#my impression of me violently contorting and shrivelling up

[benanazauce]

expression practice!! I need to rip this game apart with my Teeth

[winterheart17]

How To Intimidate A Writer

TITLE OF STORY: How To Intimidate A Writer

CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: Part 27

AUTHOR: winterheart17

WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Loki

STORY GENRE: Romance, Drama, Erotica

STORY SUMMARY: I think we can all just agree this has turned into a proper series even though it started off as a compilation of one shots for my story ‘How To Love A Writer’! What happens when a struggling virginal historical romance writer and the God of Mischief are thrown together, locked in a mansion and agree to a game of love and seduction?

STORY RATING: M

STORY WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: None for this!

FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Whew, sorry for the long break! I initially wanted to make this chapter longer - but as I was writing it, it kinda took a life of its own and I figured the part I had in mine (after where this one ends) would be better as another chapter. That’s the one I’m hoping all of you will feel proud of Little Writer! Until then, consider this as a build-up for an interesting chapter ahead (sorry, I know this chapter isn’t super jam-packed with things happening, but trust in the process! This build-up was needed). Feedback would be wonderful and ever inspiring for writing updates! <3 Do let me know if anyone would like to be on or of the tag list. 

Tagging @devikafernando @ureyesonly21 @nuggsmum @queen-sands @ihatespoilers @say-my-name-assbut @hsvbabe @jrubalcaba @dandelionlady96  @ashleyloveslots  @kiera-auroraborealis @alexakeyloveloki @damageditem @lokilvrr @cuteandnerdythings @everythingeverywherelistening @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @tfwqueenidjit @xxxprettydeadgirlxxx @noplacelikehome77 @vertdragain  @jessiejunebug @toaster-strudel-witch @a7xlizardqueen @starscreamloki @tinchentitri @prettyjewel93 @chantimoondancer @dangertoozmanykids101 @winterisakiller @humbleslvt

Masterpost of How To Love A Writer

Alternate link to Masterpost of How To Love A Writer (in case the above doesn’t work)

Well, fuck.

My fingers ran across the tines of the three forks placed to my left as I sat there, having ruminated for the past ten minutes, trying my best to recall if proper dining etiquette dictated I started with the utensils going outwards in, or vice versa.

Did they even adhere to the dining etiquette we had on Earth?

The placement of their utensils certainly alluded to so.  

And the last thing I wanted to do was to give them any cause to mock me or look at me with their downturned snobbish expressions.

How typical of a Midgardian.

I could already taste the disdain that would roll so easily and loosely off their tongues if the shifty and really, not-very-subtle gazes from various Asgardians seated at the long table – stretched from one end of the hall to the other – were anything to go by.

I winced, shifting in my seat. The high back of the chair was hard and stiff – made from pure gold, I was certain, what with the flamboyant theatrics the entire Hall was decked out in tonight.

It appeared… this King Ehrendil was someone to be impressed.

Though why, was absolutely beyond me as the minutes continued ticking away and he was nowhere to be seen.

If there was anything I detested, it was someone else who would take someone else’s time for granted – as if he or she had more important things to attend to instead of keeping an appointment. And judging from the amount of people seated at the table – I don’t think I did particularly well in Math in highschool, but I’d be damned if there weren’t at least 30 of us waiting with bated breath.

10 minutes? I could deal. Half an hour?

What was he doing?

Counting every single strand of eyebrow hair for his subjects to fawn over?

Well, it was no wonder his daughter turned out to be such a piece of work, whom, might I not-so-snidely note wasn’t present at the table either.

My eyes flickered to the figure sat across me and I berated myself for feeling my heart shrivel a little further with deflated hope as he sat there as he had for the past half hour – jaw locked in stoic silence with his eyes trained in every direction except the one where I would interrupt his line of vision.

What had I been expecting?

“I think I love you.”

My heart beat furiously in my chest – like a little hummingbird, drained and exhausted, but refused to be silenced.

Even when his arms around me tensed.

Even when I manoeuvred myself, tilting my head upwards only to see his jaw harden and his eyes sewn shut.

Even when my heart thudded dully in my chest – the little claws of doubt sinking into it – all flesh and blood as the thrumming grew louder and louder in my ears as seconds ticked past, melding into minutes.

Say anything.

I wanted to shout.

Wanted to scream.

Wanted to yell and shake him alive until my throat was raw and the colour of crimson red that splattered my insides.

Suddenly, all went quiet.

Silent.

And in that little space between the soft and even expelling of his breath and the loosening of his grip around me, I found my answer.

It was painful and it was damn near impossible to face, but it was the truth.

Rejection resided there.

Existed and grew tenfold until it filled every nook and cranny in my body – crushing my lungs.

Wheezing.

