in your clit, making you grind against his hand, trying to speed up the infernally slow movements he was giving you. You tried to suppress your moans, but whatever he was doing with his mouth on your skin… he knew how to do it.

Soon, you were a hot and panting mess, grinding against him as much as you could, and he held your hip with his free hand, avoiding you from moving any further.

“Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic”.

"Then fuck me”.

“I’ll take my time”.

You didn’t want him to take his time. You wanted him to pull down his trousers and fuck you mercilessly against the wall, until all you could think of was him and him only. But he kept drawing slow circles on your clit, collecting your wetness to lubricate and increasing pressure ever so slightly.

His other hand was now resting on your neck, grabbing you softly yet dominantly enough for you to feel the heat on your abdomen, words of begging wanting to escape your lips —but you pushed them down. You could make him do it through other ways.

You slid your hand behind you, finding his erection. You grabbed him with strength and pressed it with your palm and he let out a low moan, his grip on your neck getting stronger. You undid his belt and sneaked your hand under his trousers, massaging his erection over the boxers. His hips buckled and his hand on your neck was gripping stronger.

"Stop provoking me or I’ll choke you a bit too tight”, he groaned in a raspy voice.

“What? Afraid of… ah, afraid of losing control?”, you tried to tease. He chuckled.

“Listen to you… you can’t even form a sentence without moaning”, he said, and without any further preparation, he slid a finger inside of you. You gasped sharply, and he kissed the heat in your face from behind, watching how sweaty and needy you were getting for him. “Shh, wouldn’t want your dear Avengers to know who’s helping you get off, would you?”, he said, fitting another finger and curling it in the right spot. This time, you couldn’t hold back your moans, throwing your head back, resting it on his collarbone. He had the perfect access to your chest, and he bent over to bite, leaving marks as his fingers began thrusting in and out of you, while still stimulating your clit with his thumb.

“I… I need you to… ah—”, you began saying, eyes shut tightly. As his thrusts sped up, his grip on your neck tightened and your face got even redder for the lack of air.

“What? Do you like it when I touch you like this?”, he said between his own gasps and groans, while you pressed yourself against his bulge, giving him friction and yet so close— “do you want me?”.

“I… I want you”, you managed to say, feeling the pressure building up in your lower abdomen, shivers from the hot and cold feeling that was his body against yours. “I want you”.

“Then say my name”.

“I… ah— I want you, Loki”, you couldn’t keep your voice down. Even though you were whispering, it was rough and loud, and it drove him even crazier, speeding up his thrusts and the circles on your clit getting sloppier.

“Say my name”, he repeated, speeding up the movement.

“Loki, Loki I want you, Loki—”.

“Say. My. Name”, he rasped.

“Lo… Loki”.

“No. Say my name”, he groaned in your ear and bit it harshly, and just by the way he said it, gripping you so hard you could feel the bruises about to paint your neck, marking you for everyone to see —just then, you understood what he wanted.

“I want you, daddy”.

He stopped the thrusts taking his fingers off you, and you whined. In a quick movement, he turned you around and slammed you against the wall, bringing one of your legs up and kissing you deeply, his tongue twirling with yours, his lips as hot and soft as you could ever fantasize they’d be.

You brought your hands up to his hair and pulled at it to expose those neck veins you’ve been meaning to mark for months, and as soon as you began working on them, he moaned loudly, rocking his hips against yours, holding your waist strongly.

You grinded against him, completely ruining his trousers and feeling his erection trying to break free, pulsating for your contact. He pulled his trousers slightly down and with a green light he had already a condom on.

“Well”, you said, panting, “that’s effecti…”, but you were cut on your words as he entered you in one quick motion, opening you up and stretching you more than you ever thought you could. You moaned loudly, and he groaned against your lips.

He began slowly, enough for your mind to go completely numb. You were saying things —his name, how much you liked it, but none of you were hearing it. All you could hear was your skin against his, slapping together faster and faster, his lips grazing over yours without kissing —moaning into the other’s mouths.

“I’m… ah, I’m so close—don’t stop”, you muttered, and he lowered one hand and began working on your clit again, the feeling becoming too much all of the sudden. You rocked your hips, matching his movements, and he grabbed you tighter against him with his whole arm. You scratched his back with your nails, and he thrusted deeper, knowing he ruined everyone else for you.

“N—Norns, you’re doing so good for me, agh”, he whispered in your ear. “You’re such a little whore—”.

He grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back, making his movements sloppier and somehow even stronger —it hurted in the best way possible. You weren’t even trying to hide your moans, despite hearing footsteps right outside the closet.

“Come for me”, he commanded, and you, already over the edge, tried to hide your face on his shoulder. He grabbed you by the jaw strongly and made you look him in the eyes. “Look at me. I want to see you come all over me”.

As if he had just pressed a button, you came violently against him, calling his name in a way he was sure everyone in the compound heard. He came right after, and stayed inside of you until you could compose yourself.

Breathing hard, you laid your head on his chest and he pulled off you, surrounding you with his arms gently —as if he hadn’t fucked you to oblivion a minute ago. He kissed your temple and chuckled.

“I wanted to do this for ages”, he whispered, and you nodded, not actually capable of talking just yet.

Someone knocked at the door, and you got so startled you squealed. Loki hurried to cover your mouth, but it was too late.

“Who’s there?”, asked Thor. “Are you alright?”.

“Oh, it’s my brother”, said Loki, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Thor. Nothing to see here”.

“Oh. I see”, you could hear Thor blushing from behind the door. “Good, then. That… nobody’s hurt”.

“I never said nobody is hurt”.

“For the Norns, Loki, I don’t want to know!”, said Thor’s voice increasingly far from where you were, as if he was covering his ears. Loki chuckled darkly against your skin and kissed your shoulder softly.

“Are you alright?”.

“Better than before”.

“You know… I still haven't gotten a chance to taste you”, he said, sinking his nose on your hair. “I bet you taste divine”.

“Oh, we should continue the party, then”, you said. And he grabbed you in the air, carrying you to his room trying to avoid crossing with anyone in the way.

The party had just started, then.

Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @theonewiththenerds , @vicmc624 , @spiderlaufeyson @theaudacitytowrite @bi-andready-tocry @alorev @justasmisunderstoodasloki @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @theetoastyghosty @lokiprompts @sarahpaq08 @lostgreekgod

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki fic #loki x y/n #mcu loki #loki headcanon #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x afab!reader #loki x you #loki #loki x you smut #loki x y/n smut #loki x avenger!reader smut

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mygodyouredivine · 4 years ago

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The Hell In Your Eyes - 3

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things.

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of violence

Word Count: 4836

Previous Chapter

Loki is annoyed.

