#v; forge of empires [threads] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaynothanks · 8 months ago

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THE BARGAIN STORE

Pairing: Loki x goddess!reader

Summary: You, a goddess hiding on Earth, encounter Loki, who eons ago vowed to kill you. Loki never was one to keep his word.

Warnings: (18+ mdni) loki, what else? the smut just happened, i don’t even know how (yes, I do), oral (f receiving), loki has ulterior motives, mention of blood (lip), unprotected p in v, vaginal fingering

Word-Count: 6.5 k

Nobody suspected anything. Never had. For the past few decades, you had been the owner of your little shop, after spending many centuries on the run.

Throughout centuries, there had been wars and revolutions, plagues and remedies. You had stood witness to them all. Watched from the distance as civilizations went into ruin and new ones emerged. You had made sure not to get too involved. It wasn’t your place; not your planet and not your people. Still, you had been on earth for a big part of your lifespan. In your world, you weren’t anything special, a sheep in a broad herd. And you had had enough of it. So, you had left. Ran from your responsibilities, bid no goodbyes and settled for something less.

Centuries had woven themselves into the very fabric of your being, each era a thread in the intricate tapestry of your existence. You had been many things: a whisper in the wind, a shadow in the twilight, a force as ancient and unyielding as the stars themselves. Yet, for the last few decades, you had chosen a far simpler, more unassuming role—a shopkeeper, tending to a quaint little establishment nestled on a serene street, far removed from the cacophony of the bustling city that surrounded it.

Your shop was a sanctuary, not just for you, but for all who sought refuge within its walls. From the outside, it appeared no different from any other boutique that dealt in herbs, teas, and the occasional curious trinket. However, its essence was imbued with something far more ancient, a magic that hummed quietly beneath the surface, perceptible only to those who truly believed or those who, like you, were of another world entirely.

This little shop was your haven, a place where you could be both less and more than what you were. Here, you were not the goddess who had danced among the stars, who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, who had fled from a war that threatened to consume her very soul. Here, you were simply the keeper of secrets, of remedies both mundane and magical, offering solace to the weary and the lost.

Your reasons for choosing this existence were manifold, but at their core lay a desire for peace, for a semblance of normalcy in a life that had been anything but. You had grown weary of the endless conflicts that had defined your existence, of the power struggles that had torn apart realms and ravaged worlds. Earth, with all its simplicity and complexity, offered a respite, a place where you could hide in plain sight among its inhabitants, who remained blissfully unaware of the greater cosmos that swirled around them.

The shop became a reflection of your desire for tranquility. Its walls were lined with shelves laden with jars and bottles, each containing herbs and potions that held whispers of your old world. You delighted in the mundane tasks of tending to your plants, mixing herbs, and brewing teas, finding a sense of purpose in the healing and comfort your creations provided. Your customers, none the wiser to the true nature of your being, were drawn to your shop by an inexplicable pull, leaving with remedies for their ailments and, sometimes, a lighter heart.

For years, this life had been enough. You had convinced yourself that you could forget, that you could move beyond the past and forge a new existence among the humans you had come to cherish. But the past, as it often does, refused to remain buried. It came for you on an unremarkable day, shattering the peace you had so carefully built with the ringing of the shop's bell and the entrance of a figure from a life you had tried to leave behind.

Loki's arrival was a storm on the horizon, a harbinger of chaos that threatened to upend the world you had created. The God of Mischief, with his piercing gaze and sly grin, embodied everything you had fled from: the power, the destruction, the endless machinations of gods and men. His presence in your shop, a place that had been untouched by the affairs of gods for so long, was a stark reminder that one could never truly escape their nature or their past.

The last time you had seen Loki, it was on the battlefield. You had been on opposing sides, and his last words to you were a vow of death. Yet, here he stood, looking around your shop with a curious gleam in his eyes, not having recognized you yet. Or had he? With Loki, one could never be too sure. You steadied yourself, the mask of the shopkeeper sliding effortlessly into place. "Can I help you find anything?" Your voice was calm, betraying none of the turmoil inside.

Loki turned his attention to you, his green eyes piercing. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of recognition, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "I'm looking for something unique," he declared, the silk of his voice wrapping around you like a familiar shroud. His steps were measured as he approached, the predator within barely leashed. "A gift for someone who values... rare items."

You couldn't help but wonder who Loki would consider worthy of a gift. Your curiosity, however, was a dangerous thing, especially around him. "I have a few rare herbs and special tea blends. If you're looking for something more unique, perhaps a potion or two? Depending on what you wish to achieve." You kept your tone neutral, professional.

It was a game of cat and mouse, and you both knew it. Loki's lips twitched into a smile, and he moved closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "And what would you recommend for someone seeking... forgiveness?"

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, the mask slipped. Loki was asking for forgiveness? From whom? The thought that it might be you crossed your mind, but you dismissed it just as quickly. "Forgiveness is not easily obtained by potions alone. It requires sincerity and action. But," you paused, turning to fetch a small, unassuming bottle from a shelf behind you, "this may aid in opening the heart to forgiveness, making it more receptive."

He took the bottle, examining it with a thoughtful expression. "And what do you seek, shopkeeper? What would you have me pay for this aid?"

"Peace," the word slipped out before you could stop it. It was the truth, however. Peace was all you had sought by coming to Earth, peace from your past, from the endless battles and politics of gods.

"A tall order," Loki mused, placing the bottle down and stepping closer, invading your personal space. "But perhaps not impossible."

The tension between you was palpable, a dance of curiosity, old grudges, and unspoken questions. "Why are you here, Loki?" you dared to ask, needing to know his purpose. Your heart raced, not just from surprise but from a resurgence of a darker thrill you thought you had buried deep within. The life you had led before, filled with power plays and destruction, beckoned with a seductive finger through Loki's emerald gaze. As Loki dared to step closer, crossing the invisible boundary you had mentally drawn around yourself, a surge of defiance ignited within you. Your heart raced, not solely with fear but with the resurgence of a power you had long kept dormant. With a thought as sharp as a whispered incantation, you summoned a dagger into existence. It materialized in your hand, its golden blade gleaming with a light that spoke of ancient magics and forgotten realms. This was no mere weapon but a relic of your divine heritage, a testament to the might you once wielded freely.

You didn't hesitate. The years had taught you caution, yes, but they had also honed your instincts, sharpened them into lethal points. As Loki advanced, a smile playing on his lips as if he were merely a predator toying with his prey, you struck. The movement was fluid, a dance you had performed countless times across the battlegrounds of the stars. The blade sliced through the air, aimed with deadly precision at the figure before you.

But the strike met no resistance. Instead, the dagger sliced through the illusion, the projection of Loki dissipating into nothingness, leaving behind only the faintest traces of his magic in the air. It was a trick, a mere sleight of hand from the God of Mischief, and you had fallen for it. A cold realization washed over you, a reminder of Loki's cunning, of the depths of his power which, it seemed, had only grown over the years.

Before you could recover, before you could even curse your own folly, arms enveloped you from behind. It was an embrace as familiar as it was unexpected, one that spoke of countless lifetimes and entwined destinies. His hand snaked around your waist, securing you against him with an intimacy that belied the years of separation and the shadow of past betrayals. The other hand, firm and unyielding, gripped hold of your wrist, effortlessly disarming you of the dagger you had conjured. Its golden light flickered and died, leaving you exposed, vulnerable in a way that went beyond the physical.

Loki's breath was warm against your neck, his presence a cloak of inevitability you found yourself powerless to resist. "How I have missed you, darling," he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin, a mix of threat and endearment. In that moment, with Loki's arms around you and his voice weaving spells of its own, you were transported back across the aeons, to a time when love and war were intermingled, and your fate was inseparably tied to the whims of gods.