I gasped.

I couldn’t help it – couldn’t quite find an outlet for the stab that quietened into an ache that spread across my body, twisting and turning in my veins.

And still… still I could not bring myself to regret the words.

Even though I knew they were a mistake.

Even though I felt him pull further away than he had ever had before – placing brick after brick between the both of us to erect that infinite barrier he was walling himself into.

Even though a voice inside of me screamed that I had just single-handedly destroyed all that I had worked so hard towards.

And what was that?

A voice echoed in my head.

Just what had I been working so hard towards that I had sacrificed everything that should have mattered to me: the truth, my dignity, my heart.

To keep him by your side, you silly little girl.

And my throat began to close up – could feel the threatening prick of tears in my eyes.

The words had come out so effortlessly, so bravely… I’d be damned if I allowed myself to be shamed for them.

My fingers dug into his skin, unconsciously – leaving behind little red crescent marks.

He cleared his throat.

“I think we should sleep now.”

“You start with the outermost fork,” a gruff voice jolted me out of my painful recollection of the previous night’s happenings.

Of course, we hadn’t had a chance to since then speak.

When first light broke out across the sky, I had turned after a fitful night of sleep only to find his side of the bed cold, empty, and wanting. I couldn’t quite remember how long I had laid there, curled up in a ball, waiting for the tears to come.

Except they didn’t.

Not this time.

There was no sobbing and no theatrics, just numbness that chained my limbs and kept my eyes to the ceiling for hours on end until I dragged myself out of bed.

My head whipped to the right, in search of the owner’s voice.

And I found myself staring straight into a pair of familiar blue eyes.

“Thor!” the single syllable slipped out, carrying surprise.

Both seats that flanked me had been vacant prior to me spacing out – nobody had deigned to sit next to the lowly Midgardian, it appeared. Even if it was close to their King who sat at the head of the table next to Queen Frigga. There were two opposing empty seats right next to them and I could only deduce that they were reserved for the royal asses – literally and figuratively.  

He gave me an impish grin and a wink.

“Ah, just as I suspected, the Pompous Prick has yet to make an appearance. It was just as well I had slipped into the Royal Kitchens for some sustenance given his predilection for tardiness,” he quipped, before giving his taut belly a light but firm pat.

My eyes widened.

“The Pompous Prick?” I reiterated, slowly and carefully just to ensure I hadn’t misheard.

Unless they associated another sort of meaning with ‘pompous’ and ‘prick’ here on Asgard.

He raised a brow, before leaning in with slight tilt of his chin in agreement.

I followed suit.

“He’s a difficult to take a liking to being who thinks everyone is beneath him. Only Father would deem him worthy of such prestige. You have met his offspring, I presume?” he continued and I almost chocked.

Offspring.

He uttered the word with enough of a shudder and a tinge of revulsion, I couldn’t help but feel a kick of smugness in knowing I wasn’t the only one at the table who saw through her fake ass bullshit.

“Halwen?” I asked in hushed tones.

He wrinkled his nose.

“I take it you don’t like her?” I prodded.

He let out a derisive snort.

“If she had something to take a liking to in the first place,” he threw back.

“Oh, thank God,” I breathed, the prayer slipping out mindlessly and he raised a brow, quizzically.

“Which one?” he asked, and I had to stifle the urge not to burst out laughing like a maniacal woman.

Between torturing myself with unrequited feelings for a man who clearly derived satisfaction from using me and the outlandishly charming but buffoonish naivety of his brother – I could slowly feel my sanity slip out of my grip. Perhaps if I acted mad enough, they’d lock me away in their equivalent of an asylum.

“I’m just relieved you aren’t out to kiss both their asses like the rest of the goons here,” I explained in haste.

His eyes widened immediately for a fraction of a second, before his features contorted in absolute disgust as he shook his head, violently.

“Is this customary of you Midgardians? Twice now you have referenced what I may only imagine as a gesture and fascination Midgardians may have regarding… that area of… anatomy,” he forced out, making another face at what I could only imagine as garish imagery in his head.

If I hadn’t felt like choking then – I certainly felt like it now.

“That is not what it means!” I sputtered, straddling the line between exasperation and laughing.

He held up his hands as if in defence.

“While it may not be a tradition us Asgardians observe, far be it for me to pass judgement on the cultural exchanges of other beings,” he said in a non-committal response.

That earned him a thwack on his shoulder.

Which frankly, probably did my hand more harm than it did him.

“You didn’t tell me you were Thor, his brother,” I hissed.

He paused for a moment, looking genuinely flummoxed as to what I was referring to before a grin broke out wide across his face.

“Ah… that…” he muttered beneath his breath.

My eyes widened and I jabbed my finger into his forearm.