Loki has sat through thousands of years of political dinners, exchanging thinly veiled insults under a layer of diplomacy, all while smiling through his teeth. Loki has spewed sensical nonsense, charming naive, innocent maids and sweeping young stable boys off their feet. Loki has endured Odin’s wrath — in all its horrible glory — countless times, and never once had he shed a tear, nor had a single cry escaped his lips.

The whole of Asgard had coined him the Dark Prince — and who was Loki to disappoint?

He had long since learned people saw what they expected to see.

And so as the entire realm rejoiced in his demise, as Laufey left him to die, as Odin condemned him for eternity, as Thor abandoned him, as Frigga had sided with her husband again and again and again, Loki maintained his carefully constructed front.

Yet one encounter with a mortal, and he had unraveled at her feet.

If physically kneeling before the wretched creature wasn’t enough, he knew she had seen past his mask. By the time he had regained his composure, he was sure she had seen him.

It won’t happen again.

Loki is a god, and gods do not crack. Gods maintain their image, regardless of circumstance. Gods do not show weakness, do not show vulnerability.

This is a lesson Loki knows well, a lesson etched into his skin countless times by Odin’s hand.

And yet for each time Odin reinforced this lesson, the very same lesson was burned away by Thanos a thousand more.

Loki tried, he truly did. Loki maintained his godly facade for an impressive amount of time, resisting as his body was taken apart over and over and over again. Perhaps it wasn’t as long as he thought. Loki feels as if his entire life was spent doused in agony, spent with his flesh melting off and his bones withering away.

Ultimately, a god is no match for a Titan.

But a mortal is no match for a god.

And yet, Loki has found himself at her feet — at her mercy — twice.

Even after, Loki couldn’t bring himself to summon his cruel exterior. Perhaps it had to do with the way she had waltzed into his space, all soft and defenseless, carrying that deplorable drink as if it was the elixir of eternal life (unfortunately, it tasted just as divine). Perhaps it was his body, still sated and full for the first time in months, reminding him of the food — the debt — he owes. Perhaps it was the way she held out her arm towards him, even though he could see it shaking.

Whether it was any of these things or none at all, Loki’s cool mask of indifference was rendered utterly useless at her delicate, mortal hands.

Loki hates her.

His hatred fills every fiber of his being. It’s a scalding, fiery hatred, much unlike the frozen excuse of Loki’s heart. His frost giant heritage seems to reject her very being.

Loki hates her voice, hates her hands, hates her. He hates how she makes him falter when there is no place for mistakes.

Loki’s thoughts are interrupted by Thor, who enters Loki’s quarters without an ounce of hesitation — ever the righteous, confident, arrogant bastard.

Ah, but Loki almost forgot. Thor is not the bastard — Loki is. How despicable; for really, Loki can not even call himself a bastard. Yet, ‘the Bastard Son of Odin’ has a certain charm to it. Perhaps another false title for his collection.

“Loki!” Thor booms, “Here are your clothes that Lady Angel washed. You should be grateful brother, for she offered of her own volition — ”

Is it so surprising someone would offer to help Loki without external influence?

“ — to see and visit you! You are doing well. I am happy to see you are finally making an effort to get to know all of our friends — ”

Thor is happy? For Loki, or for himself? Why must Loki, even now, strive to prove himself to Thor? Why is Loki’s worth solely dependent on Thor’s judgement?

“ — and Lady Angel is absolutely wonderful. I am delighted to see you two getting along so well! I can’t believe you finally made a friend— ”

At this, Loki’s composure cracks for the second time that day.

“What am I? A pathetic child wandering aimlessly through a school corridor? A helpless hatchling at the mercy of others — groveling for the bare minimum? Who are you to congratulate me for ‘making a friend?’ She is not a friend ,” Loki spits out. He can feel his teeth grinding against each other, his fingernails once again digging into his palms. “She is nothing more than another worthless mortal, unworthy of even breathing the same air as I, and yet you suggest I be grateful?”

Thor advances on Loki, his eyes hardening. The atmosphere is tense; unlike the typical bickering between the brothers, Loki identifies something distinctly different in the way the air vibrates. The space between the two gods crackles. “Watch yourself brother —”

Brother. The word grates upon Loki’s nerves. How can Thor so carelessly throw the word around, even knowing of its false implications — implications and lies Loki foolishly believed.

Sometimes Loki wonders if Thor does it on purpose.

“Do you hear yourself Thor? Bending yourself over backwards to defend this wasted excuse of consciousness — you are the King of Asgard. What is she? She is nothing.”

And now Loki is no longer staring at his brother, but the ceiling of his prison. His back is slammed against Stark’s hardwood floors and there is sharp ringing in his ears, likely the result of the crack in the floor right behind where his head is currently embedded.

Loki almost laughs.

Truly, it is comical — comical that even now, Thor’s first instinct is to physically threaten Loki. As if Loki doesn’t almost enjoy it.

But Loki’s laugh catches in his throat, prevented from escaping by the large hand tightening around his airway.

Thor’s hand is around Loki’s neck — a mirror of His.

A thousand years Loki has known Thor. A thousand years of childish brawls, foolhardy battles, pointless arguments. How many times has Loki betrayed Thor? Thor betrayed Loki? And yet, Loki believed he knew his brother’s character.

A thousand years Loki has known Thor, but never once has he thought Thor to be cruel.

Oh how wrong he is.

Thor’s hands are gripping Loki’s neck and for the life of him Loki can’t breathe. He tries to draw air into his lungs — lungs that are screaming with a familiar ache — and fails. Phantom pains flicker across his entire body and somehow, in the second before his vision goes black, Loki manages to croak out a strangled wheeze of a laugh.

Loki is once again strapped upon a bed of coals, once again stabbed with blades of flame, once again torched with fire so hot he freezes. Loki remembers the only other time he begged — begged and pleaded for the sweet mercy of death, all while knowing death was a pleasure he was never to be granted.

Loki is once again kneeling — boneless — at the feet of a Titan, looking up into a face promising endless pain, a face painted with the patience of a thousand moons and splattered with the ruined blood of a Frost Giant.

Loki did not know that a Frost Giant’s blood could boil.

Ah, but the Mad Titan knew, and he ensured Loki would never forget.

Loki recalls the moment he let go — an eerie echo of his fall from grace, his fall from the Bifrost. And he remembers the horribly invasive power of the scepter, along with the blessed relief and utter disregard for self preservation that followed.

And it is this — the relief — that plagues Loki. He does not fool himself; Loki may be the God of Lies, but he has no reason to lie to himself . It is not the destruction of New York nor the deaths at his hand that weigh upon his shattered mind. No, it is the fact that Loki found solace in his actions.

Make no mistake — Loki does not rejoice in his crime, but nor could he say he regrets it.

For if Loki were given the choice, he could not — would not — choose to spare Midgard at the cost of his own sanity.

