#himmeløyne | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lwtficrecs · 4 years

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• fic/masterlist | author name | last chapter read | type of au | *** (means smut) If you see *** it means there is 18+ content in that fic. please respect the authors wishes and be over 18 to view it. Also a strikethrough means the story has non or dubious consent and read at your own discretion. lastly if you find any mistakes please put it in the notes or message me or put it in my inbox. i read a lot so there were a bunch of links and things get mixed lol :)

Steve Rogers + Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes + Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes + Thor Odinson & Bucky Barnes

Tony Stark

Billion Dollar Man Masterlist | @angelicthor | 2/15? |***

Thor Odinson

Bus Stop | @starkonic | college au

Yale | @starkonic

Drabble: Thor with his Newborn Baby | @avengerscompound

Headcanon: Being Loki’s and Thor’s Little Sister Who has Healing and Plant Powers | @headcanoning247

I Love You | @straightouttaneptune | endgame!thor

Not So Bad | @thebookwormslytherin | endgame!thor

Soft to be Strong | @padmeamiala | endgame!thor

Thor and Bucky

Headcanon: Having a Poly Relationship with Thor and Bucky Would Include | @avengerscompound

Taking Chances Series Masterlist | @bionic-buckyb | 5/5? | roommate au

Loki Odinson

Pure Sin | @carefreebarnes | i/ii?

time limits us | @oofjustanothermcufan

Polaris (other links here) | @lokimostly | ch. 7/14? | pirate au

The Hand That Feeds | @darkficsyouneveraskedfor | dark!loki | ***

Imagine: Loki Diguises Himself to find True Love | @imagine-loki

Himmeløyne | @scribeofmorpheus | ch. 6/7? | ***

At Arms Length | @myattemptatfanfic |

Dirty Secrets Masterlist | @myattemptatfanfic | 12/12?

Imagine: Being from Asgard but hiding on Earth and becoming an Avenger when your family wants to marry you of instead... | @myriadimagines

Thor Odinson & Loki Odinson

Drabble: Loki’s Good Girl | @sherrybaby14 | ***

Headcanons: Dick Speculation for Thor and Loki | @emilyevanston | ***

Hellboy

Headcanon: Most attractive trait | @clownistyping

Anung Un Rama NS*W Headcanons | @turnmeonbigreddevilman | ***

Headcanon: Hellboy Body Massage Headcanons | @mermaidmundane

Friday Nights with Hellboy | @marveltoon

Drabble: Hellboy x angel!reader | @clownistyping

Roughness | @hagelpaimon | ***

Drabble: Mermaid!reader, 2 | @clownistyping

Headcanons: Hellboy crushing on someone who is already dating someone else | @whiskehorange

Headcanon: Hellboy Marking You with His Teeth | @howlingwolfqueen | ***

Headcanon: With a s/o Who is a Werewolf | @whiskehorange |

Headcanon: Hellboy with a s/o Who Has an Infant Daughter | @onefunnyshadow

Headcanon: Hellboy Bonding with His Baby | @hellboyxreader

Highball, Highstakes | @fvckyeahfanfics

Headcanon: Hellboy and Breeding Kink | @whiskehorange | ***

Thanks, Red... | @ohhey-mishamigosx

Hellboy Drunk Headcanons | @mermaidmundane

Imagine Dating Hellboy and Revealing That You Are the Next Enchantress | @thedailyimagines

Headcanons: Going on a Date with Hellboy | @xlmonster-mashlx

Domestic Hellboy Headcanon | @xlmonster-mashlx |

Headcanons: Super Affectionate/ Bodyworhsipping s/o | @xlmonster-mashlx

Keep Me Warm | @ohhey-mishamigosx

Headcanon: HB React to a Mutant Dark Phoenix s/o, with Difficulties Dealing with Them | @clownistyping

Anung un Rama N*FW Headcanons | @turnmeonbigreddevilman | ***

Headcanons: Hellboy Having a Wet Dream | @turnmeonbigreddevilman | ***

Hellboy Kink List NSFW 10 Count | @babesaipen | ***

Nuada

Headcanon: Sleep | @newmooneyfanfiction

Drabble: Soulmate Who is Red’s Adopted Sister | @thecodenamesred

Nuada x Jealous Queen | @mermaidmundane

Nuada Falling in Love with a Princess | @onefunnyshadow

Peter Parker

Daises | @starktonyx | soulmate AU

Late Night Save | @starkonic

Time | @starkonic

Eddie Brock/Venom

Hurt | @inkteller-17

Headcanon: Dating Eddie Brock Would Include... | @obscure-imagines

The Monster | @sexy-monster-fucker | 1/?