The realization that the figure you had attacked was but a projection, a mere echo of Loki's true self, sank in with a weight that was almost suffocating. It was a reminder of his mastery over illusions, over the realities he could weave with a mere thought. Yet, the arms that held you, the breath that teased the hairs at the nape of your neck, they were undeniably real. This was no illusion but the god himself, in flesh and blood, as tangible as the tumultuous history you shared.

The conflict within you, a storm of emotions and memories, raged with renewed intensity. Loki's proximity, his touch, it reignited flames you thought had long since turned to ash. But this was not the time for reminiscences, for getting lost in what had been. The immediate truth was that Loki, the very being who had once vowed your destruction, now held you within his grasp, not as an enemy, but with a possessiveness that spoke of deeper, more complex intentions.

As his hand released your wrist, letting the vanished dagger be forgotten, you were left to grapple with the reality of his return. His words, laden with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher, echoed in the silence that followed. Was it a declaration, a manipulation, or something in between? With Loki, the lines were always blurred, the truth as shifting as the sands of time. The shop around you, once a sanctuary of peace, now felt like a stage set for a confrontation centuries in the making. The tranquility you had so carefully cultivated was shattered, replaced by the crackling energy of a storm about to break. Loki's presence, both familiar and foreboding, promised nothing and everything, a paradox that was his very essence.

Still ensnared in Loki's unexpected embrace, his words lingering in the air between you, a whirlwind of emotions battled within you. Anger, betrayal, and a flicker of something dangerously akin to longing. His presence, his closeness, was overwhelming, yet you found the clarity to make a choice. You would play his game, match his deceit with your own cunning, even as thoughts of vengeance danced just beneath the surface of your composed exterior.

Turning your head to face him, you allowed the moment to stretch, to teeter on the edge of something neither of you could fully grasp. Your lips hovered so close to his, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, a tantalizing promise of what could be. "Have you now, my love?" The words slipped from your lips, laced with a venom sweetened by the honeyed guise of affection. It was a challenge, a provocation, delivered with the precision of one who knew just how to stir the god of mischief.

Loki responded not with words, but with action. He hummed, a sound that vibrated with a multitude of unspoken thoughts and desires, before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. It was a bold move, one that sought to bridge centuries of separation and silence with the intimacy of a moment. The kiss was a fusion of past and present, a clash of wills and desires, as complex and enigmatic as Loki himself.

Yet, as his lips moved against yours, a part of you recoiled, a reminder of the chasm that lay between what was and what could never be. With a resolve as cold and sharp as a blade, your hand found its way into the silk of his dark locks. You allowed yourself a brief second, a heartbeat, to feel the warmth of him, to breathe in the scent that was undeniably Loki, before your fingers curled into a fist, gripping tightly.

With a swift, decisive motion, you pulled him away, breaking the kiss, severing the illusion of reconciliation and intimacy. "I don't believe you for a second," you hissed, the words dark and laden with all the unspoken truths and lies that had accumulated over the years. It was a declaration of war as much as it was a rejection, a line drawn in the sand that marked the boundary between past affections and present distrust.

Loki, taken aback by the suddenness of your rejection, the intensity of your grip, could only stare, the mask of charm and seduction slipping to reveal a glimpse of the genuine surprise and, perhaps, a flicker of a bruised ego beneath his mask. The god of mischief, so accustomed to being the orchestrator of deceit, found himself momentarily at a loss, caught in the web of his own making. The air between you crackled with tension, charged with the electricity of a storm on the horizon. In that moment, with the remnants of the kiss still lingering like a phantom touch upon your lips, the complexity of your relationship with Loki was laid bare. It was a tapestry woven with threads of love and hatred, betrayal and longing, each stitch a testament to the turbulent history you shared.

Your defiance, your refusal to succumb to the seduction of a momentary weakness, set the stage for what was to come. It was a declaration that you were no longer the deity who had fled, who had sought refuge in the shadows of anonymity. You were a force to be reckoned with, a player in the game of gods, and Loki would do well to remember that.

Loki's response to your defiance was as swift as it was unpredictable. His initial surprise at your resistance melted away into that all-too-familiar grin, a mischievous curve of his lips that had always heralded trouble. The atmosphere shifted palpably, charged with a tension that was as much about power as it was about the unresolved history simmering between you. He advanced, the godly aura that clung to him making the air around you thrum with energy. His approach was deliberate, each step calculated to intimidate and enthrall in equal measure. You found yourself retreating until the solid form of the front desk halted your escape, the mundane reality of your shop a stark contrast to the unfolding drama.

Loki's fingers, cool and assertive, found the hem of your clothes, tugging with a playful yet disapproving frown. "I must confess, I find myself at odds with your choice of attire," he remarked, his voice a low purr that vibrated with an undercurrent of something darker. "These... mundane garments do not suit you. I miss the dresses of old, the ones that whispered secrets against your skin, the ones I could remove with but a thought." His words were a deliberate provocation, designed to unnerve and reminisce a past intimacy that had once been.

Before you could muster a retort or push him away, he lifted you with an ease that spoke of his godly strength, sitting you atop the counter with a possessive certainty. The action was bold, an invasion of personal space that he seemed to relish, watching for your reaction, gauging how far he could push before you snapped. His behavior, this blend of familiarity and threat, placed you at a crossroads. Part of you, the part hardened by centuries of hiding and surviving, screamed for caution, for you to summon your powers and push him away, to reinforce the boundaries he so blatantly disregarded. Yet, another part, perhaps the part that had once known him more intimately, that remembered the complexity of his character, urged you to wait, to use this proximity to your advantage.

The realization dawned on you then, amid the tension and the charged air, that Loki's tactics had shifted because he needed something from you. His words, his actions, were part of a larger game, one that involved merely his goal, and by extension, you. It was a game of manipulation, of old affections twisted into new strategies, but it was also a game you could play.

"So, you miss the past," you found yourself saying, voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within you. Your eyes locked with his, a challenge laid bare. "But the past is a realm even you cannot return to, Loki. We are not who we once were, and desires... desires can be as fleeting as they are dangerous." It was a gamble, invoking both your shared history and the undeniable tension of the present. You sought to remind him that you were not the same deity he had once known, that you had grown and changed, just as he had. In this dance of words and wills, you were not just the prey he might have assumed you to be; you were a player in your own right, with your own cards yet to be revealed.

The next move was his, and the air between you crackled with the anticipation of it.

Loki's gaze, a maelstrom of green, held yours with an intensity that bordered on the palpable, each flicker of emotion a testament to the centuries that had shaped him. His response, when it came, was threaded with the weight of ages and the depth of a god's desires.

"My yearning for you," he began, his voice a low thrum that seemed to echo with the gravitas of eons passed, "has never been of the fleeting kind. It is as enduring as the stars that light our skies, as unyielding as the fabric of reality itself. To suggest otherwise is to misunderstand the very nature of my being."

With these words, he sank to his knees before you, an act so filled with symbolic surrender and yet charged with an undercurrent of strategy. In this position, Loki, the god of mischief, the architect of chaos, positioned himself in a posture of fealty—or so it seemed. Yet, you knew better than to take the gesture at face value. Loki was many things, but straightforward was not one of them. Every action, every word, was laced with layers of meaning, designed to manipulate and coax the desired response from those he engaged with.

His move was bold, a calculated risk meant to disarm and perhaps to remind you of the dynamics that had once defined your interactions. It was an acknowledgment of your power, your importance in this intricate game he was playing. Yet, it was also unmistakably a ploy, a way to close the distance between you, to weave a narrative of shared history and unresolved tension.