(But Loki was never given a choice.)

Alas, Loki is already insane.

The Mad Titan has taken so much from Loki.

Physically, Loki has long since disregarded his own body. He remembers the beginning of his torture, when he still held the title of 'Prince of Asgard,' when he spoke with arrogance and oozed of indignantion. Oh how naive he had been. When the first whips had landed across his skin, Loki's thoughts could never have anticipated what the coming months would entail. Loki did not once stop to consider how he would escape the clutches of his captor — oh the confidence he held! — but instead lamented the scars he would surely have to bear. Dimly, Loki recalls worrying over his marred skin, irritated at the blemishes he would surely have to cover when taking future lovers.

Loki scoffs.

Loki does not recognize the man who spent time thinking of lovers. Or of his physical appearance. Or of his interests. Or of any other insignificant pleasure that ultimately contributes to the annihilation of a soul.

(Even now, Loki carries with him an irrational fear of physical touch — a seed planted by the Mad Titan that Loki cannot gouge out, not even if he tore open his very being.)

In fact, Loki wondered if his corporeal form had even existed anymore. But most of all, more than the ruination of his physical form, Loki mourns the damnation of his mind.

Ultimately, the Mad Titan did triumph over Loki. For no matter how many times Loki escapes, fakes his death, runs away, he can never evade the visions that haunt his mind, the voices that infect his thoughts, the termites eating away at what remains of Loki’s sanity.

(If Loki were given a choice, he would have chosen death again and again and again.)

Alas, Loki was not — is not — given a choice, for suddenly he is not lying on a bed of coals, but on his apartment floor again. Thor has since removed his hand from Loki’s neck and Loki half wishes Thor just kept it there. Just kept on squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until Loki died on that bed of coals.

Loki wonders, if he were to die at Thor’s hand, would his brother feel remorse? Or perhaps, more realistically, relief?

Unfortunately, Loki is not dead, and Thor is gazing at him, concern evident in his gaze. As if Thor wasn’t the one who put Loki in this condition — wasn’t the one who greedily snatched all of Odin’s affection, wasn’t the one who pushed Loki out of favor, wasn’t the one who led his brainless minions in a brash suicide mission, as if Thor wasn’t the one who stared Loki in the eye as Loki let go into the abyss.

As if Thor wasn’t the first domino in a long ripple effect that eventually drowned Loki in his sins.

Thor was the smooth pebble that young children skipped over lakes, just barely skimming the surface of a tempting downfall — nevertheless gracefully leaping unscathed across the reflective waters. Yet Loki was the jagged, unskippable rock, destined to fall through the air and fall through the water with no hesitation. Loki has long since come to terms with this simple fact.

No longer does Loki resent his brother, for he understands: light can only shine in the presence of darkness. And if Loki is condemned to darkness — so be it.

Loki does not resent his brother, but oftentimes Loki despises his lightness . What some might say is endearing — the inability for Thor to give up — is just a burden. Even now, Thor still thinks he can change Loki, can fix him. Thor still thinks that by vouching for Loki and providing Loki a place to live and surrounding Loki with Thor’s friends that he can mend Loki’s broken soul and bring back the brother he once had. Thor is still in denial — he refuses to grasp the very simple concept that Thor’s brother — the Second Prince of Asgard, God of Lighthearted Mischief — is long dead. And so Thor continues to try. But light yelling into the darkness does not change it.

And even now, with Thor looming above Loki, Loki does not resent his brother.

But Loki resents Thor’s very being — the core of who Thor is. Thor is a duality; one of naivety and compassion, yet tainted — or perhaps embellished — with a smidge of cruelty and arrogance.

And as Thor is speaking to Loki, mouth forming words Loki is too tired to hear, Loki simply lies on the floor, limbs relaxed around him, throat sore, and does the only thing he can do when feeling so utterly empty.

Loki laughs.

______________________________

Midgard is rather charming in some regards.

Loki will eventually have to investigate the laundry process, for he has just now made the curious discovery that freshly dried clothes are warm . He suspects they were warmer right after they were dried, but he can still feel the presence of the heat, lingering within the very fabric of his garments. He wonders just how much they were heated up to — would it have burnt his frozen hands at the peak of its fiery glory?

No, Loki’s hands are too well accustomed to fire now.

But he doubts that her hands are. He envisions Angel pulling his clothes out of the dryer, her hands touching the same clothes that he has worn, that he will wear, that he is currently touching.

Yet is it entirely possible Loki is standing around, imagining a scene that never played out, for it was not Angel who brought Loki’s laundry back to him, but his dearest brother. Looking at his pile of clothes again, Loki takes in the telltale signs of Thor. The messily folded shirts stare back at Loki, mocking him.

He wonders if she ever even did any part of his laundry. Perhaps she only offered it as a way to ease the uncomfortable tension that had arisen earlier. Or rather, (and his stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought) she lugged his laundry basket downstairs and dumped it straight into Thor’s arms.

Why else would she refuse his help to accompany her?

A twinge of something rises up within Loki as he realizes she accepted Thor’s offer to bring his clothes back. Or, much more likely, she had pushed the task onto Thor in a desperate attempt to avoid encountering him again.

Not that Loki could blame her.

And yet the uncomfortable sensation within Loki only grows, and he realizes that he feels something akin to disappointment. Loki cannot allow himself to feel disappointment. He had long since learned not to expect anything from anyone — or perhaps, much more cynically, to only depend on — to trust — himself.

Trust, Loki knows, is a fickle concept the naive embrace. Trust itself is ill fated, the certainty of an inevitable betrayal the same as the certainty that one day everyone living on this cursed realm will perish.

Loki hates Angel. He hates how she pretends to care for him, hates how she imitates Thor, hates how she always finds a way to break him, and Loki hates how Angel makes him feel.

Loki's silent anger boils inside of him — like the steady countdown of a ticking bomb — manifesting itself out of him as the laundry basket is violently launched across the room.

He hates how he feels absolutely no satisfaction at the way the freshly clean clothes scatter across the floor, hates how he lost control, and hates how the damned mortal forces him to feel emotions he does not want to feel .

Sometimes all Loki can do is hate.

______________________________

The heat from the clothes have long since seeped into the floor.

The sun is just now setting, dousing Loki’s room in a fiery glow. Warm light spills across Loki’s bookshelves, his impeccably made bed, the clothes strewn around his floor. Loki sits on the ground, bare of his illusions, allowing himself to just be .

Staring across the room, he notices tendrils of light carefully curling around the air, miniscule particles of dust dancing in the golden glow. This is a gold Loki enjoys. Unlike the brash, loud character of Thor’s gold — of Asgard’s gold, this is a much softer, gentle color. The comforting hue reminds Loki of his mother, and against his will, he feels a wall of despair beginning to build within his chest.