Oh My God They Were Roommates | @dumbbitchenergytm | soulmate au

Headcanon: Dating Eddie Brock Would Include | @pinesol-babey

Headcanon: Imagine Being Eddie’s Journalism Partner | @marvelshitposting

Headcanon: NSFW | @thorsthot | ***

The Girl of My Dreams Masterlist | @bad--bad--man | 6/6 | ***

My Neighbor is a Monster | @bad--bad--man | 4/5 | ***

Headcanon: There’s Another | @sexy-monster-fucker | ***

Concept: You riding Eddie... | @sexy-monster-fucker | ***

Knight in Black Armor | @sexy-monster-fucker | ***

Imagine Eddie Brock Obsessing Over You, 2 | @sinningingeneral

Chocolate & Pleasure | @skatedate67791 | ***

Imagine running into Venom in a Dark Alley..., 2 | @a-blushing-mess | ***

President of the Villain Committee | @littlemessyjessi

Off Limits, 2 | @bwvyne

A Little Taste | @advesperascits | ***

Detour | @its-negans-lucille

Tom Hiddleston

Spring | @the-minus-four | ***

Wade Wilson

Crosswalk | @starkonic

Natasha Romanoff

Drabble: Natasha Catching the Reader Masturbating Smut | @propertyofpoeandbucky | ***

Carol Danvers

Headcanon: Having a Baby with Carol Danvers | @avengerscompound

Scott Lang

Headcanon: Having a Baby with Scott Lang | @avengerscompound

Peter Parker

Rooftops | @bucky-at-bedtime

Tom Holland

Shell | @a-blog-of-fandoms-and-writing

Pietro Maximoff

Headcanon: Marrying Pietro Maximoff Would Include: | @emilyevanston

Logan Hewlett (Wolverine)

Headcanon: Dick Speculation | @emilyevanston | ***

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Headcanon: Dick Speculation | @emilyevanston | ***

Headcanon: Dating Gambit | @emilyevanston

Kurt Wagner

Imagine: Falling in Love with Nightcrawler | @silentwaters4

Multiple Characters

Headcanons: Secret admirer letters | @onefunnyshadow

Headcanons: Hellboy, Nuada, Abe with a Harpy!reader | @onefunnyshadow

Headcanons: Hellboy and Nuada with a Demigod!reader | @onefunnyshadow

Headcanons: Hellboy, Abe and Nuada with an s/o Who is Sick but Refuses to Rest | @long-cosmos-overhead

Headcanons: Liz, HB, Abe and Nuada with an s/o that Sacrifices Themselves for Them | @onefunnyshadow

Headcanons: Nuada, Jason, Tiffany, and HB with a Very Shy and Submissive Reader | @onefunnyshadow

Headcanons: Michael Myers. Hellboy, Abe and Nuada with a Blind s/o | @whiskehorange

Headcanons: Nuada and Hellboy s/o with a Cat Familiar | @onefunnyshadow

Headcanons: HB, Thranduil, Venom and Nuada with an s/o that Freaks Out and has a Panic Attack During Sexy Time and uses the Safe Word | @onefunnyshadow | ***

Headcanons: Nuada, Abe And Hellboy Accidentally Hurting Their S/o | @long-cosmos-overhead

Avengers Preferences- When They’re Jealous | @celebrites-imagines |

Avengers and the Birth of their Child | @avengerscompound

Nuada, Abe and Hellboy Accidentally Hurting Their s/o | @long-cosmos-overhead

Avengers Headcanons/Imagines: Weaponry |

Character x Character

Don’t Go Alone | @starkonic

#tony stark x reader #thor odinson x reader #loki x reader #hellboy x reader #nuada x reader #peter parker x reader #eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #tom hiddleston x reader #wade wilson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #carol danvers x reader #scott lang x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #logan hewlett x reader #wolverine x reader #remy lebeau x reader #gambit x reader #kurt wagner x reader

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ladybugsfanfics · 5 years

Note

Can you recommend some fanfics?