The air around you seemed charged, thick with the history and the palpable tension of the moment. Loki, on his knees, looking up at you with an intensity that spoke of genuine desire mixed with the ever-present calculation, presented a picture of vulnerability. Yet, you were not so easily swayed. You knew the depths of his cunning, the lengths he would go to achieve his ends. His admission, cloaked in the grandiosity of his age and station, left you with a choice. To engage, to allow yourself to be drawn back into the orbit of his world, his plans, or to hold firm, to remember the reasons for your distance, for the life you had chosen away from the machinations of gods and their games.

The moment stretched, a tableau of tension and possibility, as you weighed your response, acutely aware of the stakes, of the game that was afoot, and of Loki, who knelt before you, a god cloaked in the guise of a supplicant, yet undeniably dangerous, undeniably compelling.

As Loki knelt before you, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken words, you made a decision. Lifting your leg, the black of your heeled shoes catching the light and glinting ominously, you pushed against his shoulder. It was a gesture meant to distance, to assert your autonomy against his sudden show of vulnerability or manipulation—whichever it truly was. Your voice, when it came, was laced with a mixture of resolve and undeniable truth, a reflection of the complex dance that had always defined your interactions.

"Your desire for me," you began, your words deliberate, "could never hope to keep pace with your lust for your myriad schemes and machinations, my love." The term of endearment, spoken so, carried a weight of irony, a nod to the past entanglements and the understanding that, for Loki, the pursuit of his goals often overshadowed everything else.

Yet, instead of acquiescing to the push, of allowing himself to be dismissed so easily, Loki's reaction was to tighten his grasp on the situation—quite literally. His hands, those instruments of mischief and manipulation, found your leg, his touch bold as he held you in place. Then, with an audacity that was quintessentially Loki, he pressed his lips against your calf in a kiss that was as shocking as it was calculated. It was an act of defiance, a refusal to be pushed away, and a statement of his intent all at once.

This gesture, so intimate and yet so brazen, served multiple purposes. It was a challenge to your autonomy, a test of your boundaries, and an undeniable declaration of his continued interest. Yet, it was also unmistakably Loki—crossing lines, blurring boundaries, and always, always pushing for more than what was offered. The action left you momentarily stunned, grappling with the rush of emotions it elicited. Anger, irritation, an unwelcome surge of something more confusing, all mingled together. It was a reminder of the power he wielded, not just through his magic, but through his very presence, his ability to unnerve and to provoke.

In that moment, the complexity of your relationship with Loki was laid bare once more. It was a tangled web of attraction and repulsion, of history and the potential for future conflicts. His refusal to be dismissed, to be pushed aside, was both infuriating and intriguing. It was Loki in all his complexity, challenging you to respond, to engage, to once again become entangled in the endless cycle of push and pull that had always defined you.

The next move was yours to make, and the shop, once a place of mundane tranquility, had become a battleground of wills, a stage upon which the next act of your shared story would unfold. With a flick of your fingers, reality within the confines of your shop twisted and shifted, unfurling like the petals of a flower under the first light of dawn. The mundane guise that had cloaked the truth from prying eyes dissolved, revealing the hidden splendor that no ordinary human could perceive. The illusion you had meticulously maintained for years now peeled away, and the floor beneath your feet transformed, paths of gold unfurling like rivers through the space. Artifacts, their origins as ancient and varied as the stars themselves, now adorned the walls—each piece a testament to histories untold and powers unimaginable.

But the transformation did not stop with the shop. It enveloped you as well, the very essence of your being responding to the unspoken command. The simple, mundane dress that had draped your form vanished, replaced by attire that echoed Loki's wistful remembrance. What materialized was reminiscent of your homeland's attire, designed for the relentless heat and the unyielding brightness of your realm. It was barely more than a tunic, the silk woven in patterns that spoke of ancient craftsmanship and royal decree, clinging to your form in a way that left little to the imagination. The hem flirted with the very brink of decency, the rump of your body barely shielded by the delicate fabric, a bold declaration of your heritage and status.

In this transformation, you reclaimed a fragment of your past self, the visage you had donned before you sought refuge and anonymity amongst the mortals of Earth. The change was not merely physical but symbolic, a shedding of the facade you had adopted to navigate the complexities of a world not your own. Standing there, in the true appearance of your being, you confronted Loki not as the unassuming shopkeeper he had encountered moments before, but as the goddess you truly were—powerful, formidable, and undeniably yourself. You stood before him not as an adversary to be underestimated, but as an equal, a being of immense power and depth, whose true nature was as complex and as potent as his own.

The shop, now a reflection of truths long concealed, served as the perfect backdrop for the unfolding confrontation. The artifacts that lined the walls, each bearing witness to the ages and the stories they contained, stood as silent sentinels to the encounter between two beings who transcended the mundane, whose histories were intertwined with the very fabric of the cosmos.

In this moment, the illusion shattered, the truth laid bare, you awaited Loki's response, the air thick with anticipation and the weight of unspoken challenges. The game, it seemed, had shifted, and the rules were being rewritten with each passing second. As the golden light settled and the true form of your shop shimmered into existence around you, Loki's initial reaction was a momentary flicker of surprise that quickly morphed into an appreciative smirk. His gaze swept over the transformed space, taking in the ancient artifacts and the streams of gold that ran like rivers across the floor. But it was the change in you that held his attention captive. The way the silk of your tunic clung to your form, the bold declaration of your divine heritage—it was as if he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

Loki breathed, his voice a blend of admiration and something darker, more primal. "This," Loki's voice wove through the air with an echo of ancient power, "is the true essence of you that lingers in my memory.” His eyes, alight with a mischievous and predatory gleam, never left your form as he slowly circled you, taking in every detail. "Hiding in plain sight, were we?" he mused, his tone teasing yet laced with an edge that hinted at the complexity of your shared past.

Despite the tension crackling in the air between you, you stood your ground, your posture radiating confidence and power. "And what of it, Loki?" you countered, your voice steady and imbued with strength. "Did you expect to find me cowering? Diminished?"

Loki's circling came to a halt, and he faced you, the distance between you charged with an electric anticipation. "On the contrary," he replied, his voice soft yet carrying an undeniable weight, as his fingers went forward, pulling at one of the strings keeping your body hidden from his gaze. "I've always known your strength, your... resilience. It's what makes this game so exhilarating."

The word 'game' hung between you, a reminder of the countless layers and facades both of you had navigated over the eons. This moment, however, stripped away those layers, revealing the raw essence beneath. It was a confrontation, yes, but also a recognition of the profound connection that had always existed between you—a connection fraught with complexity and contradictions.

"Are you certain you wish to engage in another game, Loki?" Your voice, steady and imbued with a quiet power, cut through the charged silence, even as you felt him unbuckle your shoes, his fingers deftly and slowly slipping them from your feet. "I seem to recall your rather... unfortunate defeat last time." The words hung in the air, a challenge and a reminder of past encounters where the balance of power had shifted, leaving Loki on the losing end.

Loki's hands stilled momentarily as he lifted his gaze to yours, a cunning glint sparkling within those deep green eyes. "Ah, but my dear, to dwell on a solitary defeat is to overlook the endless expanse of the game," he mused with a sly, almost serpentine smile. "The allure for me lies not in the victory or the loss, but in the exquisite complexity of the play itself. The interplay of strategy, the artful dance of minds. And," his voice dropped, a velvet caress against the tension hanging in the air, "the delicious possibility of reversing fortunes, which, I assure you, is a prospect I find most... exhilarating."