For a second, Loki loses himself as the wall crashes over him. He drops his head, allowing his hair to dangle in front of his face, obscuring his view of the floating particles. He feels like a child — wants nothing more in this moment than to run to Frigga, for her floral scent to fill his senses as she envelopes him in her arms. What Loki wouldn’t give to have Frigga’s delicate fingers comb through his hair just once more, for her soft lips against his forehead, murmuring words of comfort.

But he can’t have that. Instead, here he is, sitting on the floor of a glorified prison in the midst of a community of people who hate him, with nothing but Thor to act as his buffer.

Looking up, Loki gazes at the honeyed light as it glides over a particular heap of clothing. He watches, mesmerized, as the light gently moves, unhurriedly bathing each corner of the fabric in its rich glow.

If he were still on Asgard, Loki would most likely have been reading, thoroughly immersed in some story or another. The sun would have showered his pages in its quiet glow, lighting the words aflame. He would have taken a stroll in his mother’s gardens, breathing in the sweet scent of her flowers as he sat in his favorite hidden alcove. He would have taken out his book and continued to read, read until the golden hue of the sun was replaced by the tender shine of the moon. Only then would Loki return, serenely walking back to his chambers, stopping only to retrieve a cup of tea, and resume his reading on his balcony.

Loki wants that.

Loki wants an afternoon to himself, with no worries plaguing his mind.

Loki wants to be able to read, and to do so in an environment which permits him to let his guard down.

Loki wants to sit outside, surrounded by flowers, and watch as the sun transitions into the moon.

Loki wants to indulge in a hot cup of tea as he watches the moonlight spills across the pages of his book.

Loki wants so many things — and he can’t have any of them.

Standing up, Loki decides he has spent enough time reminiscing over what he cannot have today. He feels sticky and hot and cold and hungry and all he wants right now , is a long shower.

And so Loki walks over to the same pile of clothes, now dull and abandoned by the sun, gazing disapprovingly downwards. Thor is truly an imbecile, for he has not even managed to separate their clothes correctly. Loki is currently staring at a dark green sweatshirt, one he knows for a fact he has never seen before. Tiredly, he tosses it upon his bed and scoops up a clean change of clothes, then turns around and trodds slowly into the bathroom.

______________________________

Water droplets rain all around Loki, swiftly sliding down his body.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy showering — it reminds him too much of another substance: denser, stickier, and much more red, trickling down his skin. Loki much prefers baths. Baths, however, render their subject very much vulnerable, and Loki does not fancy risking any more vulnerability than strictly necessary.

So Loki is standing in the shower, unabashedly soaking up the shallow warmth the water provides. Surely if Thor could see him, his brother would lecture Loki on wasting Midgard’s precious resources. But, Loki reasons, if Stark truly possesses the excess of wealth he boasts of, Loki’s water usage will not be of much concern to the man. And so this is a luxury Loki will grant himself.

The shower is one place where Loki feels the safest, where he allows his thoughts to wander and drift into otherwise forbidden territories. Today especially has been challenging, and even his muscles seem to ache, the fibers pulling away from each other, trying to rip Loki apart from the inside out. His mind is exhausted, filled with swirling thoughts of Frigga and Angel and Thor, with the occasional Odin and Titan intruding whenever a particular body part cries out.

And as Loki gazes down at his body, the disfigured canvas of scars stare back at him and he attempts to soothe away the countless aches. No matter how much time has passed and how much magic Loki pours into himself, the pains never seem to retreat. Rationally, Loki knows it doesn’t make sense. He knows his magic is fully capable of healing himself, knows that by all accounts he is healed.

But Loki also knows he does not imagine the sharp pains coursing through his veins.

He is fighting himself — the part of himself that does not want the pain to stop. Because all Loki knows is pain, and he fears the absence of pain almost as much as he dreads its glorious presence.

Loki raises his head, allowing for the stream of water to bruise his face. And if Loki’s closed eyes leak the occasional tear, no one would know.

______________________________

Loki’s self destructive spiraling is abruptly cut short by three succinct knocks from his bedroom door. Still soaking in the shower, Loki debates whether or not to answer; after all, he truly has no desire to see his brother again today. Or preferably, ever again. Unfortunately, Loki is all too aware that if he does not answer the door to let Thor in, Thor will simply let himself in. And if there’s anything worse than seeing Thor, it will be seeing a displeased Thor while Loki stands nude and wet.

Reluctantly, Loki turns off his shower, changes into his freshly washed ‘sweatpants’, and leisurely walks towards the door. He is honestly surprised Thor hasn’t invited himself in yet. He is more surprised when he finally opens the door and is promptly met with — not Thor’s brutish face, but the goddamned mortal.

She stands there, in front of his door, barely out of arm's reach. Loki can’t help but drink her in. He notices her hair, laying loosely around her face, framing her profile. She’s sporting a sweater, much too warm for the present weather. Its collar is stretched out over years of use, teasing his eyes with a fraction of her collarbones peaking through. Her legs are barely covered by absurdly short shorts, and Loki feels the back of his ears heating up. Hurriedly, he averts his eyes, falling down to her feet, once again hugged by soft looking socks — mismatched.

His scrutinization is interrupted by her voice; so soft.

“Hey! Sorry if I interrupted you. I heard you were in the shower but I was going around taking everyone’s dinner orders. We’re getting Chinese.” She tilts her head to the side, lifting her chin ever-so-slightly, distractedly exposing the tantalizing skin of her neck. She swallows, and Loki’s eyes discreetly follow the bob of her throat. “I was just wondering if you wanted anything?”

It takes a moment for Loki to register her question and another for him to process it. She is going to order dinner? For him? And she is asking him for his preference? Loki has not had the privilege of preferring anything in a long, long time. Damn this mortal.

“I am not familiar with this particular cuisine, nor Midgard’s in particular.”

She meets his eyes then, and only after does it occur to him that her eyes had been previously glued to his abdomen. His abdomen, he realizes which has been bare this entire interaction. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He forces himself to roll his eyes, running a hand through his still dripping hair to hide the scarlet his ears have surely become. “I am saying that I do not have a preference, woman.”

She lifts her shoulders briefly in a gesture Loki has come to associate with Midgard’s daftness and promptly moves closer to him. Instinctively, Loki takes a step back, then curses himself for doing so. He truly must be losing it, backing away from a defenseless mortal. But she doesn’t push further, instead tilting her head at that angle again, asking him another question.

“Can I come in?”

Loki hesitates. He doesn’t understand her motives, doesn’t know if this is a trick the Avengers have set up or perhaps a test designed by his brother. All he knows is that Angel is staring at him with her eyes wide and innocent and completely devoid of deceit.