Of course!

Let’s see:

literally anything by @kentuckybarnes, though my favorite she’s written is Say Yes To Life

@lokimostly‘s James Conrad fic Rainy Days and the sequel Home From War

And I recommend Twenty/Twenty, Three Hearts and Wanderlust by @brooklyn-boy

@scribeofmorpheus has a really well-written series called Counterpart and one called Himmeløyne

There’s a bunch more to recommend. Social media aus are super great @geosaurusrrex has a bunch that I love, so does @sunmoonandbucky.

if you check out my sideblog @ladybugsficarchive you might find something. Everything’s tagged with the title, the pairing and the character. Hope this helps ^_^

#ask #ladybug answers #anon ask #Ladybugs500sleepover #fic recs

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ao3feed-lokiangst · 5 years

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Himmeløyne

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Jfn8r4

by scribeofmorpheus

Premise: What does a Norse trickster god, a village massacre, a life long secret and a now forgotten past have in common? Nothing, except for the young witch at the centre of it all, with the eyes that change with the sky.

Words: 4997, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, Gen, Other

Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Odin (Marvel), Frigga | Freyja (Marvel), Heimdall (Marvel), Sif (Marvel), Warriors Three (Marvel), Original Characters, Jotuns (Marvel)

Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader, loki odinson & reader, Sif & Reader, frigga & reader, Thor & Reader

Additional Tags: Magic, Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Minor Character Death, Death, Tragedy, Angst, eventual NSFW, Eventual Smut

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Jfn8r4

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #angst

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

Text

Himmeløyne [29/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: none

A/N: Another chapter babes!!!!

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please

~Y/N

You woke up lightly. Sound of birds near the windows. Breeze against half-open curtains, lace and light projecting patterns onto the walls. There was a mysticism to how light and airy the world felt against your body. The burdens of living—of breathing, of knowing, of yearning—though constant, were far away in this moment, barely shadows in the distance, and the scar on your chest was forgotten, so too were the memories sutured into your flesh.

You turned towards the warmth on the opposite side of your bed. Loki slept with a smile on his face. Wisps of hair delicately touching closed eyelids. The sheen on his hair was healthy, magnificent. You couldn’t resist running your fingers through his hair. It was soft, softer than the silk of your pillow.

Loki stirred, your touch acting like magnetism. His fingers found the soft spot of your waist, the rasp of his voice washed over you in waves, making you shiver.

“I’m very new to this whole handfasting thing, but I’m pretty sure sleeping in is one of the rules.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t a dream.” he drew in closer, your bodies pressed together.

You tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, leaning over to whisper, “If I told you it wasn’t, would you believe me?”

His smile grew deeper, “Probably not. But dream or no dream, I don’t care, it’s perfect. This is still the best thing to happen to me in a long, long while.”

“How would you know if your eyes are still closed?” you traced the shape of Loki’s mouth with your finger. A shudder ran through his body.

“Because,” he leaned closer, eyes still closed, a deep breath making his chest larger and harder against your own. You gasped in surprise, unprepared for what Loki did. With a pleasant laziness to it, the pull returned. Your magics interweaved together, sensations of the previous night exciting skin and muscle and body in phantom touches, phantom kisses and very real, very raw passion. You settled into the sensations, gave them a home to lay roots and spread. It was intoxicating, being together, consuming. The tip of Loki’s finger arched your chin higher, angled your face perfectly for the lazy kiss he gave you. Then he opened his eyes, looked into yours, offered reflections of the world beyond your bedroom window in the darker parts. “I can feel it in my bones, you’re where I belong. And anywhere you are is perfect, because anywhere you are is home to me.”

Like the weather taking a turn for the worse on a beautiful spring day, something in you shifted, changed. You couldn’t reason as to why, but Loki’s sincerity, and the way in which he said those words—without blinking or stuttering—it made you feel anxious.

There was no mystery to uncover anymore. No prince to save. No king to be saved from. Only the very fragile peace of your union and nothing else.

For the first time, the horizon before you was bare, empty. No obstacles to climb. No path to follow. You were walking blind, in a sense—you wouldn’t be able to notice the edge of the cliff until you walked off it and fell into the unknowable.