As he spoke, his fingers slid underneath your heel, leading your leg to rest over his shoulder with a care and precision that contradicted the levity in his voice. Loki laid another feathery touch to your thighs, gripping them tighter as he wedged his face between them, while you held fast to the edge of the counter. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your core.

There was no need to harbor affection for the man to appreciate the artistry his mouth provided. His tongue grazed the surface of your clit and you felt a tremor coursing through your very bones. He delved deeper, his taste encompassing the entirety of your core. As he did, your legs seemed to tighten inadvertently around him, though it posed no barrier to his indulgence. Your cunt clenched and you were swept away as his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pulling you closer onto his awaiting tongue. The surge of familiar emotions within you was overpowering, far too intense for your unprepared body. Your head fell back with a moan as you gave yourself to him in your entirety and Loki groaned, his tongue honing in on your bud as he chased your orgasm. He refused to relent until the heat had filled you whole, filled your soul. You writhed underneath him, hips helplessly buckling. Loki chuckled, a melodic blend of amusement and triumph, resonating with an undercurrent of sly cunning.

“That’s it, darling,” he coaxed as a surge of desire blossomed within you, enough to part your lips into a broken cry. His dark hair peeked between your fingers and his tongue snuck out to lick his lips while his gaze was set on you above him. His hand wandered to your tunic and yanked it away. His thumb grazed your nipple when he returned his mouth to your center, two of his fingers slowly dipping into your glistening heat.

“Loki,” you whimpered, tightening the hold on his hair—he matched your movements, arm securing you to him so forcefully no might on Earth and beyond could have parted you from his lips. He curled his fingers, rubbing that special spot inside of you and your stomach twitched. You felt him grin against your heat, teeth gracing over your sensitive bud, as a tremor ran through your body.

“My tempest darling,” he sighed when he finally pulled his fingers from you, leaving behind such an agonizing feeling of emptiness. You were about to retaliate, when he stood, bringing your body this his, hand running along the length of your thigh before he hoisted it against his hip. “Even if doubt shadows your heart, my dear, believe me, the absence of your taste on my tongue has been an ache most persistent,” Loki declared, his voice weaving together assurance and playful sincerity. One of his hands made quick work of undoing the dress pants of the black suit he was clad in, the other clutching your thigh close—so terribly tight you were certain even the skin of gods could be bruised by his hungry fingers. His lips found yours, softly at first, though through the looming desire burning within, Loki’s control appeared to stray when you bit into his lip, drawing blood. A groan tore from his throat, eyes darkening as he looked down at you, refusing to part from your gaze even as he entered you. Your mouth fell open against his, a silent moan slipping from your lips, his forehead dropping onto yours. He moved then, pulling out barely before he pushed back in so deeply it shook you. Loki had always been the embodiment of wickedness wrapped in the guise of charm; an enigma whose very presence stirred a vicious blend of temptation and sin, drawing all who encounter him into a dance with the devilishly divine.

“How I’ve missed you,” he whispered against the heated skin of your neck, traveling downward to softly kiss along your bared collarbones. His voice was a divinity, dark and rich and soaked with the sweetest of all sins. The emerald green within his eyes reflected the gold surrounding you. One of your hands cradled the back of his neck, fingers catching loose strands of raven hair that had grown so long in the centuries you hadn’t laid your sights on him. Loki held your thigh in a fierce grip, fingers digging further into your flesh with every stroke of his throbbing cock with your heat.

“You swore to kill me, my love,” you gasped as he delivered another harsh thrust, your head fell forward against his shoulder a searing pleasure built within you.

As his teeth grazed the delicate skin of your neck, savoring the salty essence of your being, Loki’s hand traveled from the curve of your thigh, securing you firmly against him at your waist, moving you against him in a refined rhythm. Against the warmth of your skin, he murmured, “To kill you, my little deity, would be akin to consigning a part of my own soul into the abyss.”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you deeper than before and you collapsed against him, coming with a cry of relief. He continued thrusting into you, arm keeping you secured against him as though you were about to vanish as you had done all those years ago. He lifted your chin, his mouth capturing yours when you felt him jerk inside of you. You felt his warmth spilling into you, his shameless groans filling your ears as he emptied himself within you. Breath mixing with his, you stayed there for a moment—in which the world seemed to narrow down to the space between the two of you, to the silent conversation spoken through glances and the slight tremors in your lungs.

Loki stole another kiss, then, as if breaking from a spell, his expression shifted, his early devotion to you giving way to a more serious, contemplative mien. “Business with you, my tempest darling, had always been a delight most exquisite,” Loki said, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that bordered on violence. “I trust you’re familiar with the tales of the Celestial Compass, aren’t you?” he continued, referring to an artifact of immense power and ancient origin, rumored to guide its holder to whatever they sought most in the universe. It was an object that you had kept hidden away, its location known only to you.

The mention of the compass sliced through the tension, a stark reminder of the stakes at play. Loki's presence in your shop, the transformation of your surroundings, the exchange of words—all were mere preludes to this moment.

"Why, Loki?" you asked, your voice a mix of curiosity and defiance as you fixed the tunic he had so carelessly pulled aside. "Why seek the compass now? What is it you desire so fervently to find?"

Loki's smile then was enigmatic, a mask that offered no clear answers. "Ah, but revealing one's desires so openly is a dangerous game, my dear. Let's just say... I seek something that has long eluded me." The ambiguity of his response left you wary, aware that Loki's desires were seldom straightforward and often entwined with greater schemes and hidden agendas. Yet, the acknowledgment of this quest, of his need for the compass, revealed a vulnerability in Loki—a crack in the armor he so carefully maintained.

As Loki awaited your response, the weight of centuries and the anticipation of what was to come hung heavily in the air. The next move was yours to make, in a game that was as much about uncovering truths as it was about concealing them. In response to his inquiry, your reply came not in words, but in the form of a serene smile, a silent echo of your shared past. With a casual flick of your fingers, you vanished into the ether, just as you had done countless centuries before, leaving Loki alone in the confines of what now appeared to be a decrepit shop. Its once vibrant essence faded, reflecting the sudden void your departure had created.

Loki, momentarily taken aback, quickly regained his composure. A laugh, rich with both amusement and a tinge of admiration, escaped him as he reached out to snatch a golden letter materializing out of thin air. The letter, simple yet profound in its message. The words, though brief, carried the weight of eons, a testament to the enduring dance between you two. Loki's gaze lingered on the golden script, a smirk playing on his lips, already plotting his next move in the timeless game between you.

“Farewell, my love.”