Angel must carry magic or Loki must be possessed by the Mind Stone again, for against his will, Loki steps to the side, allowing her to brush past him. The sleeve of her sweater comes into contact with Loki’s stomach, and he jerks away.

Awkwardly, Loki closes his door and turns to face the mortal, noting how hilariously out of place she looks, standing in the midst of Loki’s domain. With a wave of his hand, the previously scattered articles of clothing fly onto his bed, meticulously folding themselves. Angel’s surprised, quiet gasp does not escape his notice. She walks towards his bed, small hand landing on Thor’s sweatshirt.

“Take that when you leave.” Loki internally bristles at his own tone, noticing how Angel’s shoulders locked up when he spoke and did not relax when he stopped. “Please,” he adds.

To his surprise (again), Angel approaches him, sweater in hand. “Why?”

At this, Loki is caught off guard. Without warning, he is overwhelmed by distaste. His patience has been tested over and over again, and he does not have even a drop more to deal with this mortal’s incompetence. His hatred for her rushes back, multiplied a thousandfold. Who does she think she is and why will she not leave Loki alone? Why must she cut short his relaxation, intrude upon his personal space, inquire after him when he knows — he knows — she does so unwillingly? Why is she holding up Thor’s goddamned sweater, pretending not to know why Loki hates it so? As if she doesn’t know it belongs to Thor.

In fact, Loki is positive she is intimately aware of whom it belongs to, undoubtedly so. He hates Angel, hates her for reluctantly offering her help, hates her for her smoothies, hates her for asking him about his preferences. Briefly, he envisions snapping her neck. Effortlessly. But the image makes him recoil, bringing about not satisfaction, but horror.

His fists clench, his broken fingernails once again digging into bruised skin. It costs Loki an immeasurable amount of self control not to simply throw her out, hurl her from his quarters. Instead, he snaps at her.

“Girl, do not test my patience. I am warning you, it has been a very long day and if you do not exit extremely promptly, it will not end well for one of us.”

Loki hates the way her shoulders tense up again, hates the way she physically flinches away at his dismissal.

Loki hates how though he can sense her increasing heartbeat, her nervousness, Angel still looks him in the eye and informs him, in a terrified voice coated with forced calm, “I’m sorry to hear that Loki. I added this sweater into your laundry after it was done, but I should have known it would not have been welcome.”

Loki hates how she then drops her eyes, staring intently at her mismatched socks.

“I’ll just leave your dinner outside.”

Loki hates how she leaves, her hands gripping Thor’s — his — sweatshirt tightly, footsteps moving at a much brisker pace.

Loki hates how Angel closed off, how he closed her off.

Loki hates how Angel clearly did do his laundry.

Loki hates how Angel thought of him, giving him an extra sweatshirt, offering him a choice for dinner.

Loki hates Angel more than he hates Thor, more than he hates Odin.

Loki hates Angel more than he hates the Mad Titan.

The only person Loki hates more than Angel is himself.

Fuck.

______________________________

We don't even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.

- Charles Bukowski

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Previous Chapter

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

#Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #the hell in your eyes #thiye #loki x you #friends to enemies to lovers #reader insert #loki fic #jouce writes

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tears-of-amber · 2 years ago

Note

Hey there! Do you mind me asking how you interpret communications from deities and how to actively work with them? I genuinely have no idea how to start. I have called on a few to assist in some workings or intentions, and made offerings here and there out of distanced respect, though I wouldn’t say I really like… work with or follow them. But I would like to! I’ve felt very drawn to Brigid specifically, but I haven’t the slightest idea how to move forward with being a follower or having a relationship with her as a matron goddess. It seems so daunting sometimes? I’m not sure how to reach out and how to know I’m being responded to, or how to work with a deity or spirit in general. What if she doesn’t want me reaching out to her? I’ve always been a secular witch and more in tune with the moon and earthly energies, but I’ve been more and more drawn to the deities lately. idk I’m rambling lol. Any advice or tips or anything would be so appreciated ❤️

Happy Barley moon! Ok this answer is going to be a bit long, so be patient lol. The best thing you can do is reach out to her. No god or goddess is gonna get pissed cause you reached out and want to work with them (unless they’re from a practice closed and not for you). They might turn you down. But they’ll never get weird about you asking. It’s pretty harmless just stating your intentions, like “I’m really wanting to work with you Brigid.” Write it in a letter or pray it to her. She’ll know your heart is reaching out. Then the worst that can happen is she says “no” or “not right now, I have nothing to teach you at this stage in your life.” How will she answer you? Here’s the thing. Gods and goddesses all have their preferences with how they communicate back to you after you ask a question. The surest way to go about receiving their answer is to be open to it coming from a place you don’t expect to work. Tarot is usually how I get answers. I call upon the god or goddess I wish to communicate with, after making an offering, I ask my question and pull the card or cards for an answer. But what surprised me about Freya (the goddess I’m devoted to) is that she answered through MULTIPLE ways. Pendulum. Tarot. And Falcon appearances. I’ve never had a deity confirm in so many ways. But the quickest answer you can get is probably a form of divination that you’re comfortable with. Other signs you receive will reinforce that answer.

A lot of people talk about “hearing” and “this god said this to me.” That has never been how it works for me, and I truly believe that’s ok. I don’t hear shit from deities. I hear the occasional sound of a violin playing when no violin is there, but that’s it. I also don’t see deities in hallucinations or visions in the waking world. Only VERY rarely in dreams do I see them. And that’s usually when they really REALLY need to convey something.

So me talking every day to Freyja is always with my tarot deck. Or I just fill her in on the tea, if you know what I’m saying. I let her know when I’m reminded of her. I say “thank you Freyja” when I notice a particular sign or blessing from her. And I feel connected and confident this way.

It’s really not some huge intimidating thing reaching out. Witchtok will make it sound like a fantasy book. “Yeah, I saw Loki in my kitchen and he told me a prophecy and I knew it was him because I am the chosen one who will lead an army at ragnarok”. Like bitch maybe some of that’s true but I HIGHLY doubt Loki just showed up in godly form in your kitchen to tell you how the world is gonna end and that you are chosen to lead an army and other frilly witchtok shit. Yeah. You get my point. Anyyyway. Hit me up or send another ask if I missed anything.

In short: just reach out. It’s easy. Pray. Write a letter: etc. and if they turn you down it’s usually nothing to do with you being “unworthy”. It might just be they think someone else has more to teach you.