He had called you his home, and you should have been overjoyed, but all you could think about was the fact everything could change.

Everything would change. Baldrick, your mother’s Valkyrie armour locked in the palace armoury and the existence of the mirror world were proof enough.

“Something’s bothering you,” Loki said. It wasn’t a question but an observation. His thumb brushed your cheek as he rested his chin on your forehead. “I must say, my pride is the slightest bit wounded. That wasn’t the response I imagined after giving such a perfect, unrehearsed confession. I pictured a little more swooning. A lot less gloomy.”

“Is it too late for cold feet?” you retorted.

“What’s the matter, love?”

You tore yourself away from him, focused on the lace patterns projected the ceiling, “I once called the hut in my village home. Thought it would outlive me even. I imaged I’d have children, teach them tradition—” you traced your finger around the singed flesh where your brand had been “—pass on. Now, none of that will come to pass.”

Loki eyed you seriously, his brows furrowed. “Are you afraid my feelings will change?”

“Maybe not your feelings, but things do change. Just a moment ago, you spoke your mind, were open with your feelings. That’s different.” You sighed, reliving the memory of the village massacre. “I know that homes burn. I’ve seen them turn to ash.”

“Being honest about our feelings was in our vows, I’m just staying faithful.” he took your hand in his. “And a home can be rebuilt, even from ashes.”

“Would you still love it the same way, if you knew it was different?”

“Where is all this coming from?”

“I told you about Verdenspeil and how the mirror world was created for Baldrick.”

“I remember.”

“But I left something out. I know who put Baldrick in the mirror world.”

Loki sat up, the haze of sleepiness wearing off. “Who?”

“I did,” you said softly. If Loki had been a god of adjudication, he would have found you guilty from the sound of your voice alone. “…or, at least, I will create it. Something to do with time magic. I don’t understand it myself, but now that I’ve had time to think, distance, I know that world was built on the foundations of something powerful. An emotion, perhaps. One I’ve never felt before. I’ve felt anguish and pain and hate. I’ve mourned my mother, mourned never having had a father, friends. I’ve yearned for you when we were apart. Verdenspeil was different, built on something frightening. What if something terrible happens in the future? What if we—”

Loki’s lips were on yours. Through the kiss you could feel the corners of his lips pull into a smile. You blinked several times in confusion. Heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” you stammered when Loki broke the kiss.

“I did.”

“And you’re not the slightest bit scared?”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Because you just proved there’s something to be happier for.”

“What is there to be happier about in an unknowable future?”

Loki shook his head, “The fact you have one.” He let out a small chuckle, as if a victor of some secret battle. “My mother once suggested sending you back, to Midgard. She suspected, as I did, that despite your Asgardian heritage, your mortal half would hold the strongest influence. She feared you’d age as mortals do. Die as they do. And I feared I’d have to accept that…somehow. But, now, Baldrick’s existence proves that we have time. Time to love each other, grow bored of each other, despise each other and then love each other all over again.”

“You never mentioned this to me before.”

Loki flinched, a shadow of regret toying with his face. “It happened during that night, before the throne room...”

“Oh…”

“Lets dwell on the positive, shall we?” Loki shifted his weight so he was positioned on top of you, thighs pressed against your sides, his knees trapping you under him. “This also means that we have a long, fortuitous and amorous handfasting union.”

You arched a brow, “Amorous?”

“Hmmm,” he kissed along your collarbone, dipping lower to brush the scar tissue on your chest with his lips. “I can be quite the generous lover.” His kisses trailed even lower.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What did your mother say while we were being handfasted?”

Loki rolled his eyes playfully, “My mother is the last person I want to be thinking of right now.”

“I want to know what made you go red behind the ears.”

He smirked, “In the old tongue, you mean? It’s a blessing, I suppose. It means ‘May your ties be filled with joyousness, and may your union be without discord. Bound by magic older than our own, by the seed and the fruit, under the Great Tree, may your joining bring harmony.’”

“Joining? Is that a tame way of saying all-the-things-we-did-last-night?” you smirked, tracing along the ridges of his rib cage.

