#Loki's the one who will be rejecting their home if he faces consequences for attacking Midgard or sits in a cell for his whole life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justfandomwritings · 4 years

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The Soul Stone (Part 1 - Loki)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None right now

Summary: The Soul Stone had a soul all its own, and she was destined for power and greatness that only one man every truly understood.

Notes: This is more introduction than actual chapter.... It’s a bit, how to put it, it’s a bit more “Marvel Mythology” than most Marvel fanfiction is, but I think it’s kind of a fun take on it. (P.S. For fans of my blog, this is not the Loyalty spinoff).

Soul holds a special place among the infinity stones. You might say it has a certain wisdom.

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Not many living had witnessed the power of an infinity stone. Fewer still had wielded one and lived to tell the tale. If more had, they might have seen the difference. They might have known.

Philosophers might have waxed poetic about the essence of each stone’s purpose. Historians might have cited stories and myths of their power and its consequences. Humanitarians might have argued about the ethicacy of using such weapons on other beings. Generals might have deterred their use for fear of the recoiling effects on the man or woman who wielded such a thing.

As it was, no one knew, and no one saw it coming.

The infinity stones bestowed great power on those strong enough to wield them and destroyed those too weak but bold enough to try. Between them, they controlled the six singularities of life and the universe: Space, Mind, Power, Reality, Time, and, of course, Soul.

Since the dawn of time, since the cosmos divided these concentrated entities from each other, only two had found their way back together: Space and Soul.

How Odin found them, no one ever knew. He left Asgard and his pregnant queen one day with two eyes and empty hands and returned with one eye and two stones to a baby nursing at her breast.

The Fates, he thought, had blessed him. A beautiful baby girl and enough power to conquer all the realms. Perhaps the Norns had gone soft.

Urdr seemed old even then, and though she had lived just as long as her sister, Verdandi had never aged a day in body or mind. Perhaps the older sister’s memory had let something slip and the ageless sister’s mind was not wise enough to catch her mistake.

It seemed, to Odin, a likely thought. The Norns were never so kind if they could help it. They showed up at the birth of every child and judged them for their worth, on their family’s past and the world at present. It was not in their nature to be so giving.

Odin didn’t know, and how could he have, that the stones lived a life all their own, that one of them also judged him. There was no one to ask about the power the Fates had laid at his feet. There was only Odin and his thoughts.

Looking down on the two stones, he kept the blue for himself and gifted the yellow to his daughter.

Space was Odin’s to command, and the souls belonged to Hela. Though it would be wrong to say she commanded it. More accurate to say that it commanded her.

The stones bestowed great power on all those who wielded them, and the Asgardians were no exception. But that power came at a cost.

A cost Odin only realized too late, when he looked out from his throne and saw his daughter, realms away in Jotunheim, slaughtering men, women, and children by the millions with no remorse. She wasn’t his daughter anymore. She was a monster of his own creation, of the soul stone’s creation

If the philosophers, historians, humanitarians, or generals had gotten to see the stones at work before he laid one around his daughter’s neck, they might have been able to tell Odin what the Fates had truly ‘blessed’ him with.

Space, Mind, Power, Reality, and Time. These were all parts of the universe which existed around the wielder of their stones, things that someone could manipulate and control. But the soul was a different story. To command the stone was to have a soul, and to have a soul was to be at the mercy of the Soul. No one ever used the stone, the stone used them for its own purpose.

Souls were dynamic, fickle things; and their stone was no different. It let souls go and called them back on a whim, tumultuous and violent.

Anyone who held it long enough would know that, but it allowed few to live long enough to learn.

Hela was one of those, and in her it created a bloodlust unmatched across the millennia. In her, it created a goddess of death.

Odin sent the Valkyrie against her, but by the time they arrived they were no match for her cruelty.

It took the Space Stone and Odin himself riding against her, drawing her out to the edge of the universe and trapping her beyond the boundaries of it with his own infinity stone, before her murderous rampage finally came to its end.

And there, where his daughter had once stood, where Odin had consumed her with a blue portal of his own making, was the Soul Stone. Floating in the nothingness, waiting to be claimed.

He thought of leaving it there. He thought of running from his pain, from his failure, from his mistake.

In his youth, he had thought it was the key to his ascent. Now, he saw only his demise, for there was no truer demise than turning his back on his own blood.

It was only the knowledge of the monster that lay within the seemingly innocent yellow gem that kept Odin from walking away.

He didn’t make the same mistake twice.

Out on the edge of the known, and creeping beyond it into what lay yet undiscovered, Odin crafted a new portal and followed the Soul Stone through it. He touched down on the planet above whose surface he had fought his daughter. A planet which would one day bear the name Vormir.

He buried it there, at the base of a mountain and spent months casting over it a spell which, by the end, he was sure even the Norns themselves could not break.

The stone would never see the light again, he was sure of it. To use the stone would be to sacrifice what one loved most, and he could think of no one who would do such a thing but a monster, and monsters could not love.

As he whispered the last words of his incantations, sealing the stone beneath the surface, a pulse of golden light echoed through the air, not of Odin’s doing.

Just as the Space Stone was present with a doorway to all creation, the Soul Stone was alive with a soul all its own. It knew what was being done to it, and its bloodlust, its longing for more souls, would never allow for such a thing willingly.

In its dying moments before it was consumed in the earth for millennia to come, the Soul Stone went against its nature. It released a soul, a piece of itself to see to its purpose.

A baby, falling from the heavens and into Odin’s arms.

“At last.”

Odin didn’t know what sorcery this was, but his instincts clutched the babe to his chest as he whirled his spear on the voice behind him.

“Urdr, Verdandi,” Odin greeted coldly. “You knew what would happen when you took my eye. You knew what would come of this.”

“We knew nothing.” Urdr rejected. “Only that it was your fate to end up here.”

“And to bring us her,” Verdandi finished her sister’s sentence.

They had a way of doing that. Urdr was the past, finished by Verdandi, the present.

Verdandi nodded, “and completed by her.” She spoke as though she could hear Odin’s thoughts, as though she could see into his mind and body, could know what he was thinking, feeling, doing, at any moment. And perhaps she could.

“The future,” Urdr took a sloshing step through the water in which the three figures stood, “is in her hands now. She is one of us.”