#asks #pagan #witch #witchy #paganism

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wrenhyperfixates · 5 years ago

Text

Birthday Wish

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: It’s your birthday and all you want to do is spend a quiet day with Loki. Unfortunately, he’s decided to plan you a crazy party. Can you get your wish by the end of the night? Warnings: none A/N: It’s my birthday today (10/6), so I whipped up this quick little fic 🥳 I’ve been reflecting on everything like I usually do at this time of the year, and I just wanted to take a quick minute and say thank you to all the people who support me and read my stories. All the love I’ve been getting from you guys has made these past few months some of the best in my life! Please enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiantfavs @lunarmoon8

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

The blaring of your alarm clock woke you up for the third time that morning. You rolled over and hit the stop button this time, rather than the snooze, determined to get up. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you decided that you really ought to start going to bed at a reasonable hour. As your vision focused, you noticed a small box wrapped in white paper with multicolored happy birthday text printed on it. The neat green bow on top clued you in to who had left it before you even read the gift tag. You tore into the wrapping paper and opened the golden box inside, expecting a bracelet or some other piece of jewelry. Instead, you were greeted with a silver key.

“What are you up to, Loki,” you muttered, pinching the key between your thumb and forefinger.

Finding no clues on how to use your mysterious present, you finally dragged yourself out of bed and trudged into the bathroom. You eyed the shower for a minute, contemplating just splashing some water on yourself instead and calling it a day, before turning it on. You let the cold spray wake you up, turning your face towards the shower head. Once you felt alert enough, you changed the water to a more comfortable temperature. A part of you wanted to stay in here forever, or at least for the rest of the day, but that damned key had captured your interest. As you toweled off, you caught a whiff of your favorite shampoo, which you’d just lathered in your hair. Incidentally, it was Loki’s favorite too, and with any luck, he’d be smelling it later during some birthday snuggles.

After slipping on your coziest outfit, you walked out of your room and towards the kitchen. You could already smell the bacon sizzling and waffles being made. It caused an embarrassing grumble to sound from your stomach as you rounded the corner, but it was drowned out by your teammates shouting “happy birthday” in a boisterous cacophony.

“Happy Birthday, dove,” Loki whispered in your ear as he scooped you up in a hug, his godly strength making it easy to pick you up and spin you around.

“Thank you, Loki,” you giggled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

You received hugs from the rest of the Avengers as someone slid a plate piled high with breakfast foods in front of you. This time last year you’d still just been an intern at SHIELD. It hadn’t taken long for Tony to notice your skills and offer you a job at Stark Industries, a position you’ve been glad to have gotten more and more every day. Now here you were, who knows how many field missions later, a part of the team and surrounded by a beautiful chosen family. Not to mention a very caring, raven-haired boyfriend who treated you like royalty.

“This is perfect, guys. Thank you,” you said, beaming at the group.

“This is nothing,” Tony responded. “Wait until your party later.”

“A party, huh?” you parroted, stuffing a forkful of fruit in your mouth so no one could see your frown. “Just us, right?”

“Nope,” Tony informed. “A bunch of your old coworkers from SHIELD, all the people who work in the Tower, owners of businesses we outsource to, and probably some other groups I’m missing. Don’t look so down, it’ll be fun. And the best part is Loki planned it,” he finished with a wink at the god.

“Oh?” you questioned, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be great then.”

You changed the topic before someone could comment on how shocked and disingenuous you sounded. Not only did that not seem like something Loki would do, it also meant he didn’t know you as well as you thought he did. You didn’t want to be ungrateful, but large parties just weren’t really your thing. You much preferred a quiet day with your friends. But if your boyfriend planned it, you were sure you would enjoy it. Maybe it was like a reverse surprise party or something, and they told you it would be a crazy party when it would actually just be a fun little movie night. Loki always has a trick up his sleeve, you knew, and you were sure that whatever it was, you’d enjoy it.

Sadly, your certainty was gone as you pulled on your jeans that evening. Giving yourself a once-over in the mirror, you decided that you looked ready for a party, though on the inside you were anything but. A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and you went to open it, expecting Loki to be there to escort you. Instead, you were greeted with Wanda, Bucky, and Peter holding a plastic bag filled to the brim with neon props.

“Whatcha got there?” you asked your best friends, letting them into your room.

“Your accessories for the evening,” Wanda replied, placing a neon pink feather boa around your neck.

“You pick first!” Peter added, holding up two pairs of light-up shutter shades.

At least this part of your evening was fun. You’d been reduced to nothing but a laughing mess on the floor multiple times as you all figured out which accessories to wear. Finally, you ended up with the pink boa from Wanda, blue sunglasses Peter picked, a green fedora of your own choosing, and a bunch of glow stick bracelets that Bucky was amazed and obsessed with.

“We should probably get going,” you ventured, glancing at the clock. “Don’t want to be late.”

“Or we could just stay here,” Bucky offered. “I mean, do any of us really want to go?”

You all shifted your weight, seriously considering hiding in your room for the rest of the night. Deep down, you knew you would never actually do that, not after Loki put effort into planning it for you. Something about that still didn’t sit right with you, though.

“No. We should go.”

“Why? I mean, they invited so many random people that no one will notice if we’re not there.”

“Bucky,” Wanda hissed, throwing a pillow at his head. Sadly for her, his reflexes were too quick, and he caught it with a shrug of his shoulders. “People will notice if the guest of honor isn’t there.”

Before anyone could argue the point further, there was another knock, and this time it was Loki. He pecked your lips before taking in your goofy outfit.

“There you are, dove. I’ve been looking for you,” he said with a small chuckle.

“Don’t worry, we were just on our way,” you told him, noticing a few glow bracelets on his wrist. You added it to your mental list of odd things to happen on your birthday. “Come on, guys.”

“Actually, if you do not want-”

“There you are,” Tony greeted as he appeared around the corner. “You’re missing the party of the century.”

“You didn’t need to send a whole committee,” Wanda said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you out into the hall. “See, we’re halfway there already.”

Everyone crammed into the elevator, looking rather glum. Except for Tony, that is. He was blowing on a noisemaker as soon as the door opened. Not that you could hear it very well over the pounding music of the DJ.

“Uh, great party Mr. Loki,” Peter shouted over the noise, flashing a thumbs up before exiting the elevator with Wanda and Bucky.

“Yes, thank you spiderling,” Loki distractedly said, putting an arm out to stop you from leaving, too. “Dove, I’ve been trying to tell you all day-”

He was cut off once again by Tony, who was now at the front of the room and pointing towards you. There was a round of applause as he announced you as the special guest, and you awkwardly waved, feeling unsure of yourself in front of so many people. You were not exactly a social butterfly, and Loki knew that. You still couldn’t figure out why he had thrown you this party. And then there was the matter of that key from this morning. You patted the front pocket of your jeans to ensure it was still there. It was, but you had no idea how to use it. Maybe that’s what Loki’s been trying to tell you.

About half an hour later, he pulled you away, clearly too impatient to wait any longer to get his words out. You hadn’t even finished making the rounds, but then again you barely knew half the people there, anyway. They probably wouldn’t miss you, in that case. After all, it was more Tony’s party than yours. And that’s when it hit you.