#loki series #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki #loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki x y/n #loki x you

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forgottenroderick · 4 months ago

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thelongforgottenrealm so i think that there are so good ideas here!!! I think the idea of just this cycle of life/death/rebirth and possible belief in reincarnation, too, might work w/ just how roderick views the world??? and perhaps, this idea that he might be reborn again, after death, makes him even MORE hesitant to select an heir?? especially if like ... they think that god's ~chosen~ or whatever could potentially be resurrected with his old lives memories in tack or soemthing idk ... basically roderick seeing himself LITERALLY rising the ashes of his own death one day or something?? and maybe he also thinks he is on some holy war to cleanse the world from false religions and bring about the way of the one true god and he is here to burn the world and see it reborn again in the way of the truth faith? i also love that it is a religious thing to burn witches in order to purify them again lasjflsajfj forgottenroderick @thelongforgottenrealm elizabeth, i am OBSESSED w the idea that roderick isn't just symbolically choosing himself over his kids by refusing to select an heir, but LITERALLY doing so bc ~he might be reincarnated and will want his empire back!!! laksjdfkljsjlf ooooh and the chosen being resurrected w his old memories!!! roderick def like 'that's me!!!!!' laskjdfkljdsf and lowkey tryna pretend to himself that he 'remembers' calainons life or smth slkdjfksljdf omg now im TBC like 'what if there was another charge the varmonts ~used to use but roderick made it the phoenix to represent HIMSELF ;lfjlkasdjfk and yesssss i agreeeee i feel like he's def on that crusade to purge the world of other religions and ensure that the one true god, HIS god (lowkey himself shhhh ;D but he'd burn you for blasphemy for suggesting it!) is the one the ppl worship!!!! this is the dignity and the civilization he offers these heathen heretics in his midst!!! sdakl

i feel like this could all inter-relate w the 'with greater faith, i rise from the flames' (paraphrased idr the exact wording off the top of my head -- i apologize! roderick WOULD kill me on the spot for this shameful neglect lakjsdfkljsdjf ok i went and checked: i was indeed mistaken [ with stronger faith i will arise from the fire ] ok now on to the rest of it! roderick would not let me rest laksdjfkljdsf) in a v intricate way bc its legit a repetition both of their belief system (death as life renewed etc), but also of their implacability like roderick???? say what you will abt him, once he's made up his mind he aint a quitter!! he wiLL conquer you slkjdfkljsdf (why did i phrase this like it was a good thing at the start alksjdfkjsdf not the roderick brainrot hahahaha anywayyy lajsdkfljsdf)

i can even see them having a god who died/was reborn a la osiris or odin or zagreus or christ and/or perhaps even an orpheus guiding the soul of eurydice from the underworld (but presumably it worked) type of thing/god as a psychopomp, like, descended into the afterlife, but came back stronger having passed through death into life again and thus showing the mortal soul how to do it too basically w the presumable belief that the mortal soul ~also comes back stronger after each death? and perhaps the afterlife is full of cleansing fire, a sweet fire that scours the soul and ~hardens it like fire forges a sword, kind of thing? but renewed life renewed tempers it like water w the sword analogy, and on and on it goes till one is fit to take their place beside the one god (or else presumably burn forever in slightly less sweet flames ig laskjdfkjsldf)

im also guessing, then, that viking funerals, aka involving both fire and water, may be a thing for these guys? tho that tends to go w a seafaring culture and i don't think that the og varmont nation are that...it may also be that, like...iirc, lizzy and i had discussed in [ the roderick/alaric thread ] the possibility that this particular religion is actually more a thing wherever their mom came from, and maybe roderick kinda mingled the traditions of his two parents, so it could've been that their mom's was a more maritime culture, too? idk alsjkdfkjldsf

anyway i def had more thoughts when i started writing this but they've flown now so here have a thing ig??? this is all over the place laksdjflkdsjf i agolozie alksjdfkjldsf

OOC | Varmont Belief System Thoughts

sooooo im having some frankly insane ideas abt Roderick’s belief system thanks to the Phoenix iconography (like…boiled down roderick might legit worship death effectively a la the faceless men of braavos in asoiaf/got?!!?!! Though in a slightly more life/death ying/yang creation through destruction kinda way a la dark!motto ‘in my end is my beginning’ sorta way idk Sfjkhffg HELPPP!) and before I get too carried away bc idk if we need a death cult emperor 😂😭 ummmm I wondered if you had any thoughts abt the varmont faith/the one god/etc adhkkjgdgh

ok so!!! this all comes out of the symbolism of the phoenix married to the whole ~fire focus in both that and in...well, roderick's actions laksdjfkljsdf so here're some ideas i have which may or may not be any good klsdjfkalsdflkj

creation through destruction as repped by phoenix.

burning witches cleanses them, releasing their lifeforce out into the world clean and pure.

perhaps reincarnation a la phoenix or perhaps destruction and death creates new souls and life etc????

Phoenix flames, sun, light, fire — dichotomy of light/dark, good/evil — Astaira and the staffords literally take the night as their standard (three stars in the night sky) and worship demons, conquest cleanses etc

oooh maybe infuse Phoenix w Renaissance salamander motifs — immune to fire and poison etc

ok so mary queen of scotts, her motto (as mentioned above) was 'in my end is my beginning' by which she meant as a catholic that yknow she'd go to her reward in heaven etc but what if such a concept were present in like...a more ~ouroboros kinda way as represented by the phoenix

so the ouroboros is an ancient egyptian symbol of a serpent rounding on itself to eat its own tale, which representing basically...unity and the natural eternal cycle of destruction and re-creation

in ancient egypt, this meant...oof ok so not to get ~too bogged down in ancient egyptian spiritualism/philosophy which is its own huuuge topic needless to say hahahaha but they had two really bit concepts that i think could impact us here: the tension between chaos (bad) and order (good) w their god-emperor maintaining that balance and the belief that without him there to do that everything would collapse into deadly chaos AND that...in essence...the soul was split into parts, w basically like...life force which was also a familial essence being a part of the soul that recurred in the world, and personality being part that was ~just you that would go to its ultimate judgment after death

there is also the ancient saying 'death is the only god who comes when you call' right

so!!!! w the ouroboros and phoenix symbols being connected (cycles of life, death, rebirth), what if we basically connect cleaning fire w order (i know, i know!) bc...you can summon a fire, right, you can make that you can't really make earth yknow...so its ~controllable even tho we don't think abt it that way like...i swear this can work ;DDDDD as a cleansing, controllable, destructive force that gives birth to new life (after a forest fire new life bursts from the ashes in a way that it doesn't w say a flood or a drought yknow) and yeahhhh idk!!!!!!!

anyway lmk if this makes any sense/is any good as sort of a foundation for our one god religion??????? cause i feel like maybe this one is just...maybe one bridge too far? ;alskdjfkljdsf ;DDD

#ooc #about #lore

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iincantatorum · 3 years ago

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worldofsenelfy asked:

“ who’d have thought you’d be such a softie! ” ~From Ilyas

@worldofsenelfy

Perhaps it was nervousness, but Devlin did not feel quite like himself. He was out late at night again, pacing about, clutching a blue cloth that was a scarf of his mother. He took deep breaths, eyes clearly red from intense crying, these raw emotions displayed far from his fellow fighters. Far from his roommates that were often his opponents in the ring when he fought as Zagreus.

“Oh, it’s you,” he was glad his voice did not crack, talking to that insolent man who talked back with him in the other night. No need to display his anxieties about going into the next battle for the military campaign enlistment. “What do you want from me?”

#v; forge of empires [threads]#threads; devlin/ilyas #/aw

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solarsmith49 · 4 years ago

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First Entry

So I figured I should have a preface/background post before I jump into sharing my writing lol, be warned this is kinda sappy but necessary haha. I’m going to focus on writing for Creatus Annus; I got back into watching Mark’s channel during the initial March lockdowns after being away for a couple years, and from there into Ethan’s channel and Unus Annus. I relate so much to Ethan in the brutally honest video talking about how he’s felt aimless and drifting the last few years, because that’s exactly how I felt for a long time- I started 2020 unemployed, no money, no direction, with seemingly no passion or drive to really get out and /live/ instead of just existing. In April I had a breakdown, and I realized I had to get myself and my life together while I still could because it really did seem like the world was burning down (thanks covid!) and if I didn’t do it now then there wouldn’t be another chance. I was able to mentally get myself together, and I did find another job in May (which has been a godsend). And at about the same time as I got hired, I found Mark’s vlog talking about his surgeries and the post-op pain medicine screwup that almost killed him. I closed my laptop and cried after that, because it was exactly what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it, by the right person I needed to hear it from. Because I realized it described me perfectly, not acting on my potential and (even worse) not feeling the /need/ to do so. So I took a long look at myself, and this essay below is the first thing I wrote after watching the video, exploring my complete love of space and /why/ it drives me in the way it does. I think it fits the whole message of Unus Annus, and what we’re trying to do here with Creatus Annus, trying to give our own answers to why our lives and our art matters. Space colors all of my poems (as you’ll see later haha), as well as the creative tension I have from my religious and spiritual background (I was raised Catholic, and still am to a degree, but my personal beliefs range all over the place and the relationship and dialogue I have with God/the Divine and what it means to Create Things is a major theme with space). So, here’s my first entry for the project; I’m going to write my general ideas for specifically what I want to do in the ideas thread later, but enjoy the essay - I think you guys will like it.