Odin looked down at the sleeping, innocent face of the baby girl in his arms. She had come out of nowhere. Fallen from the sky as he finished sealing the stone away from the universe forever. A blinding golden light and then a baby, falling through fog and smoke.

She was in his arms before he could of who she was or the consequences she might bring. She was, after all, just a child, only a child. Too small to understand where she was, too small to know who he was, too small to comprehend what he’d done.

It was impossible to believe. This child, a Norn. Urdr had been older than anything in existence for longer than anything had existed. Verdandi had been present longer than the presence of the Aesir or any other living thing could remember. Now they thought to add a child to their midst. A child who rested in his arms.

“She completes us.” Verdandi took a step forward. “It was always your destiny to bring her to us, though we could not see it until she was here to show that to us.”

“You would take the child from my arms.”

It wasn’t protectiveness that made Odin protest her removal. He felt no affection for her. In fact, when he looked down on her, he felt nothing at all. She was, seemingly, this whole in his vision for which he could not attribute a single emotion.

He protested in defiance of Urdr and Verdandi. They had known, in some part of their minds, what would come of him and his daughter, what she would do to the universe and what he would have to do to stop her.

“We take nothing for which you will not be repaid twice over.” Verdandi promised. “She has shown us that.”

Twice over. Two children. Odin didn’t have the heart, not after Hela.

“Go home, Borrson.” Urdr urged. “Go home to your wife and your son. We are not done with you yet, but there will be many blessings in your kingdom before we meet again in strife. Enjoy them while you can.”

Odin was powerful, with the Space Stone in his pocket even more so, but even he dare not stand up to Fate made flesh.

He handed the baby over to Verdandi as he walked past with his head hung under the weight of his pain.

As promised, he returned home to find Frigga with his son in her arms.

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Loki. One of the priestesses of the temple had given Odin the baby’s name.

For the third time in as many weeks Odin found himself with a baby in his arms.

The first belonged to Fate. The second belonged to him. The third belonged to Laufey.

Abandoned by the King of Jotunheim as Hela launched her attack, Loki was too small for the Frost Giant to give him even a passing glance. A war was being waged on their soil and only the strongest were worthy of the King’s time.

Two weeks he had sat on the steps of the temple waiting to die, as all around him Hela slaughtered armies by the thousands. Two weeks he had survived every knife and sword that went flying over his head, every crumbling icicle and stone from the columns of his final sanctuary, every blast and bolt of the battle taking place around him. Not to mention the hunger, the thirst, the chill.

Laufey had abandoned his son for being small, but Odin could see the boy was strong.

He wasn’t waiting to be rescued; he wasn’t waiting to die. He was surviving on his own, as best any child could.

Something in him made Odin stoop to pick up the baby. Pity, impulse, or something else entirely, Odin dropped to one knee and reached for Loki.

Blue skin turned white as Jotunn touched Aesir, and only the weight of his tiny body in Odin’s arms kept the King from drawing back in shock.

A child, this child, was his enemy, as true as any other in the universe. It was Jotunheim whose defiance had brought his daughter to madness, Jotunheim who had forced him to turn against his own family, Jotunheim who defied his will and rule even now.

And Laufey was their king. This was, by all counts, Laufey’s son. Odin should, by all rules of war, kill the boy now as a message to his father. But then, hadn’t Laufey already done as much.

He’d abandoned his son to the snow and frost with no intention of bringing him back in from the cold. He hadn’t checked on the boy during the fighting, hadn’t lifted his eyes toward the temple, hadn’t protected his son in any way. Laufey had been content to let him die, by blade or by weather, during the fighting. Loki was as good as dead, and killing him wouldn’t make that any more true.

Something in Odin whispered to him. Whispered that Hela was the Goddess of Death, not Odin. Whispered that the boy didn’t have to die. Whispered that if death was his Fate then the Norns would have taken him before Odin arrived. Something whispered that he should take the boy, whispered that no one would miss him, whispered that his place didn’t have to be here, whispered to bring him to Asgard.

And Odin, for once, listened. Not because he wanted to, but because somewhere, on the other end of the galaxy, realms away, the future of a little girl with more power than she realized willed it.

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Next Time on Part Two.... Coming Soon

Taglist

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse / @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers /

Marvel Taglist:

@the-high-queen / @iamverity / @darktownairspeed / @radicalstars / @hermione-is-my-queen

Loki Taglist:

@adefectivedetective / @iamverity / @kybaeza

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sserpente · 5 years

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Mischief and Ice (Chapter 8)

Synopsis: Thanos’ cruel attempt to wipe out half of the universe failed and the titan is dead; but his actions came with grave consequences. Tears and cracks in the universe, all across space and time, formed wormholes within the nine realms and beyond, giving some old enemies a vicious opportunity to strike again. When the Jötuns invade Earth and the Avengers assemble to defend the planet once again, it is the help of none other than the former war criminal Loki they are reliant upon to drive the icy warriors back into their own realm. But then the God of Mischief encounters a young woman abandoned in the cold—your body mangled and altered with Jötun blood, a lab rat to the Frost Giants. He decides to take you with him and nurse you back to health, unable to comprehend the confusing affection he begins to harbour for you.

Find all chapters on my masterlist!

“Is it… normal I am still so… tired? I feel so worn out, like I haven’t slept in days.”

“Your body is still fighting the Jötun blood, it is draining your energy. Yes. It is normal.” Loki responded matter-of-factly, gently stroking your hair in the process. You had allowed Loki to lift you up and dry you off before carrying you back to your room.

It felt strange. Not once since you had arrived at the compound had you feared Loki’s touch. Loki’s intimate touch. You pondered, concerned, if he had done this before. If he had come this close to a woman’s most intimate parts without initiating sex… if it affected him. But then again… the first time he had undressed you, you had not failed to notice the raw lust in his blue eyes. Loki was a man, after all. He was a Frost Giant and he was in charge. Despite his gentleness, you felt devoted, submissive to him, whether it came from the cruel treatment you had endured with the Jötuns or not.

Either way, you knew it would take you a while longer to warm up to him and speak your mind freely. Now that you knew you were recovering, you suddenly longed to be his equal, longed to be desirable to him. As of now, he was your king. The more time you spent with your saviour though, the more you cared for him… the more you wished for him to be so much more.