He stopped your hand from going too low, brought your fingers to his lips and kissed them chastely. “Joining can mean many things. Not all unions are between lovers. Some are alliances. Others, diversions. I suppose we fall in the latter, but it’s a good thing we were compatible beforehand. Speaking of compatible,” his expression went dark with a twinkle of mischief. “I can think of a hundred other things we have yet to do, together, alone. Maybe we should consider a more secluded corner of the castle, a whole wing to ourselves.”

You could picture it now. Lazy days spent beneath covers. Mornings together. Simple pleasures of early love. The quiet of peace, finally. “How about a cottage instead. By the edge. I can grow flowers. You can read those large tomes of yours under a tree.”

“Sounds utterly boring, and something I’d love to endure…for you.” He dipped his head, captured your lips in his, made you dizzy with bliss.

As easy as breathing, the two of you descended into that carnal pleasure you’d only just discovered, the one Loki could finally explore and see come to true. Your worries became fleeting, a moment of doubt deftly quelled by the comfort of a lover's touch. You still had questions, doubts, but for now, you were content in believing them gone.

Exploration was what you loved best about being a pair. Discovering each other’s softness, working through the harder edges, savouring the rise and fall of desire, only to chase the rise again. Euphoria was new to you. Something so purely hedonistic you felt yourself becoming selfish with it. Coveting it. Losing yourself with no reservations because you were safe.

You were in love.

Getting dressed took forever; between the constant need to be close to one another and Loki’s playful antics, the two of you were inseparable.

As you bent down to pick up your discarded clothing, you noticed dark smudges on the foot of the bed. It had been a while since you’d slept in your own bed, and you remembered how soothing it felt to soak in the bath before the feast last night. It may have been a common thing to feel clean and smell of soap and lavender, but after days spent hopping between realms and stars, common commodities meant something richer than gold to you. Which is why you found it strange that your feet were blackened at the sole.

Loki noticed you staring at your feet, perplexed.

“You were restless last night. After everything we went through, I’d have thought you’d be exhausted. For many reasons. I much rather prefer the bed with you in it. Where’d you run off to?” he said, a small pout giving him a childish look.

“I don’t remember getting out of bed.”

Loki pointed to a spot near the window. “A trail of evidence says otherwise.”

Faint footprints led out and then back into the room, a few were arranged in a circle by the window—pacing? You hovered one foot above an imprint and it matched perfectly. “You’re right, but for the life of me I can’t seem to remember leaving this room…”

Loki absentmindedly did up his buttons, staring at the pillow on your side of the bed, less sunken than his. “Somnambulism is common among mortals. Especially those who’ve been through quite the ordeal as you have.”

Something twisted in your gut, an uncomfortable feeling that reminded you of your earlier days, those spent coming to terms with your magic. Again, your body was changing, betraying your mind. Or maybe it was the other way around.

“I can do a little more research on it. Breezy reading. I think I’d like that distraction very mu—” Loki flinched like a reflexive muscle.

You wondered how much of your emotions he’d picked up on. You muted your magic, imagined locking it away for a while. A rustic wooden box, no symbols or identifying markings, just twine twisted and roped into the knot you used to tie kindling together. There you’d keep it safe and quiet.

The room seemed to sigh, grow lighter. Emotions between you became ambiguous, without definitive form.

“Hmm…” he murmured.

A simple thought came to you as you walked over to Loki, helped him button his shirt, “Follow me next time.”

“Promise,” he held you close. The smell of him was like the ocean. You would gladly drown in the presence of him if you could.

~Loki

The library didn’t present itself as a mausoleum anymore; a monument to a time before the fight in the throne room. The room appeared different to the last time he’d stepped foot in it. More orderly. Many of the books had been reshelved. The few he always found himself drawn back to were opened on their bookmarked pages. A rush of emotions hit him, but none as strongly as guilt.

So far, guilt had been the hardest burden to shake. Wine took some of the sting away, made him numb enough to believe he was truly okay, but it was barely noon, and drinking wouldn’t have been appropriate.

Instead, Loki perused the shelves for books on sleepwalking and other issues he found worth exploring; time magic, mirroring worlds, newer ways of eliciting pleasure, how to tend to flowers.

He’d read up on several tea remedies. The most intriguing one was for a white petalled flower that bloomed in spring. The flower’s scent was described as sweet and fresh, and the tea was used to treat restlessness.