“You didn’t actually plan that, did you?” you asked Loki as the elevator doors closed behind you.

“Took you long enough to figure it out, dove,” Loki said with a smirk. “But you are correct. It was Stark, not me.”

“But why did he give you the credit then?”

“He thought I did not know Midgardian birthday customs well enough,” Loki answered as his nose scrunched up in distaste. “ I suppose he thought he was doing me a favor. The one thing he forgot, though, is that I know you quite well.”

You exited onto the floor of the library and your boyfriend pulled you off to some hidden nook, proudly gesturing to a small key hole in the wall. You pulled out his present and looked at him inquisitively. One eager nod from Loki later, you were turning the key and greeted by a small clicking sound. A hidden door slid open and revealed a cozy room complete with your favorite foods, a couch laden with pillows and blankets, and a fire crackling in an ornate hearth.

“Loki!” you gasped, “It’s perfect, my love.”

“Only the best for you, dove.”

Then he brought you over to the cushions and, after making sure you were comfortable, began to hand feed you your favorite sweets. Once he was done with that, you snuggled into his side as he stroked your hair and placed a kiss to your temple. It was what you’d been longing for since you got out bed that morning.

“Happy Birthday,” he said to you later that evening after reading your favorite poems in that deep, melodic baritone of his voice.

“Thank you. This truly is everything I’ve ever wished for.”

“That is too bad. I have one more gift to give you, but if you are perfectly happy right now, perhaps you do not want it.”

“No,” you said, eyes wide with interest. “Now I have to know. Can I please have it, Loki?”

“Your wish is my command.”

Then he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, filled with passion and love that words would never be able to truly express. You melted in to him and reciprocated with just as much feeling. Now this, you thought, is one hell of a birthday gift. I really do have everything.

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bluegekk0 · 11 months ago

Note

It's more akin to how various realms of gods work in mythologies, with actual gods residing there, as opposed to regular bugs/creatures appearing there with god-like names. That said, there would still be many gods to be found there. Godhome is the home of all the gods of their world, not just those of Hallownest. Instead, they're further divided into Pantheons, and Pantheon of Hallownest includes The Radiance, Grimm, White Lady, Unn and possibly more if I end up desiging some new gods for the region. The Radiance and Grimm's father was also part of it (and essentially its ruler), but he's dead now. Worth mentioning that there is definitely a level between Godhome and Pantheon of Hallownest, which includes gods from the general geographical region Hallownest is found in. I'd love to one day sit down and come up with the hierarchy of the gods's world for the AU, so if I end up doing that, I'll have more to share!

When Grimm was banished, The Radiance stripped him of the ability to enter Godbome as a whole, not just the Pantheon he belongs to. Normally gods can't do that to one another, but being siblings who were created from the same mold and consequently very alike, they knew each other's weaknesses better than anyone. After defeating him in battle and sending him back to his !ightmare realm, The Radiance was able to create a permanent "lock" only she was able to reverse, which prevented him from leaving it (he could only enter the physical realm, as it's positioned way below the god realms in the hierarchy; though for that he needed a physical form, as his godly form was still bound to the nightmare realm). Grimm eventually got his payback when he suggested using void to defeat her, which was her ultimate demise.

I mention this, because the vision of Godhome that's suggested in the game would not allow for this kind of story, and I did not want to change or scrap it since I think it's a necessary aspect of my interpretations of these character. So, because Godhome as it is can already be a bit confusing, I thought I'd just take it in my own direction.

Feel free to send any asks about it if you want me to clarify anything or share more details, I don't want to make this reblog chain too long hahaha

is godseeker dead and what would they think of fpk if they knew they used to be pk

I think she's dead, yeah, being exposed to this much void is deadly. If she wasn't, though, she would be shocked to hear that Vyrm rejected his godhood, though I also imagine she'd be surprised to hear that he wasn't actually a god and was pretty much just pretending. For that reason, I don't think she would like him very much, I feel she'd find that insulting to actual gods.

#feral pk au #grimm #radiance #fpk au: worldbuilding

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ricaffeine · 5 years ago

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐓𝐰𝐨

an: in conclusion i suck at writing, this took far too long to write and i'm not impressed. fingers crossed that the next chapter will make up for it 🖤

leave a comment! i'd appreciate it a lot :))

CHAPTER THREE

The doors creaked open, screeching into the frosty silent of the night, before snapping loudly against the wall. In contrast of the dark night, the full moon shined proudly, its light gently twinkled through the glass ceiling of the room.

Followed by were firm footsteps, shoe soles tapped against the hardwood floor and fainted into the distant. He collapsed onto his arm chair, a sigh of relief washing over as he shifted his weight back.

A knock was heard twice, followed by a steady pace of footsteps that visited the room. Kangtae averted his vision to the man– no, the ghost. Polished in his neat blue uniform, reflecting against the moonlight was a silver half-moon shaped pin tucked above his chest.

"Mr. Moon, you're back." His voice emitted softly as he stopped right in front of the desk- exactly four feet away– accompanying in this hotel for over seventy years– the longest person aside from Kangtae yet to stay, he had his own merits. Jin Hyun paused reluctantly, his wrinkles creasing from concern, eyes wide alert. "What happened to your hand?"

At first a bit muddled, but realization crept after him and Kangtae sighed. Glancing at his blood-clothed hand– scenarios of red winded up in his head. "Ah.. this?"

That impulsive woman.

"Just some accident." His reply was simple– like the man he was and unlike the moon guest house's previous owner, he was, you can say, far less complicated.

Kangtae peeled at his clothed hand, anticipating as the blood wrenched skin morphed back to what was before, clean flesh took back its place. "Where's Manager Lee?"

He then reached for his whiskey decanter, filling up a quarter of the lowball glass. "Isn't she back yet?"

Jinhyun hesitated. "About that, I'm afraid to tell you that there had been a major issue regarding your latest purchase. But do not worry sir, Manager Lee will inform you once she has discussed with the–"

"Tell her to take the day off tomorrow." Kangtae spoke and sipped his glass, embracing the scorching burn that drained down his chest. "I'll manage it myself."

Although struck in confusion, the old spirit knew better than to question his boss's command. Jinhyun nodded reluctantly, made sure he would address the message to the mortal being.

"It's the full moon today, so I think we are expecting many guests."

Kangtae drained his glass and set it back on the table, jaw clenched at the comment– though it was swiftly masked away with his poker face. "Open for business, but don't accept the ones whose death were so gruesome. They're a pain in the ass."

Suppressing the urge to tell him that discriminations shouldn't be allowed, instead Jinhyun bowed, no interest to provoke any further into his bitterness. "I will take special care, so they won't get in your way."