Loki sighed when your eyes fell shut again and you were about to drift off to a peaceful sleep. What was he thinking? Touching you like this, again. Part of him, so knew, was bathing in your vulnerability, your helplessness. The other more decent part, the part none other than Frigga had raised, urged his cheeks to turn bright red. What was wrong with him? He was a grown man. In the past, he had had sex more than his mother could have anticipated and he would be safe to claim he was even more experienced than his brother. His sexual needs had always had this… darker tone to them.

Loki wanted submission, he wanted devotion and through that, he wanted unconditional love and trust. All that… he had now found in this terrified and half-frozen girl he had rescued from his own race. Who was he kidding? Himself? For too long he had struggled to understand himself, to comprehend that never dying pain within his tormented heart, wondering what it was he had done wrong to earn himself suspicion, rejection and mistrust—before he came to Earth under Thanos’ spine-crawling threats.

But he knew he wanted you. There. He had thought it, his mind slowly wrapping his head around it. Were you the one, perhaps? He did not know. But he was willing to try, willing to accept fate might have given him a chance for someone to desire him despite his flaws and despite his past. This was a chance, so he finally realised. Would you say yes to a walk in the garden once you had recovered, he wondered? He had often taken the young women he had courted to the palace gardens and impressed them with his vast knowledge of rare flowers and their spiritual and healing capabilities—all of which old books and Frigga had taught him.

Loki flinched for your sake when someone burst through the door. Muscles flexing and hammer in hand, Thor was panting in the threshold. Your eyes flew open, alarmed and ready to hide from any pain about to be inflicted on you. He sighed quietly. It would take you quite a while longer to adjust to the world again. Besides, he would never allow anyone to ever lay a hand on you again.

“Loki, we need you to come downstairs right now.” Thor began slowly—and whenever the God of Thunder spoke slowly, he was panicking. This much Loki knew.

Your eyes widened. Something was amiss. Uncertainly, you gazed up at Loki, for the first time initiating body contact yourself and reaching for his forearm to squeeze it gently.

“My king…” Thor raised his eyebrows but said nothing at first.

“Loki, now!” He thundered then, panicking slightly and making his opposite frown. Reluctantly, he left your side and followed his adopted brother out of the room, the tips of his fingers already tingling with seidr which he was ready to fling at whatever endangered him… or you.

“Loki… why does she still call you her king?” Thor roared reproachfully as they practically clattered down the stairs. The God of Mischief rolled his eyes.

“For once, I am innocent. I have told you what she was taught in the Jötuns’ grip. (Y/N) is afraid of addressing me differently, to not disrespect me to earn her violence or punishment.”

“And you have told her she has nothing to fear and may call you Loki?” No. He had not. But not because Thor’s words were untrue. It was because he enjoyed how you practically lay your life in his hands.

He sighed. “What is the matter, Thor?”

“FRIDAY gave the alarm. There is an intruder. Loki. It’s a Jötun.”

For just a split second, Loki froze, stopping dead in his tracks. In his mind, he formed arguments already, ways to defend himself. It was an old habit, really. He was used to taking the blame. He might as well fight back now—whatever they were going to throw at him.

“Send someone upstairs and make sure (Y/N) does not get hurt.” He highly doubted that they had come back to get rid of their mistake and finish what they had started. Still, he was not going to risk it. “Do it, Thor.”

With that, he pushed past him and hurried outside. The Avengers all stood in a half circle, weapons drawn and on high alert, ready to fight, their scrutinising glances fixed on the blue creature in front of them.

The Frost Giant remained silent, though his eyebrows did rise slightly when he spotted Loki approaching the group.

“What do you want?” He asked without further ado, ready to replace himself with an illusion in case of an attack.

“I came to warn you, Laufeyson.”

Loki frowned. He could feel the Avengers’ perusing glare on him, curious and suspicious about his next move. None of them opened their mouths yet to intervene.

Loki lifted his chin proudly, arrogance dripping from his voice when he spoke again. “What have we to fear?”

“My leaders are planning an attack. Dozens of us, all coming for you, Avengers.”

“Without the casket, you will not stand a chance.” Thor roared, having just appeared behind Loki again. He gave Loki a brief look. “Clint stayed with the girl. She will be safe.”

The Frost Giant chuckled coldly when he nodded. “We have grown as much as you have, Odinson.”

Perhaps, Loki thought. Only the Jötuns had done exactly what the God of Mischief had predicted—what he had tricked them into. Their pride had been their death sentence before, if anything to not appear like cowards.

The Avengers had taken the war to where they wanted for it to take place. Here, they had an advantage. In a warm area, more than only dozens would be needed to pose a threat to the superheroes. At least, that’s what he hoped.

Loki sighed once more. He was beginning to realise the Jötun in front of him was indeed no threat, even if the Avengers did not believe so as of yet.

“Why would you help us?” Natasha added. She was ready to strike. In fact, she was longing to strike. “He could be the distraction.”

“Not all of us think invading Midgard is a wise idea. We failed once, centuries ago. Odin might have perished and Asgard might have been destroyed but our species is weakened. Even if we succeed in killing any oncoming resistance, we could never resettle our entire race to Midgard. My leaders fail to see that… which is why I am here.”

“I say we smash him.” Hulk said.

This time, the Jötun scoffed. “I did not come here to fight!”

“Then how do your people know of us?” Tony shouted.

“Loki Laufeyson told them.”

The God of Mischief bared his teeth. Of course this would be his fault now. They should rather thank him. Many enemies, him included, had underestimated the Avengers’ power before. It would be over soon if they started an attempt to wipe them out for good and claim Midgard as their new home.

“He’s telling the truth,” A quiet voice suddenly interrupted. Several heads turned to face you. You were leaning against a pillar, your nails digging into the white marble. “I… I know him. He was… one of the few warriors who never lay a hand on me. He brought me a blanket, and any edible food he could find when the others didn’t pay any attention.” Your voice had become louder, clearer. You were indeed recovering.

When Clint had appeared in your room and told you about the dicey situation downstairs, you had jumped up so fast your vision had turned black for a moment, wanting to witness the terrors unfolding. It would be ridiculous to think that in your current condition, you could help Loki if need be and yet…

“You lived.” The Frost Giant stated. “I am pleased to see that.”

Loki took a threatening step forward. Don’t you dare come near her. The danger radiated off of him like singeing heat.