“Don’t you ah, that me. You knew exactly who I was and kept your identity a secret that night,” I admonished.

At least he had the decency to look sheepish as he ruffled his hair in an apologetic manner.

Almost.

“I thought it best lest you should mention to him of our encounter…” he started, his voice trailing off as his hand gestured as if expecting me to fill in the blanks.

I leaned closer, shaking my head at him – because if he was throwing a bone at me, I definitely wasn’t catching it.

He cleared his throat.

“Perhaps you have yet to notice, but my… brother doesn’t take too kindly to anything that involves my name. In fact, I am perhaps inviting his wrath just from my proximity to you right now,” he continued.

I glared at him still.

He winced, resting his hand on the back of his neck – his expression one reminiscent that of a guilty puppy and I felt my consternation budge.

God damn it.

I blew him a raspberry, throwing my hands in the air as I shrugged.

“Fine. I’ll let you off the hook this time. But in case you haven’t noticed, your brother and I… aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment. I hardly think he’d be bothered where I am concerned,” I hissed, trying to quieten the ringing truth I heard behind the words.

He paused, a brow slightly raised – disbelief clouding his eyes.

“I find that rather… difficult to believe,” he murmured, slowly.

And there it was – that little prick in my chest that had me torn between wanting to believe in the conviction he had in me and wanting to scream at his misguided trust.

My eyes narrowed on him.

“Oh, believe me. I wish it wasn—,” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the second I sat down,” he muttered his breath, so quickly and softly, it stunned me for a second.

“Wh—what?” I stuttered.

He met my gaze – his pupils sliding ever so subtly to the figure seated opposite us.

“He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since I sat down next to you,” he repeated, a little more solemnly this time.

My lips parted, eyes hazy and unfocused as I instinctively began to turn my head – as if his mere presence was the centre of my gravity – until Thor grabbed my forearm, firmly.

“Don’t look,” he bit out, snapping me back to reality.

He leaned in closer – so close I could feel his body heat emanating from his clothes as he blocked out whatever peripheral vision I had to whisper into my ear.

“There we go,” he mumbled and I didn’t even have to look at him to hear the smile in his voice.

“What?” I queried, not quite exactly sure what was going on.

“If I know my brother, and I believe I know him well – he should be roiling in his seat,” he continued, his words tinged with the low rumble of a chuckle.

Why?

Why bother?

The self-sympathetic question dancing on the tip of my tongue.

I wanted to tell Thor that it didn’t matter �� that I had torn out my heart and given it to him, but he didn’t want it anyway.

But instead, I cleared my throat.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, a lump lodged in the middle of my chest as he began to pull back, slowly.

Our eyes met and his twinkled.

“Because… sometimes… anger is needed to realise what is important in front of you,” he answered with a wink.

And in that very moment, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the warmth that bloomed in my chest, trickling into my veins.

How different these two brothers were – day and night.

I leaned back a little, studying the gruff figure in front of me – noticing the way his hair shone and glinted in the warmth of the light as his skin glowed golden.

The Golden boy.

How different he looked in comparison to skin that came alive under the pale silvery light of the moon with hair the shade that disappeared into the night.

I felt a twinge.

But before I could part my lips to utter a reply, the doors to the Great Hall were flung open, the creaking and groaning filled the space – taking over the low thrumming din that had been background noise as it dimmed into nothing but pin drop electrically-charged silence.

“Here we go,” Thor sighed, that denoted the next few minutes of my life weren’t going to be exactly pleasant, before he pushed his seat back slowly to stand in honour.

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor multiplied – echoing across the Hall as I followed suit, my eyes resting momentarily on Loki.

If he had been, as Thor had described, staring at us with venomously the entire time – he certainly wasn’t now.

His face was turned firmly away from me to his right and I followed his line of vision.

King Ehrendil.

Dressed in robes that called to mind the midnight sky laden with the twinkling of a million stars, I could only make out his profile as he strode past the entire length of his table – flanked left and right by guards with Halwen following close on his heels.

He was tall – that much I could make of and commanded a regal presence.

When he finally stopped about three seats away from us as he bowed his head ever so slightly as a gesture of respect towards Odin – in a manner that denoted he knew he was arrogantly that of higher ranking – I had to blink thrice to ensure the vision of the man in front of me was real.

His hair was that of starlight, long and straight that ended at his waist – his of that from another world with its soft and ethereal luminosity. A stark comparison to Halwen who seemed to gleam with the light from the sun.

“Asgard welcomes you, King Ehrendil,” Odin greeted with a bow himself.

I hadn’t even realised it was as if someone had hit the pause button on this entire scenario – I had barely even noticed how still everyone had become until both King Ehrendil and Halwen took their respective seats and it was almost as if every single individual let out a collective breath of relief, before the sound of chair legs scraping the floor resonated in the air once more as everyone settled back down.