Even until just a few days ago, I didn’t think I had any life passions, or at least, any passions that mattered. I have hobbies, sure - gaming, crafting, reading, general learning - but I never thought much of them because I didn’t see how I could use them or even if I should bother trying to make anything of them. Certainly I didn’t think I had any interest that moved me enough to devote a life’s pursuit ot it - but that was another self life, perhaps the greatest, one born from a mix of complacency, lack of faith in myself, and a fear of really facing what truly honestly drives me and the action that that would demand. The change that that would demand. Because I do have a passion, and I love it in a general sense, learning about it and following it casually. But it's also something I turn to in dark hours, something that resparks me when I’m tired, that keeps me going and holds my faith and sustains me when everything else fails - family, friends, my job prospects, failing health, chaos in the larger world, evil in the larger world, even when my belief in the Church burns down and God as seen through the “Catholic” lens seems distant and irrelevant. Something that I adore with every fiber of my being and in the core of my very soul. That something is space: the stars and galaxies and their natural functions and processes, but also in particular the space program and what it says about human nature and our relation to the wider universe and ultimately to God himself.

I believe the human endeavour to get to space and the various space programs throughout the world showcase the pinnacle of what our species can do, the best of humanity in terms of technology and cooperation and curiosity, and one of the most fundamental drives we have as humans - the drive to be remembered. Every single human being, from the greatest to the worst of us, is the end product of 13.6 billion years of cosmic cycles, stars being formed, exploding, sending out dust that forms new stars. Every single atom and primal element in our bodies, our carbon, iron, calcium, magnesium, everything was forged in the nuclear fusion reactor in the core of a star, untold eons ago and untold millions of lightyears away. Probably more than once as the dust clouds combine, are forged, and then scattered by the shockwaves of supernovas across time and space. Over and over and over again, until 4.6 billion years ago when our Sun grew from dust and the planets grew from the leftovers. And the Earth - the Earth! - undergoing the same process in microcosm, plates shifting and rock melting and gas expanding and water sifting until the Earth was made solid, and then! In the process, as a by-product, a side effect! The right combination of star forged elements and electricity and chemical reactions was struck and gave the collections of dust atoms Life and Breath! Living, self sustaining action on its own accord, independent of outside forces, movement greater than the stars because it happens on its own! And THEN - a more focused microcosm of the star forge, as 4.5 billion years of evolution refine Life, uncounted species live and die and refine their genes and physical makeup and brain processes and living interactions with the inert world around them; the decay of their bodies feeding plants which feed animals which lets them reproduce and keep the cycle going, echoing the ancient and unaware supernovas, until at last! 100,000 years ago the human species was fully evolved, and, miraculously, became self aware.

Think about that for a minute. As wonderful as Life is, we could have been just another species of animal, but for the greatest innovation and combination of stardust the universe has ever seen. We were cavemen, we knew next to nothing about the stars or the wide earth or about our potential, but for the first time Life had gained the capacity to know. For the first time in 13.6 billion years, dust atoms had gained the capability to learn their origins and how they were made and ultimately to define why they were made. So, what is almost the very first thing we do with this capacity of thought as an infant species, newly self aware? We make art. We make, preserved by some quirk of fate in a French cave, handprints on a rock wall. We - living stardust - take inert ochre and pigment and stamp an outline on the wall, and those outlines survive intact for 50,000 years. In this scribbling of an infant species we can already recognize the drive still present in ourselves - the need to say “we were here once, and our existence mattered”. Humanity for the first time, living relics of ancient stars, giving voice for the first time to those stars, saying in art and words what stars declared in the mute atoms and elements and light they left behind: “we existed once, and that existence mattered.”

Humanity is the universe made self aware. And just as galaxies are made of millions of individual stars, so too do we as individuals make up Humanity as a collective. Every single one of us is the universe learning about and defining itself. And the impulse behind our earliest achievements of cave art is present in everything throughout our history, our collective achievements, our art, our architecture, literature, science, theology, our empires, our struggles, our failures, our compassion for each other. It's present in all of us as individuals, for which of us doesn’t want our life, our memory to be remembered when we are gone? We as a species are capable of such great things, great destruction and great good. And throughout our entire history as a species, we’ve never stopped looking up at the moon and the stars, admiring them, fascinated by them, studying them, unaware at times of our origin among them but always drawn to their light, their unspoken promise. Until finally in the 20th century, the culmination of thousands of years of research and science and engineering, the best efforts of the best we humans have to offer - we unlock the sky we’ve dreamed of for so long and we build machines to take us to the Moon. We build the Saturn V, the Apollo capsules, we push ourselves from the cradle and beyond our ancient limits and we - fragile, living mortals - walk upon the Moon itself. We leave our handprints, after all this time, in the purest form of star dust we will likely ever physically encounter, the living imprinting its shape into the inert, like a brother finally coming home.

But we don’t stop there. We build satellites and the Hubble Telescope, the International Space Station and satellites and rovers and probes to pave the way for us, our reunion with the stars. We take more stardust and primal elements and fashion them in our image, to go to other worlds and scout the cosmos for us. We name them after the best of ourselves: Pioneer, Perseverance, Curiosity, Sojourner, Spirit, that they may represent us well to the cosmos and whatever it may contain. We build Voyager 1 and Voyager 2, currently the furthest of our creations from the Earth in the cold vastness of interstellar space, and in Voyager 2 we place the Golden Record. A disk of pure gold upon which we recorded the sounds and voice of Earth - water running, leaves falling in the wind, ocean waves, volcanoes bursting, birds singing, and us - human voices, human laughter, human crying, greetings in every language, our music, a baby crying, a heart beating. We took inert stardust and imprinted ourselves, living dust, upon it, and sent it out into interstellar space to be our witness and our message. That we, the universe living and self ware, see the stars we came from and that we understand; we say through the pinnacle of our innovation and with the same depth of expression as those first handprints, “We, the living dust, give this record back to you and for ourselves, that we existed once, and that it mattered.” We sent it as a testimony, as an offering, as a prayer, and as a vow: that we aren’t done yet, that as long as Humanity lives we will never be done, and if we do eventually end that there will have been a time, if only briefly, that the stars knew and understood themselves, and that despite or even because of its brevity, it will have mattered.

#creatus annus

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loyalservants · 6 years ago

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General Portrayal of Mairon

I) Pre-Seduction Mairon is not a power-hungry villain but she is regarded as ❛ a fair lady but an unpleasant company ❜ by the other Maiar. She is often obsessed with perfection and gets irritated when bothered while she is in the ❛ zone ❜. She does put her guard down for certain Ainur– like Eönwë, Imarë, Aulë and Yavanna. She sees Curumo as nothing more than her ❛ colleague ❜. She is often toiling in the Forges, avoids social interaction and is almost never at festivities in Valinor.