“You said they would attack. When? How?” Tony asked. His voice sounded strange, you figured, when he wore his iron suit.

“Soon… they are preparing themselves. Your metal armour will be no match for our ice.”

“Let that be my concern.”

The Frost Giant scoffed in response. Then, he disappeared, an ice cold cloud of tiny little ice crystals surrounding the spot on which he had been standing on mere seconds ago. They all took a moment to realise what this meant.

“Great. Reindeer Games did it again. How exactly are we gonna fight an army of icicles, Loki?!”

“You ought to thank me. You heard him yourself. Their species…”—he put special emphasis on their—“…is weakened. Countless of their warriors failed to even make it through the wormhole without perishing in the process. They cannot afford attacking more than once. They will put all of their strength in one onslaught only.”

“And then what? I don’t think they’ll say ‘oopsy daisy’ and go back to wherever the hell they came from.” Tony intervened.

He had a point. While it would be effective to let them attack at once, they would soon gather in Jötunheim to start another attempt. So he nodded.

“Is there a way to destroy the wormhole? We cannot destroy an entire race.” Thor said. Loki rolled his eyes. As if the Thunderer had not tried that before himself.

“A way to seal it,” Tony added. “What about Strange, could he do it?”

Loki frowned. He would be insulted if he didn’t know better. Doctor Strange, that mortal amateur wizard? On the other hand… if Strange did take on the task, he would have one problem less to worry about—and he could instead focus his energy on you. Finally, his gaze met yours.

“You should be in bed,” he said reproachfully.

“Sorry. She’s faster than she looks.” Clint added when Loki shot him a warning glance.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“I’m so sorry… I just thought… argh.” It felt like your words got stuck in your throat when a terrible hot flush suddenly washed over your body. Your blood was boiling—you could practically feel it. With a start, cramps rippled through you, your knees no longer supporting you. Loki caught you so fast Clint barely managed to blink.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you did your best to control your breathing. You were panting as if you had run a marathon, sweating like you had been wandering about in the desert. Your clothes were soaked.

Loki’s cool touch on your upper arm and neck was comfortable, soothing. His body temperature calming your singeing veins and skin. You never noticed how the Avengers rushed to action once the God of Mischief had scooped you up into his arms, ready to do the hero-thing and help. Loki ushered them away quickly. Your condition was bad as is.

“(Y/N)… look at me, little dove.”

Whimpering, you did as you were told, pressing yourself closer to his cool body. Loki gasped when your eyes locked with his. He pressed his lips together to a thin line when he carried you back upstairs and into your bed so fast you felt a little dizzy. He barked orders to the doctors who had just arrived out of breath to come to your aid, alerted by FRIDAY. Their voices were too dull to understand what he was saying, only a few minutes later, however, you suddenly felt the wet coolness of moist towels on your arms, chest and legs to regulate your body temperature. Moments later, you drifted into unconsciousness.

He had been wrong. He had hoped to have cured you. Hoped to have overcome the atrocity the Jötuns had contaminated your body with. You had complained about being warm at night but never had he suspected… your eyes had been blood red when you looked up at him, so innocently and afraid. Not afraid of him but afraid of what was happening to you.

There was only one logical explanation. Your human body had fought the Jötun blood—it had, with his help, prevented you from freezing to death—but only to some extent. Instead, your own blood had connected with it… it had made you part-Frost Giant.

Loki hated to admit that he did not know what that meant. He was a god, his anatomy way beyond the capabilities of yours. Would you survive it? How would you live on? There must have been a way for you to adjust to the heat in your environment… besides, once you were back in Iceland… Loki sighed. He was not ready to let you leave just yet. In fact, he was not ready to let you leave him ever.

He stayed by your side for a while longer, making sure you were as comfortable as possible. When the sun disappeared behind the horizon and the room slowly but inevitably grew darker and darker, he finally stood and made his way to Stark’s library.

The billionaire, despite his indifference about books, did own a remarkable amount. Surely one of them could help him… because if there was anything he could do to make your suffering which tore his own heart apart, easier, he would ensure not to let an opportunity slip through his grasp.

Loki had not quite wrapped his head around it yet. You were part Jötun—you were like him. Now you did not turn blue as of yet but he wondered, if your skin came into contact with ice… and it was in that moment he realised he had developed serious feelings for you—feelings that went beyond sexual lust, like he had assumed before. It felt strange to admit that even to himself but what he saw now wasn’t just the possibility of passionate love, appreciation and deep respect—effects of a hot fling… it was more of a chance now than it was ever before.

He would not reject you. He would not lead you to believe all Frost Giants were monsters. You had come to accept him despite his Jötun heritage—but that might partially be because of his fairly normal appearance and your never-dying fear as a consequence of your abduction. You had not seen him in his true form as of yet. He dreaded your reaction.

The Jötuns had made sure to prove themselves the crude villains. It was on him to convince you otherwise—that there was a way to live with yourself in spite of the Jötun blood running through your veins.

“Brother?”

Loki flinched when he heard Thor’s voice thundering through the library. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even heard a presence approaching. He really was losing his touch with all his sorrows about the woman he l… about the woman he had begun to care about.

Shutting the book he was holding with a loud thump, he turned around. Thor was wearing those casual Midgardian clothes again, his hammer nowhere in sight.

“Can we speak?”

Loki sighed and put it back on the shelf. It was most unhelpful. He might as well play along and speak. It was not often Thor switched to Old Norse for it. “We already are,” he said, speaking the dead language himself now.

“Good. What happened to (Y/N) today?” He began outright. “Is she… dying?”

“No,” His voice was quiet when he answered. “It appears that her body did not reject the Jötun blood the way I expected it to.”

Thor frowned. “What do you mean?” Loki waited for a moment before he replied.

“It means the blood has turned her half-Jötun.”

“Will she… survive that?”

“I believe so. But it will take me a while to understand her new anatomy. Those hot flushes can mean no good.”

Thor nodded. Then, with a start, a cheeky smile grew on his face.

“You care about her. It is obvious, brother. And it’s why I came to see you. You are concerned about (Y/N)’s well-being, are you not? I have never seen you like this.”

Loki glared at him.

“There is no shame in that, Loki.”