He left with another steady bow, footsteps fell into the distant and Kangtae picked on the red stained cloth that layed flat on his desk. A blue flame lit up on its end, he watched waves of blue consumed all of it, before golden ashes swirled and vanished into thin air.

One speck however, did not follow and he reached out, trapping it between his pincers.

"Ko Munyeong, what should I do with you?"

Munyeong slapped her phone shut.

Frustration built up like a ticking bomb as she threw it behind her. It landed with a loud thud, but she could care less. Yesterday's event had bittered her enough and Sangin's repeating missed calls since 6 a.m. weren't brightening her mood any better. Tires screeched against the waxed floor as she struck a sharp turn into the parking slot, the reserved for CEO sign knocked into nowhere.

In her new prized possession, Munyeong stomped through the building, brave less employees– who ever barely had the guts to look at her on a usual day, shuddered twice as much–

"Good morning Ms. Ko!" The tiny body wiggled its way to block her off. A weary smile is served from Sangin's pesky assistant.

"Move aside."

Seungjae shuffled, hands suspiciously frantic as she spoke. "Mr. Lee just informed me that he will be here soon–"

Munyeong hissed. "And?"

"..And that you should go wait in his office." She finished meekly, unsure of her tone.

"Why would I wait there?" She pointed her finger foward. "The meeting room is right here."

Not intrigued for her reply, Munyeong nagged the girl's shoulder, rather she'd figure it out herself.

"Move."

She strolled across, then paused within her pace, eyes captivated by a figure. Leaning onto the metal rail, Prada purse dangling in the air, she hummed in her own favor.

Ah. Him again.

"What a sight." Munyeong said as she stepped down in her extravagant red mini dress, ballooned sleeves cuffed tight at her wrists, a plunging neckline where she proudly presents her new gold necklace. True to her words, he appeared just as fine. Black slacks– which to her favor, did an incredible job in displaying his godly thighs. Cuffed sleeves of his button up accentuated his broad broad shoulders, and the spectacular waistcoat that hugged his chest.

"You look more dashing in these clothes."

The man teared his eyes away from The Witch's Rose– another of her cash-claiming pieces. A work of watercolors and actual blood splayed onto the canvas, everyone who has seen it ends up in complete awe.

However his gaze was not purely admiration, rather laced with criticism– certainly something she never enjoyed from anyone. But there are some exceptions for some specific people, aren't they?

"I thought you were different, but I was obviously wrong." She crossed her arms. "How much did he offer you?"

His voice was rough, almost coarse even. "If you can't talk politely, at least try to not be so cryptic."

"Ah. Look at you talking so casually."

Munyeong raised her chin and barged into his space, weaklings would have already shown signs of discomfort, but surprisingly he was remarkably unbothered. She dragged a finger along his shoulder, the curve of his skin firm beneath her touch, and tapped his bicep. "I practically stabbed you."

He swiveled around, this time his body directly faced hers. "What about it?"

"How much did Mr. Lee offer you to compensate and make sure your mouth stays shut?"

A short spur of silence fell before he let out an cocky ahh. "I'm guessing that method always works."

Her smile dropped. "Verbal consolation is bullshit, money is best."

"You really think so?"

She shrugged. "Then what do you want?" Eyes wide as she suggested. "Sex?"

In a swift moment he had drowned closer to her. His gaze burned at her, brushing at her lips and froze. "Is it worth that much?"

Admittedly he was good at getting on her nerves. Too good, though she'd never lose to anyone, including him. Munyeong let out a scoff.

"If you're not here for money nor sex, then what do you want?

He cocked his head slightly, his prominent eyes playing innocent and for a second Munyeong forgot that they were bickering. "A refund?"

A snap back to reality, her face laced with confusion. "What refund?"

He dodged her question and looked over her shoulder. "Ah. There it comes."

She turned around to see a Sangin entering with a box of not-so-secret cash in his hands.

"Good afternoon Mr. Moon Kangtae. I deeply apologize for what happened, what can we do–"

As usual, meetings with her always began with Sangin's devastated face– knowing all the trouble she is going to cost him– but today it did seem particularly worse.

Kantae lifted his hand, as if it was a sign to stop. "Let's cut to the chase– I want my money back."

Sangin's smile dropped, though immediately replaced by his appealing mask. "Yes, I understand–"

Kangtae stared at Munyeong, a smirk rising on the corner of his lips. "Including our little incident, I say it'd be 11 million."

Tragically, Munyeong had not noticed by the consequence of the appalling numbers. She snapped at the man to her side. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Sangin sighed. "Munyeong-ah, you see.. your little smashing session. It had wrecked The Nightmare Garden, therefore, we will have to repay our client. Mr. Kangtae is here to–"

Client?

Her eyes shot at him again, impossibly wider. "What do you mean client? Then who was that snobby lady?"

"Ms. Lee is my representative." Kangtae stepped in. "But it doesn't matter. The fact that you jeopardized my painting with that cheap wine-"

"I'm not giving up my money!"

"Well, there's nothing you can do." He smiled– devilishly and yes Munyeong would kill to wipe it off his charming face.

"You'll be hearing from my lawyers in a few days." Kangtae reached for his box of honey money, which was sheepishly handed from Sangin. "Until then, I'll take this."

With another amused– and irritatingly handsome smile, and piles of cash he headed off. Left in silence was a raging pit of fire and its hopeless manager.

Three hours and seven corspe employees later, Munyeong crumbled the paper cup in her hand. Furious was an understatement. How could she give her money back to him? She was set, eyes on her prize but just like a fucking clownery it vanished into thin air.

"Aish Moon Kangtae, that bastard." Munyeong trampled at the crumbled trash, letting out on a slice of her frustration. It was his choice to interfere with her, no one forced him to.

"Oh my my, you're a such a pretty girl." A squeaky voice giggled, penetrating into her quiet atmosphere.

She glanced at the lady, head to toe. Dressed in a horrifying shade of hot pink. Her frail grey hair was topped by a floppy hat- also in the same absurd color. She seemed to fond pearls, as it was accented everywhere, including on wrinkly her fingers where she had slotted a card in between. "Mr. Kangtae had asked me to pass this to you."

Her high-pitched voice rang like bells as she added. "He also said that he'd be willing to compromise, if' you go visit his hotel."

Munyeong raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

With a delighted smile, the lady nodded along and Munyeong promptly snatched it, ambiguous eyes interpreted onto the cursive blue lettering.

"Hotel.. Blue Moon?"

A condescending smile played on her lips. More so amused by the piece of paper and unaware of the soft breeze that swept past her.

Fine. If he wants to play with her, she'll play with him.

#it's okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #iotnbo #pbio fic #kdrama #kim soohyun #seo yeaji #hotel moon light #hotel blue moon #moon kang tae #moon gang tae #ko mun yeong #사이코지만괜찮아 #호텔 델루나

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