II) She is vain and envious. Mairon is perhaps the fairest among Aulë’s Maiar but her beauty does not even rival Ilmarë, Ariën and Melian and that does get on her nerves a lot especially when she’s compared to them.

III) Her name Admirable is something people used to call her fondly. In the earlier days after Arda was made, she was actually considered nice by some ( but she slowly became distant ) and it was Aulë who had given her the name ‘Mairon’. She is easily agitated if anyone dares to call her Sauron right in front of her face.

IV) She has good temper but if her buttons were pushed right, she would blow. Literally. She’s always one to wait until the perfect time to execute her plans. She’s clever, resourceful and calculating. According to Tolkien, ❛ Sauron is even considered to be wiser than Melkor but through the folly of his pride, he met his downfall. ❜ So Mairon learned from her master’s mistakes and tries to rebuild his empire under her control.

V) Her form of torture is easily manipulation without manhandling. She had never laid a hand on anyone ever. She has never actually physically hurt anyone unless she was in battle but she makes their deaths swift. She hates getting blood on her rings. To get what she wants, she uses empathy, submission or fear. Fear became her number one during the Third Age. Empathy was used against the prisoners of Angband and against Celebrimbor and submission was used against Ar-Pharazôn.

VI) Mairon often does not feel for certain things towards others. She does have a soft spot for the Werewolves, Gothmog and Thuringwethil. They were the closest to whom Mairon considers her friends after being seduced by Melkor. Melkor is whom she cares a lot and she thinks of him even after his fall and his banishment to the Void. She serves him loyally and she does everything for him.

VII) After being seduced by Melkor, she’s become obsessed with power, finding it to be the key to perfect everything. She’s soon enough become controlling and she enjoys being in power. But also noting that she is less evil than Melkor and she has no intention in overthrowing him. She thinks her world revolves around him ( even when he had punished her for her mistakes upon what had happened with Lúthien ).

VII) In Angband, everyone is fighting to be the top. To be Melkor’s lieutenant, Mairon is always on guard to maintain her position.

IX) Mairon feels under-appreciated and unloved at times, believing her distant nature is justified by wanting utter perfection, and Melkor fed her more doubt as time passes until she decides (unknown she was influenced ) that Melkor would be the only one who would appreciate her crafts. She buries her vulnerable emotions beneath for she deems it unfitting for her but she is still less evil than Melkor.

X) Melkor influenced her so much that she often thought of him and how he would react to such things. ( So don’t be surprised that I mentioned Melkor or she mentions Melkor in threads ).

#( repost bc new banner asdfghjkl )#Secrets Behind The Eye of Barad-dûr ( Sauron Headcanons )

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homecomingdressesyhjk · 4 years ago

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bohoweddingdress · 4 years ago

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violettesiren · 7 years ago

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Atropos, in the ink-stained night, Shears forged from time-foam Buried in the light cone’s shadow. Lachesis, counting star-seeds, Trapped in bound infinity, Unspooling the sea of aeons. Clothos, all-mother, weaving, And from the loom, Light and time and Dreams of empires.

II.

Atropos, at Thermopylae, Burnished copper her shears. Three hundred delicate cuts. Lachesis, counting time in Slabs of Persian silver, From a goatherd’s sack. Clothos, stitching — Infant myths cracking From seed shells buried In a dust riddled pass.

III

Atropos, at Amritsar, Shears borne on rifle shot. Turbans unravelling into Shrouds at Jallianwalla Bagh. Lachesis weeping salt tears, At a locus of ends. Clothos, pinned down, Against the wet earth. No threads warm the spindles As empire shatters the loom.

α.

Atropos, in despair — hands clawing Seas of frayed silvered thread Lachesis, ears closed, a surrender Clothos, shuttle weaving, silent. No answers, nothing but quiet, Nothing but the wheel turning Alpha to omega to alpha.

IV.

Atropos, at Nagasaki, Sunflowers petals burning. Lachesis, finger-slash Across one spindle entire, Clothos, weave-mistress, Blinded by second suns. Three moirae, wordless. There moirae, a-witness. Three moirae, broken-backed In the sepulcher of innocence.

β.

Atropos, iris unwound — Scissor cut even as eyes weep Tears of fractured space-time Lachesis, ears stoppered — Even ‘against the silken crackle of Ten billion unwinding spools. Ten billion twisted threads, shorn. Clothos, at the loom, death-weight Collapsing shoulder collar spine

Atropos, at Antares Sigma, Scissor cut the thread of worlds, Neon gleam the star-burning wildfire Ash bright the sublimating moons. Lachesis, at the birthing tanks, When storm-light fell to ground Thread fragments slit at planck-scale. Clothos, loom rattle roaring, And in three sister-hearts, Three lacunae of despair.

VI.

Atropos, in the late twilight The stasis-song of god-worlds The temple-moons bright with song Scissor cut as slow as aeons Lachesis, tongue swollen stilled As thread seas collapse into Superstrings of star-cluster minds Clothos, loom stilled but for A single thread’s whisper A single immortal husk

VII.

Atropos, in the end-dark Past the frayed end of stars Thread fragments of dead gods Scissor blades now but rusted shards Lachesis, lips eyes ears tears sorrows Collapsed into seams between Fold and well, and husk and shadow Clothos, heddle stilled, cocooned. Three sisters sifted down into Blade spindle and one single thread

Ω.

Atropos, before birth In the antechamber of dust Slate gray the space folds Dark origami pressed down Into singular point light Lachesis, nothing but spindle shaft A myth-song waiting for thread verse Clothos, nothing but loom dreams Of thread, waxen wick dream-lit Sudden sun-fire expanding Into star souls, empire dreams And the myth skin of three sisters Coalescing from the quantum mere

α.

Atropos, star-bright with hope —

Moirae by Naru Dames Sundar

#naru dames sundar

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merchantofwhispers · 2 years ago

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In the island that Gemina is stuck, the leaves rustle loud enough to set anyone awake in the middle of the night, and a few seconds later a loud howl erupts through the night.

Any remnants of her exhaustion were vanquished by a rush of fearful adrenaline. The howl sounded too close, even if too close was simply audible. Gemina stared at the opening of her little haven, suddenly too large and too visible. She could roll over, hoping that whatever was outside would simply pass by, but what if it didn't?

Clenching her jaw, she reached for a burning stick from the fire while uttering the smallest prayer. "So svetom Svyatogo Mikhaila."

#c; Gemina #v; Forge of Empires #Trns: With the light of Saint Michael (Ref: Arch Angel Michael)#/i hope this is the correct thread nonnie because shes currently stuck on two alskndlkansd #/if its not ill fix it big promises here

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eddycurrents · 7 years ago

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For the week of 8 January 2018

Quick Bits:

Astonisher #4 gives us some nice quiet moments, as Magnus “convalesces” in a hospital filled with meteorite infected staff and patients, having been trapped there by his brother.

| Published by Lion Forge / Catalyst Prime

Avengers #675 kicks off the sixteen-part weekly “No Surrender” event, with Earth getting stolen off to somewhere, much of the planet’s superhero population being frozen in stasis (save for, it seems, the Avengers, and the X-Men members who pull double duty), and a lot of destruction occurring due to the shift. It’s a lot of moving parts, and like the just concluded “Worlds Collide” arc, it begins with the heroes randomly trying to save people with all of us left in the dark as to what’s going on, but it’s a decent start.