“I don’t feel ashamed.” He snapped. Truth was he did not know how to deal with his feelings. Nobody in the nine realms, after all, had ever laid their life into his hands like you had.

“Admit it then.”

“I do. For Valhalla’s sake, Thor, yes, I care about her. Is that what you want to hear?”

Your heart jumped. He… did he reciprocate your feelings? When you had woken up, with now dry towels on your limbs, Loki was gone. It felt like his presence was missing, like you could not function without him.

Your legs were still a little shaky from your stroke or whatever it had been that made Loki look at you so full of sorrow and pain—but you were strong enough to leave your room to find him. In the compound, it was dark already. You presumed most of the Avengers had gone to sleep already, for the sun was long gone.

Soon, you reached a huge metal double door, opened just a smidge through which a small beam of light illuminated the floor to your feet. You were about to open it when you heard two familiar voices speaking in a foreign language which seemed not so foreign at all. Thor and Loki, were they speaking… Old Norse?

To claim you understood their every word would have been a lie. Being a native Icelandic speaker, however, the bits you did pick up and comprehended made your heart beat faster than it had when your hot flush had taken control of your body.

Biting your lower lip, you pressed your ear against the metal door. That’s when you heard it. You were no mere toy. You were no nameless and faceless subject, not to him, not to your king. Loki genuinely cared about you.

“What are you doing here?” Your eyes widened in the dark. How could she even see you? You swallowed when you turned on your heel. Natasha had crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised.

“I… I heard Loki’s voice, I…”

“He—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—specifically gave us the order for you to stay in bed. You were awfully pale when you broke down outside today. You really should go back to bed.”

She did not tell you a moment too soon. The talking in the library stopped, replaced by loud and determined footsteps. The door opened, the sudden bright light making you squint—and then you saw Loki and Thor standing right before you.

You feared he would scold you now for leaving your bed again—but instead, and much to Natasha’s surprise, he gently touched your forehead and looked you straight in the eye.

“How are you feeling?”

“O-okay… but way too warm. It… burns.”

Loki pursed his lips and sighed. “Come on. Back to bed.” He took your arm, dragging you with him firmly but tenderly. Apologetically, you gave Thor and Natasha a weak smile before you disappeared around the corner.

Loki knew you were tired. As soon as he had closed the door to your room behind you two, he pulled you into his arms, hugging you so intimately you gasped for air.

“Let me get you some fresh towels.”

“That’s not enough, it grows warm too fast… please… can you just keep holding me?”

For a moment, he remained still. He knew he was cool to the touch, especially for you. His hand slid down the small of your back. He had changed your clothes before he left. With dismay he found you had soaked the fresh shirt with sweat as well. You were right. The towels would not do—and as of yet, he was unsure how much agony you were being put through with the heat around you, usually fully bearable to humans. But perhaps… perhaps there was one other way. He swallowed bravely. He… might ruin everything.

“Lie down.” He commanded quietly, pushing you away from his chest reluctantly.

“Will you stay with me, my king?”

“Loki,” he said, his soft gaze meeting yours. “Yes, I will.”

You nodded, if anything in obedience. Loki. You did like his name. As fast as your mangled limbs allowed it, you crawled back in bed and allowed the God of Mischief to join you. You did not object when he removed your wet shirt and tossed it out of bed, leaving your naked breasts on display for him in the pale moonlight—nor could you avert your eyes when he removed his own shirt to reveal a well-defined and rather pale chest.

He sighed, a barely visible smile playing on his thin lips… then he pulled you back into his arms, pressing you against him. It took your nipples only a few second to harden and react to his touch, your body enjoying the intimate skin on skin contact. You gasped when he grew colder and colder, his breathing growing heavier.

He was blue. Blue, with blood red eyes resembling yours when you had looked in the mirror in the bathroom. You could feel the ridges on his skin, complicated patterns all over his chest which you longed to trace with your fingertips. You had always thought all Frost Giants were atrocious, repulsive. But Loki… Loki was…

“You are beautiful…” You whispered, inching even closer to him. Snuggling up to his chest and burying your face in his neck, you wrapped your legs around his and closed your eyes, enjoying the coldness of his skin. Unlike only a short while ago, when you had detested the cold and the ice, you now welcomed it with open arms.

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! kofi.com/sserpente ♥

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beginagainbugle · 4 years

Note

Can we fire JJJ??

We would like to refer you to our last post.

We at the Daily Bugle understand that not everyone will agree with every article we write. That is why we encourage feedback from all our readers, and why we have often posted and replied to Letters To Our Editor. We encourage everyone to speak their mind and exercise their First Amendment Rights to the fullest.

That being said, there is a difference between constructive criticism, civil disagreement, and harassment. Notes such as this one fall distinctly into the latter category. Rather than wax poetic on the dangers of jeopardizing a man’s career and livelihood, we at the Daily Bugle would like to take this moment to speak a little bit about our Editor-In-Chief.

John Jonah Jameson II was raised by his mother Betty Jameson and his stepfather/uncle David Jameson. David was an officer of the United States Army and a decorated war hero, however at home his temper was volatile. He regularly abused his wife and step-son, and it was these actions that first opened JJJ’s eyes to the fact that “No one’s a hero every day of the week,” and “Even the real heroes can’t keep it up all the time.” Nevertheless, JJJ pursued noble interests and persevered, becoming a Boy Scout and joining the boxing and photography clubs in his local high school. He fought back against bullies, and one altercation involved three other men ganging up on him. JJJ managed to fight them back, and impressed the future Mrs. Joan Jameson. The two were wed shortly finishing school.

While still in high school, he began his journalistic career as a part-time reporter for the Daily Bugle. He attempted to continue his pursuits in college, but was unjustly rejected from his college newspaper because of a rivalry with the editor. However, with money obtained from personal assets and large inheritance, he was able to purchase the Daily Bugle many years later, rescuing this publication from a financial fallout. He revitalized the Bugle with his sense of direction and strong leadership, and despite what detractors may say, his top priority has always been an relentless, fearless pursuit of truth.

J. Jonah Jameson is outspoken. He is unafraid to speak his mind, as we all should be. For decades, Jameson has used his newspaper to crusade in support of civil rights for minority groups and against organized crime. His latter efforts have led to several attacks, including once nearly being killed on the orders of the infamous Kingpin of Crime. His brush with death, however, did not deter him from continuing to publish attacks and exposes of organized crime.