Next, he read up on what little myth and lore he could find on mirroring worlds. Most were different from what Y/N described. Some were inverted. Others, backward. But none seemed to be made of memory or shifting light and mist. The tome he’d sealed his mother within was one such artefact, but, for all his knowledge, Loki understood very little of the physics of the world or the source of its magic.

He remembered a story linked to the book, one told by an old scholar that had brought it as an offering for Frigga. Loki had barely outgrown his childish figure then; lanky, a little taller than Thor, brooding. At that age, like most children, he’d hated his tutoring, desired, instead, to acquire forbidden knowledge. The tome was said to have been a creation that predated the Great Wars. He’d spent hours trying to understand it, his only reward was gaining the ability to cast a mirage of himself. The book itself was a feat of madness, the machinations of an inter-dimensional being that resided within a dark dimension. A being referred to only once in the entire Asgardian library. The Cosmic Conqueror.

Loki stretched out his hand, calling for the book with his magic, expecting it to cross the divide and land in his grip. Except, it didn’t. A few more seconds passed till he stood from his chair and went over to the bookcase with an empty space where the tome had been.

Loki filled a shallow bronze basin with water and hailed a bookkeeper in the middle of his scribing duties. It was the same bookkeeper he’d spoken to last time.

“Bookkeeper,” Loki said, the sound of his voice made ripples in the reflecting pool which turned into waves as the bookkeeper spilt ink all over his parchment, a small yelp following.

“S-sire?” the bookkeeper asked, looking around, unable to see Loki’s form, only able to hear his disembodied voice.

“I require a book that was stored in the library. Old. Red, leather cover. Was used to trap my mother inside of it.” Loki watched with amusement as the bookkeeper squirrelled about, fidgeting with his cloak as his eyes darted about.

“I—I believe, t-that particular volume was moved to the East Wing.”

Loki raked his hand through his hair, biting back the impulse to curse. “Under whose orders?”

The bookkeeper motion to stand, but then decided it best to sit. Then went through the motions again before he settled on doing neither. His arms were on the chair, keeping him upright, and allowing him to stay off the chair without shaking. “It was the Queenmother’s wish to have it housed with the rest of the artefacts in the Hall of Antiquities.”

Disappointed, Loki waved his hand over the water basin. The reflective pool that allowed him to see into the bookkeepers' offices offered only the reflection of his face now. He wasn’t in the mood to enter the East Wing. It was his parent’s domain. Close to the throne room. Close to the chance of running into his father. And uncomfortably close to those bitter memories he didn’t want to chase.

Feeling frustrated with his lack of results, and the effects of an oncoming headache, Loki shifted his focus to a different school of research to preserve his sanity. Time, however, had been the opaquest starting point. It was linked to every mythology, and many had their own interpretations. Time magic was rare, most books on its practices simply forewarned of the consequences of dabbling in such arts. Still, it was a welcome distraction.

He had been so engrossed with his research, he hadn’t noticed the time fly, nor did he notice Thor on the far side of the table until thunderous laughter bounced off the walls.

“In all the Nine!” Loki sighed, placing his book on the table. It was an uncommon thing for Thor to catch him unawares. Loki refused to let his surprise show. “Try announcing yourself louder next time, don’t think our grandfather’s ghost heard you.”

“Why, brother, you’re certainly bolder than I give you credit for! How much did you get up to in one night?” Thor’s smile practically ran from ear to ear. “I must say, I’ve never tried this position myself. She must be very nimble. Good for you, brother. Good. For. You.”

“What are you—?” Loki’s mind went blank as soon as he saw which book was in Thor’s hands, the lewd illustrations of man and woman only just visible from where he sat. In a flash, Loki waved his hand, sending the small, fabric-bound book flying from Thor’s hands. With another hand gesture, he used his magic to send the book somewhere Thor would never find it.

“Oh, don’t be a prude!” Thor teased.

“Only if you stop being so boarish,” Loki began restacking the books, if only to seem busy and not at all embarrassed. “Shouldn’t you be out swinging your hammer at things? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you step foot in a library of your own volition. What, lose a bet to Sif again? Or did you forget the rules of Fates?”