What is unquestionably great about this issue, though, is the artwork from Pepe Larraz. With David Curiel providing colours, the artwork on this book is just stunning. Larraz has really stepped up his game.

| Published by Marvel

Barbarella #2 is full of more wonderful artwork by Kenan Yarar. His style reminds me a lot of Moritat and, when combined with the somewhat subdued colours from Mohan and rectangular word balloons from Crank!, gives the book a nice European feel. Mike Carey also introduces who’s probably going to be my favourite character, a nameless furry little Vix.

| Published by Dynamite

Bloodshot Salvation #5 brings a kind of closure to the present day arc involving Magic’s “Daddy”. Although not unexpected, it’s kind of abrupt and I’ve kind of got mixed feelings about it. I trust Jeff Lemire, though, that this is far from the end of this particular thread. Also, the “soon” arc manages to get even more insane.

| Published by Valiant

Coyotes #3 gets stranger. Even as we get more beautiful art from Caitlin Yarsky and explanations as to what’s going on from Sean Lewis, the story takes a dramatic turn to the weird. It’s pretty glorious.

| Published by Image

Dejah Thoris #0 is a nice tease for the new series from Amy Chu and Pasquale Qualano. The set up for finding a fabled lost city that was trying to preserve the old Mars is an interesting one.

| Published by Dynamite

The Despicable Deadpool #292 begins the next stage of Stryfe’s orders for Deadpool to kill people with the first part of “Bucket List”. The second kill is expedited fairly quickly, which is somewhat disappointing. I’m hoping that ultimately there’s something more to it that what we’ve seen.

| Published by Marvel

Grass Kings #11 brings a kind of ending to the inquiry into Jen Handel’s death, but as it explains out Archie’s affair, it raises even more questions about what’s been going on in the Kingdom. Matt Kindt, Tyler Jenkins, and Hilary Jenkins consistently seem to be outdoing themselves with each issue.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Judas #2 again is a stunning showcase for Jakub Rebelka’s artwork. As Jeff Loveness weaves through Satan’s stories of Biblical baddies to convince Judas of a flaw in God’s plan, Rebelka just continues to blow me away with his art.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Monstro Mechanica #2 gives us more action and intrigue even as Leonardo’s assistant, Isabel, works out some of the kinks of the titular monster. The humour that Paul Allor and Chris Evenhuis inject into the series is delightful.

| Published by AfterShock

Old Man Hawkeye #1 is the beginning of a prequel to the original Old Man Logan story arc. It’s a little light on plot explanations, heavy on atmosphere and brooding, with some very nice art by Marco Checchetto and Andres Mossa. Ethan Sacks has that sad sack, worn out, and put down Clint Barton characterization down pat.

| Published by Marvel

Paradiso #2 reminds me of China Miéville’s Perdido Street Station in that Ram V and Devmalya Pramanik are managing to both push the boundaries of sci-fi and bring a city to life. In Paradiso’s case, this seems to be literal. I’m really loving the characters, the setting, and the art.

| Published by Image

Pestilence #6 concludes what has been an excellent series by Frank Tieri and Oleg Okunev, reimagining the Black Death as a zombie apocalypse. The artwork from Okunev has been kinetic and visceral, perfectly befitting the action and horror of a medieval zombie outbreak, while Tieri has managed to inject a lot of humour into the characters and a real sense of camaraderie among the knights, even in the face of multiple betrayals. I’m definitely going to be looking forward to the second series, and highly recommend the first to any who’ve not tried this.

| Published by AfterShock

Royal City #9 has one of the best silent panels I’ve seen from Jeff Lemire, who has always been very good at conveying a lot in silent panels.

| Published by Image

Runaways #5 gives us the secret of the cats, as Molly and Gert speculate on what’s going on with Molly’s grandmother. Kris Anka again nails some of the tiny details, like Molly’s alpaca stuffie and Old Lace eating out of a giant bowl alongside the cats.

| Published by Marvel

Secret Warriors #12 is the end to a series that I was surprised, but thankful, wasn’t just a mini-series timed to coincide with the Secret Empire event. It’s been a team of Inhumans (and later Magik) who had no real business being a team in the first place, and the series has been funny, heartfelt, and rather offbeat. Such that it’s perfect that this issue is probably the closest they’ve come to being a real team as they fight over a Marvel-themed version of Risk. And neglect Magik, who was really only there for the cake.

| Published by Marvel

Sleepless #2 grabbed me a little more than the first issue. The art from Leila Del Duca has been great throughout both issues, but in this issue Sarah Vaughn gives us a little bit more meat on the characters, the intrigue, and fleshing out some of the culture is very interesting.

| Published by Image

Slots #4 showcases something that Dan Panosian has been great at building in this series, aside from the usual phenomenal art, and that’s character. This issue features the continued budding relationship between Mercy and Lucy, but while it’s doing that, it’s also building up more of Stan’s flawed but somewhat noble half-assed altruism and also further reinforcing that Les is an utter scumbag. Great work.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Spider-Man vs. Deadpool #26 is the beginning of a concurrent, intermittent side story, set in the “far flung” future with Peter and Wade stuck together in the same retirement home, similar to how Deadpool 2099 ran in the main Deadpool book. Robbie Thompson is still providing a nice humorous story playing up the continued animosity between the two characters, but what really stands out is the artwork from Scott Hepburn and Ian Herring.

| Published by Marvel

Star Wars: Darth Vader #10 is the battle between Darth Vader and Jocasta Nu that you were hoping for, but I’m not sure it’s entirely what you’d expect. The action delivered by Giuseppe Camuncoli art is entertaining and Charles Soule throws a couple twists in the tale.

| Published by Marvel

Sword of Ages #2 reminds me of the best of Walt Simonson and P. Craig Russell. Gabriel Rodríguez is doing something magical here with this mix of science fiction and fantasy, this issue making some of the parallels to Arthurian legend more explicit, even while branching out further into making this unique.

| Published by IDW

Taarna #1 was some unexpected Alex de Campi.

| Published by Heavy Metal

Witchblade #2 has me convinced that this series should be getting a lot more press than it is. This is a very mature reimagining of the series from Caitlin Kittredge, building slowly the characters and world of Alex Underwood’s life, as it feels like a taught mystery mixed with police procedural more than the offbeat horror-tinged superheroics of the original Witchblade. It’s very good.

Also, the artwork from Roberta Ingranata, with colours by Bryan Valenza, is wonderful. Ingranata’s page construction, panel composition, and establishing shots are just incredibly captivating, they go a long way into setting the tone and pacing for the story.

| Published by Image / Top Cow

Other Highlights: Accell #7, Alters #9, Archie #27, The Archies #4, Black Panther: Long Live the Panther #3, Cable #153, The Damned #7, Daredevil #597, Eternal Empire #6, Hack/Slash vs. Vampirella #4, Mech Cadet Yu #5, The Mighty Crusaders #2, Ms. Marvel #26, Ninjak vs. the Valiant Universe #1, Old Man Logan #33, Phoenix Resurrection #3, Port of Earth #3, The Punisher #220, Rose #7, Saucer State #6, She-Hulk #161, Star Wars: Forces of Destiny - Rey, TMNT #78, The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #28, The Unbelievable Gwenpool #24, Venom #160, X-Men Blue #19, X-Men Gold Annual #1

Recommended Collections: Cowboy Ninja Viking Deluxe Edition, Curse Words - Volume 2: Explosiontown, Descender - Volume 5: Rise of the Robots, Doctor Strange - Volume 5: Secret Empire, Harbinger Renegade - Volume 2: Massacre, Hellboy & The BPRD: 1954, Mech Cadet Yu - Volume 1, Postal - Volume 6, Satellite Falling, She-Hulk - Volume 2: Let them Eat Cake, The Vision Deluxe Hardcover, The Wicked & The Divine - Volume 6, The X-Files - Volume 4

d. emerson eddy would very much like a chariot pulled by cats.

#This Week in Comics

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