He was a devoted husband to Joan, and the two of them welcomed a son into the world, John Jonah Jameson III. John was one of the youngest applicants ever to be accepted into NASA’s astronaut program and he is a distinguished member to this day.

It is his love of family that led to Jameson’s outspoken criticism of superpowered individuals. His wife was killed in an altercation with a masked vigilante, the case remaining open and unsolved to this day. As for his son, John’s first mission into space was nearly derailed by a mechanical malfunction. A masked hero managed to reattach the Forward Guidance Package back to the craft, and John was miraculously able to regain control of the vessel. However, John’s accomplishment was all but forgotten in the face of the shiny new ‘superhero.’ This event led to Jameon’s first editorial denouncement of superheros. He was grateful that his son’s life had been saved, but appalled that the general public so easily forgets the real heroes in these stories. People like John, who do not wear masks and do not have superhuman abilities, but still risk their lives for the betterment of all mankind.

Since then, Jameson has increasingly spoken out against the glorification of superheroes. He tries to call attention back to our first responders, our police force, our EMTs and doctors, our astronauts and military service-members. The ones so easily forgotten because they cannot shoot lasers or fly into the sun. Glorifying the superhumans of the world leaves us susceptible to overlooking their flaws and mistakes, and Jameson is more than aware of the dangers of such literal hero-worship. He has pointed out time and time again that attacks on this city and around the world happen because of the presence of these superheroes. Would Loki have targeted our city, if not for the Avengers? Would Sokovia have fallen, if not for the hubris of Stark and Banner creating Ultron in the first place? Would Gotham be in the state is in now, if not for the multitude of villains with a personal vendetta against one masked man?

Jameson has never said that these questions would be easy, but they are of the utmost importance to ask and answer. He has published editorials calling into question the moral and ethical concerns of involving children in these superhuman fights. Yes, many of these young people have powers, but is it fair to ask them to take the entire world upon their shoulders? And is it fair, for the rest of us in this city, to constantly be caught in the battles between those who have powers that can devastate entire city blocks?

To be clear, Jameson has never once called for the extermination of superhuman people. He has even championed Mutant-rights, in accordance with his principles of civil rights. However, he has always maintained that practical measures must be taken. Should Charles Xavier be allowed to carte blanche to create his own superpowered army, in the guise of a school for runaway youngsters? Should the Avengers and the Justice League be allowed to proceed with zero oversight from the people they claim they’re sworn to protect? Jameson says no -- and so should you.

Regulation and oversight are not unreasonable measures to take. If superhumans are held to a higher standard of behavior, it is because the consequences of not doing so have proven to be disastrous. Jameson has experienced this personally, beginning with his stepfather, a man who should have upheld the highest of standards and instead sunk to the lowest of lows. The superheroes we have come to know today are a blessing and a curse, and while they do a great deal of good for our city and the world, they also cause an immense amount of property damage and personal heartbreak. While other publications are too fearful to speak out, and instead want to explain away every devastating mistake these heroes have ever made, Jameson and the Daily Bugle have made it a mission to hold these people accountable. Accountable for the lives lost, the businesses ruined, and the cities terrified of the next ‘Incident’ that could happen at any second.

If the superhumans of the world do not like to be held responsible for their deadly mistakes, then perhaps they should be the ones fired.

-- Written by an Intern who would like to remain anonymous at this time

#beginagainbugle #beginagaineditorial #topic: accords #char: j jonah jameson #Anonymous

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

All is fair in Love & War - 5

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Everything. We’re talking violence and killing (though not detailed), angsting, illness, fluffing, scheming, master/pet, citrus fruits (one sided...but detailed), probably a lot more. But hey! No swearing! A/N: This is a semi-AU in the sense that it is in a sort of medieval/fairy-tale setting, but Loki and MCU’s version of Nordic mythology still applies. I’ve taken the liberty of tagging people who’ve reposted, but if you do want a tag pls let me know.

5. Limits

You hear the shouting but cannot be bothered to look around for what is happening. Only when the noises turn to screams do you attempt to sit up although each movement makes your head pound and spin. It takes a few tries and by then it is quieting down again but you still struggle to open your eyes that have begun crusting together, dry like your mouth and throat from too long without anything to drink. Squinting through the haze, you can see someone slumped on the floor in the hallway. Is the place under attack? Slurred thoughts dance in and out of your mind, constantly eluding focus although a part of you attempts a certain optimism in the midst of your weakened condition. Perhaps the Midgardian forces have been able to finally move past Loki’s defenses? Someone will find you, bring you home? They can’t. The rejection surprises you, although not as much as your own silent laughter, and you collapse back into the bed just as someone enters the room.

The voice is familiar. Strangely comforting. Gentle hands examine you and lift you into the arms of the person. Black hair. Soft words are cooed as encouragement to cooperate, but they are not needed as you neither can nor want to resist as a glass is pushed to your lips and the cool content dribbles in. Greedily you suck at the rim, slurping the liquid into you as if your life depends on it…which it does. That is why you whine as your caretaker stops administering the drink.

“Mmm-mo…” Despite your efforts, your voice falters.

The man, because it is a man, has understood you anyways. “I know, but we must take care, pet. It seems you have gone too long without wet or dry and we do not whish for you to get worse.” He returns you to the warm embrace of the furs, allowing you to drift in and out of sleep.

Each time you wake he is there. Tending the fire, proffering sweetened water and later broth for you to drink…or simply sitting by the bedside watching over you. As your health returns, so too does the knowledge of what has happened and who is playing nurse. It should make you wary. Instead it comforts you. Soon, you can sit up in bed unaided and eat solid meals which Loki himself brings you, and you actively strife to regain you strength through exercise in the brief moments the captor and guardian leaves the chamber.

It is after one of these intervals, where Loki has been gone for a while, that you decide to find out what happened. He has brought paper and thin, bark-wrapped sticks of charcoal for you to practice your writing while he himself sits nose deep in a book. Crooked letters and raw sketches of people only you remember litters the page before you…however, one is a figure slumped against the wall.

“Lo-your highness?” No fault in staying on his good side. He hums in a manner you interpret as a go-ahead. “When you came back…what was happening? Was the keep under attack?”