“Thor,” I heard the sickeningly saccharine voice carry over to me as she sat down next to my only friend at the table… hell… in all of Asgard.

I didn’t have to turn to imagine the forced smile plastered across his face – could hear the reluctance in his voice as he returned her greeting.

“It has been far too long,” she remarked as I decided to return my concentration to the cutlery in front of me.

Keep my head low.

That was the game plan.

And not to speak unless absolutely required to or addressed.

Quite frankly, I swallowed, as I snuck another glance at the figure across the table who had started leaning in towards his left – his entire body tense and alert as he tried to make bits and pieces of the conversation between Odin and Ehrendil – the only thing that was weighing on my mind was the dreaded confrontation I knew was coming after all this was over.

I couldn’t…

I couldn’t keep living like this.

In limbo and in shame.

I tried to steady myself even as my hands began to shake at the very thought – if he didn’t want me, I would leave.

“Not nearly long enough,” I heard Thor mutter beneath his breath and it was difficult to stifle my smile.

“How have you been?” another question came and I wondered why in the world was she trying so very hard to win over someone who was clearly making his distaste for her evident.

Perhaps she was the sort who needed the adulation and adoration from everyone.

“Fairly well… until a few moments ago,” he answered, hesitating as he drew out the last few words so slowly, there was no mistaking the meaning behind those words.

There was a pregnant pause.

The tension palpable in the air and I only thanked the stars that he sat there separating the both of us.

“I see you’ve not lost much of your charm over time,” came the jab upon realisation that there was no need for such niceties.

“If only the same could have been said of you,” he jabbed right back.

A little bubble of mirth burst from my lips – I couldn’t help it. A reply as snide as that deserved a reaction.

It didn’t miss her ears and I only hoped to whatever higher power that was up there that it would grate further on her nerves.

“If I were you… I’d be showing a lot more respect to someone who may soon be a part of your family,” she growled.

Wow.

This woman took delusional to another level.

He let out a little snort.

“Well, then it is with much fortune – mine not yours – that you are not me, nor I am you,” he retorted and it took me all my willpower not to give this God a medal.

I could have sworn I heard a choking sound – perhaps the eek of her internal struggle of descending into incandescent rage and the awareness of not being able to blow her top off right there and then in front of so many.

I heard her clear her throat again, an underlying hitch that denoted a sense of purpose – a signal of sorts.

And from my peripheral vision, I saw King Ehrendil pause – filling my stomach with dread as the chatter between him and Odin slowly died down.

I knew what was coming next.  

And with the rest of the Hall’s chatter coming to a halt as the atmosphere began to climb electrically once more – it appeared that everyone else knew too.

“I believe an explanation on the breaking of the betrothal is required?” he queried.

God damn, even the man’s voice was out of this world – smooth and silky, caressing every nerve in my body as I froze, eyes still glued to the cutlery in front of me.

Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

It was quickly becoming clear that this would be my mantra for the night.

Prickly, uncomfortable silence spread across the Hall and I could only imagine the exchanging of awkward and concerned glances all around me.

“King Ehrendil, perhaps this conversation would be better suited in the priva—,” I recognised the timbre in Queen Frigga’s voice – a salve meant to soothe the thorny words and lingering hostility.

But he was having none of it.

A first thumped the table – the move reverberating throughout the Great Hall – causing my plate and cutlery to rattle. I jumped in my seat – almost jumping out of my skin at the unexpected display of anger.

“With all due respect, Queen Frigga…” his words meted out, cold and stony – even her name sounded derogatory coming from him.

“… this betrothal had been meant to be the unification between our worlds. Should the discussion of the breaking of it then not include both worlds? Or has years of peace lulled you into a false sense of impression that Alfheim would take such humiliation quietly?” he snapped.

Well, clearly, this was someone who got his way frequently.

“You misunderstand us, King Ehrendil,” Odin jumped in.

I snuck a glance up quickly at his face and there was no mistaking the displeasure he was openly displaying for the world to see. He arched a sardonic brow.

“A misunderstanding,” he repeated, slowly – rolling the words off his tongue, mockingly.

Quiet rage simmered beneath the surface – as if one tiny spark would be enough to set him off on a course of war.

“And was it a misunderstanding when Halwen delivered the news to me – the breaking of the betrothal… a treaty years in the making – instigated by your son, Loki, with no other explanation other than a… Midgardian girl is involved?” he growled, another fist to the table.  

Well, shit.

Right.

My heart thumped in my chest.

That’s my cue to look down.

Look down.

He turned his head, slowly.

Look the fuck down.

But it was too late.

Starlit eyes locked onto mine.