Green eyes bore into you as if to discern what you know, but eventually his face transforms into an emotionless mask. “It was not,” he offers coldly, “however I expect any servant of mine to follow my commands. Failure to do so has consequences.”

“But the screaming, sire?” The small hairs on your arms and neck are standing to attention.

The smirk is dark. Gruesome. “Consequences.” Closing the book, he puts it down and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. “Understand this, my pet, although my servants do not understand much of what I do or why, they have been warned never to disobey me or mistreat anything belonging to me.” A cold hand pushes a strand of escaped hair away for your face. “Those at fault have been punished to set an example for the rest to understand that I, their new master, will tolerate nothing less than pure loyalty.”

As frightening as the words are, coming from a monster with the powers of a god, it is something else that catches your attention. “New master?”

The chuckle is surprisingly warm. “Yes. Do you recall we spoke of the Aesir-Jötun War?” You nod. “After the death of Laufey, someone else was sent to rule Jotunheim under the watchful eye of Odin. To ease the transition, a descendant of Laufey, but one who had lived his entire life in Asgard, was chosen. In blood from Jotunheim. In allegiance…to Asgard.”

The schemes of royalty and their rich allies had never been something you spent much time considering. Things were as the were and you could do nothing to influence the events either way. Still, listening to Loki, you can see the strategical value in the choice. You can also see that his whish to be called king is not as far from the truth as you had hoped because the king of Asgard would undoubtedly back up the claim.

“That’s where you went while you were gone…back to Asgard…”

Reaching over, Loki takes the writing tools from you and puts them aside on the dresser before returning to his spot. He sits in silence. Perhaps he’s contemplating what to say? You can feel his gaze burning on any part of you that is visible from the furs as if he is evaluating your condition, assessing the effect of the treatment he is subjecting you to – successfully. Though still emaciated, there is a healthy glow to your skin and your body is beginning to seem a bit fuller. Not much, but enough to help you stay warm, stay awake. He has taken better care of you than you would have expected when he first caught you.

When Loki finally speaks, it is with a severity that startles you. “[Y/N], what are your thoughts on the war between our nations?” His hand is resting on the fur where your knee is hidden beneath.

It is strange to hear your name on his lips, but that (as well as other of the names he calls you) is becoming endearing. “I…” You pause, because frankly you do not know what to think anymore. “It seems that I don’t know all there’s to know…” An image of a commander sleeping in a tent stirs in your memories. “That we, us common soldiers, haven’t been told the…the entire truth.”

Instead of pulling away when he reaches for your hand, you allow him to run his thumb over the knuckles while he talks about the journey that he has been on to visit outposts and fortify the defenses at the front, to meet with allies and spies to attain information crucial to the campaign. According to the god, things are going well, and the Midgardian armies have been forced to retreat in many areas with a minimum of losses on both sides. Perhaps he’s lying, you think, but a part of you objects at that notion. From the little you have seen just of Jotunheim, the hosts at Utgard alone would make short work of the scattered companies trying to cross the border.

You fall asleep to his soothing voice, drifting into a dreamless slumber peacefully.

… LOKI’s POV …

[Y/N]’s breathing has slowed to a steady rhythm long ago, but he still finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her thin hand. I should not be this soft. And yet, how can he not want to care for this fragile, little creature that she is?

The moment he decided to spare her life, to turn her against her own king and utilize her, he also knew that he would have to treat her much kinder than it would be appropriate in the eyes of his own people. Violence and mistreatment would not be the way to get her to do his bidding. The fierce stubbornness should be guided, not be broken…it is too endearing anyways. And that there is the problem. Somewhere, during her time as his captive, he had begun to see her as more than just a tool and a body he normally would ravish, take repeatedly until he would grow bored and then throw away. The day he returned and saw what his servants had done, he had feared for the Midgardian’s life and it had sent him into a fit of rage. A desperate panic had fueled the violence as he sought out every single one of the people responsible for [Y/N]’s care. And after he was done with them and had tended to the woman’s immediate needs, he had scoured the palace for any who had known of the disobedience. He saw to it personally that they were tied up in the courtyard and then he flogged them. The message could not be clearer: do not betray your king’s trust.

A sigh escapes the sleeping woman, bringing him back to the present. Turning in her sleep, she holds on to his hand and a tiny smile graces her full lips for the first time. She may be a mortal, but the power she is beginning to hold over Loki is unsettling and he knows he will have to do something about it.

… READER’s POV …

Day by day you grow stronger and take to pacing the room and seeking any other sort of exercise possible within the chamber. Naturally, it cannot stay hidden from Loki for long, but he seems pleased with your initiative rather then scolding you for pushing yourself and he even walks beside you the length of the corridor and back several times to study your prowess. Dark patches stain the floor as though pools of dark liquid have seeped into the wood, and you try not to think of what it must be from although you know beyond a doubt. Frighteningly, your captor seems not to be the slightest bothered by it. His eyes are fixed on your form sweating under the sudden change in activity, and when your legs threaten to give out under you, he is there to hold you in an almost tender embrace.

“Well done, my pet,” he beams at you with sparkling eyes, “I believe you deserve a reward.”

Without further ado, he lifts you in his arms as though you weigh no more than a kitten and carries you all the way to the bathing hall where he perches you in one of the chairs before calling for water.

Since you were left to die in your room, this is the first time you see anyone else besides Loki and you cannot help to feel a certain apprehension as the servants begin to hurry to and from with buckets of steaming water, but none of them dare glance as you as long as their master is present.

The door closes behind the last one, leaving you alone and safe with the god. I shouldn’t feel safe. Yet, you do…until he stoops by you to remove your shawl. Clinging to it, you are painfully aware how little strength you have left to oppose him, but rather than enforce his will with violence he kneels to meet your frightened gaze.

“I understand, little one, but you have nothing to fear.” Slowly, he reaches to cup you cheek in his cold palm so gently that you find yourself leaning into his touch. “Allow me to help you.”

This time you do not object when he begins to undress you, carefully avoiding touching your bare skin until you sit before him completely naked, arms pressed against your chest to shield your self from his eyes as much as the prickling air. With a quick movement he lifts you like a child once more, holding you so close against his chest that his heartbeat is strong through the silk of his blouse in the few seconds it takes to carry you to the large tub.

A sigh escapes you as the warm water engulfs you, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. For a moment that is your entire world: the scalding cocoon of liquid and Loki’s hand still supporting your back. You can hear him rummage with the bottles of scented oils and soon the aromas of pine needles and lavender fills the air around you, luring you to relax and lean back with closed eyes. A part of you prompts you to cover yourself while the god washes your face and hair before moving along the shoulders to each arm with lazy circles of a sponge.

“Move forward so I can scrub your back.”

Silently, you obey, gripping the rims of the tub for support as you press against your thighs to rest the chin on the knobbly knees. There’s soft splashing of water and you feel the waves kiss your face, still it is not before you feel two strong limbs slither past you on either side in the tub that you realize that Loki is sitting behind you, his legs barely grazing you skin. A hot fear rolls over you, stealing your breath in the process. Flashes of memories present themselves in quick succession: the tight grip on a throat, wandering fingers across breasts, and the hard erection pressed against comparatively small body. But it is the sponge that touches upon your back, stroking in lazy circles to allow the oils and herbs in the water to affect the tense muscles.

At some point, he hands you the sponge, prompting you to clean the last areas. Happy to be allowed to see to cleaning your private parts, you do as you are told, deciding in turn not to object as cool hands massage your shoulders. Somehow, as your own hands move downwards, you find yourself leaning into Loki’s embrace, smothering a moan of appreciation at the sensation of his chest against your bare back. Reaching between the folds at your core, you cannot be bothered to be surprised at the slickness there that not even the water can completely rinse away. I shouldn’t want this…but it is needless to chastise yourself for the smoldering need and growing trust that has arisen between you and the god.

Strong hands move to your hips, pulling you flush against him with no effort to even attempt hiding the stiff cock that presses into your lower back, coaxing a tiny gasp from you. Cradling your head, he lowers it to his shoulder, granting a view of your body disappearing into the milky waters.

“Let me –” a soft kiss on your jaw punctuates the sentence – “make you –“ this time the kiss lands below your ear – “feel –“ on your shoulder – “good.” The last kiss is on your neck, making you sigh in delight.

Loki is surprisingly gentle as he explores your curves. The big hands that have grabbed with near untamed strength on other occasions are now stroking and massaging every inch of skin, often favouring your breasts and the tender nipples that happily perk in response to his ministrations. The first soft moan escapes you when cool finger dance on a hidden path from hip to apex of your thighs. A shudder of anticipation and apprehension runs through you as Loki strokes along the folds while nudging your legs apart with the other hand before it returns to cup your breast.

The god is skilled with his hands. Playing you like an instrument, he soon has you creating the most sinful sounds and arching under his touch as waves of delight rolls through you each time he strokes, circles or adds pressure all the right places. More often than not, he slips a couple of the long fingers inside your burning core to find new ways of calling forth waves of growing sensitivity. Your own hands can find no rest until you bury your fingers in the black tresses to pull yourself closer to him and you feel a growl reverberate in his chest, feel his cock twitch against your back. Whatever the simple action has released in Loki, you feel the shift in his body and in the way he holds you tighter while kissing and nibbling at your neck before finding your lips.

That’s how you topple over the precipice. Lips locked in a first kiss, his arm possessively holding you to his chest, and his finger playing with every nerve of your core. You ride out the orgasm on his hand. Each guttural moan swallowed greedily by the god.

…

What have I done?

Somehow, you had managed to fall asleep after Loki had carried you back to your room, but you woke up before sunrise and found yourself unable to chase away the many self-reprimanding thoughts that woke with you.

Pulling the shawl closer around the shoulders, you dig the last embers free from under the ashes and add kindling with practiced hands. Soon, the flames are dancing eating happily off the firewood, casting long shadows that leap and dance with each flicker. I shouldn’t have let him.

Dressing yourself is bothersome due to the silly ribbons and impractically flowy sleeves (even though you’ve carefully chosen a dress with as little embellishment as possible. If this is the fashion of noble women, then you are more than happy to remain a plain girl from the country side. In the little village by the quarry, there is no room for these delicate fabrics and frilly laces. I should never have left – look at me now!

Then you make the bed and sit to practice the writing, carefully tracing each letter to spell out your name, Midgard, the capital Sjöblik, and Jotunheim (although you are fairly certain you must have gotten that one wrong: J-O-O-T-U-N-H-A-Y-M). Running out of names, you start scribbling your thoughts onto the paper, allowing your memories of home to guide you until you grow frustrated with your own lack of speed. Words are slow and clumsy, you feel, and the charcoal begins a different dance across the page to depict the jagged mountains so high that the snow never leaves the pinnacles. The darkness of the forest skirting the slopes rubs onto your fingers, finds the fine lines of your hands to nestle in before becoming smudges on anything you touch. Filthy.

The part of you that is an obedient Midgardian who has been raised to serve her king unquestionably feels a suffocating guilt that makes the bile turn in your stomach. As long as you remember, everything in your life has been a question of what the king needs to secure the country. Your father worked for many years in the quarry together with your two older brothers until the captain came to the village and drafted them to the war. But the king needed his taxes regardless, so your mother took over her husbands work while you kept tending to the livestock (both your own and the rest of the villagers’).

It wasn’t enough.

Next year when the tax collectors came, they took the old cow, the handful of sheep and all but one scrawny chicken. Unless you could get to town regularly to buy food, then you would have to hunt or fish. But hunting was forbidden, and even if you had had the money the town was too far away. So you went to the quarry with your mother one morning, and while the workers went to their daily task, you sought ought the foreman hoping to be accepted as a day labourer. That’s when it happened. The rumble of falling stones overpowered every other sound, the earth shook, and you knew. You just…knew. You did not need to run to the site of the collapse for any other reason that find the one or two survivors. Without warning you were alone.

That’s why you had left to join the king’s army. Maybe, you had thought, you would be lucky to find your father or brothers or at least get news of them. Were they even alive? As it turned out, the probably weren’t because the battalions they had been in had been unsuccessful in their raids of what had been called the reclamation of Midgardian territory in the north.

Now you know better.

Well, if I can trust what Loki says.

If only you could find out more. Words spoken many months ago come back on dark wings. What once sounded like a threat from the god is now becoming a promise, a viable option to consider: become a tool, a spy to gain access where Loki or other of his allies cannot to learn what the Midgardian king and his supporters are plotting. Find the truth.

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