“Only you enjoy such games. I have no desire to take part in games of chance. I much prefer games of strength.”

Loki grabbed the Asgardian Botany Catalogue from a stack of scrolls. “Yes, well, it’s no surprise you would.”

“I heard that,” Thor glowered.

“Did I stutter?”

Thor grumbled under his breath.

Loki stepped off the foot ladder and made his way back to the table. “What is it Thor, really?”

“Do I need a reason to see my brother?”

Loki removed the fabric bow from the scroll and unfurled the paper on the table, securing it with something weighted. “I suppose not, but there’s usually one attached.”

“I spent many hours in this library while you were…” Thor’s eyes trailed to the ceiling, up in the direction of the healing tower Loki had been kept in for the last couple of months. “It was a mess, at first. So was I. Mother disappeared. Father wouldn’t talk to me. Then Y/N and the others left, too. I understand why they didn’t take me with them. Not much use for a God of Thunder that can’t stand up straight. So, when I was alone, and sick with worry, this library was the only place that didn’t seem…empty. Cleaning it up became my way of being close to you. And without magic—” Thor whistled “—it was no small endeavour.”

Loki leaned against the table, scroll momentarily forgotten, “You sorted the library?”

“And it wasn’t without severe strain to my back, I’ll tell you that!” Thor worked his back muscles until they let out a satisfying pop.

Loki was at a loss for words. Bickering and childish retorts had been their form of brotherly affection for the longest time. Now Loki understood why Y/N’s countenance shifted after he’d earnestly declared her his home. Words were a powerful thing when there was nothing to dilute from their sincerity. This library became Thor’s earnest truth, and his words, though said with a light-hearted cadence, were a heavy declaration. The care and thought Thor had put into restoring the library made Loki feel strange. Not raw or uncomfortable, simply strange.

Loki walked over to Thor and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, brother.”

“See,” Thor grabbed a book and shook it as if he wanted the words to spill out. “Not all brawn after all.”

Loki huffed humorously, “I’m beginning to see that.”

“It’s good to see you back here. The library is finally a library again,” Thor glanced at the opened books and scattered papers with a fondness. Then, dastardly, he wiggled his eyebrows towards one of the shelves, “Now about that book…”

“There you are!” Hogun shouted from down the hall, taking swift strides into the library. He was unusually peppy, a large smile lighting up his eyes.

“Thank the stars,” Loki sighed in relief. “Please, for the sake of my sanity, tell me you’ve come to whisk my brother away on urgent business.”

“Aww, and I was just beginning to have some fun,” Thor protested.

“Far, far away business,” Loki pleaded.

Hogun backhanded Thor’s chest, eager to garner his friend's attention. “Sif has a bone to pick with you.”

“Ah, so you did lose a bet,” Loki said. "Thought as much."

“And we’re all eager for you to see it through,” Hogun ushered Thor out of the room, laughing under his breath as the God of Thunder begrudgingly kicked his feet. Over his shoulder, Hogun said, “Come to the tavern later. It’ll be a momentous occasion. Ah! Did Y/N find her way back okay?”

Loki perked up like a wolf to a whistle. “Her way back? Did you see where she went last night?”

“Not where she went exactly, but I caught wind of her as I was walking past the East Wing.”

“Did she seem like herself?”

“I didn’t stop to chat, she didn’t seem to be in an inviting mood, but…” Hogun hummed, scratching at chin in thought. “Mostly. Colder, maybe. Distant. But that’s probably because she was walking barefoot, on palace marble, past midnight, in nothing but her shift.”

“Did you and Y/N have a lover’s spat already?” Thor asked, his surprise coming off a pitch higher than usual. “You should keep a closer eye on your bride, Loki. I never knew you to be one to let things run away from you.”

“Stop delaying the inevitable. Don’t you have your own problems to worry over?” Loki waved them off dismissingly, his mind too busy to entertain small, superfluous conversation. He’d come to the library with clear goals and yet the only clarity he’d been afforded was on the ancient art of tea brewing practices to relieve stress. “Maybe I need that cup of tea.”

Loki strolled the botanical gardens in search of the white flower used for brewing sleeping tea. The aromas of each flower mixed together to form a thick layer in the air, subtle hints of petrichor and compost—not the decomposing kind, but the kind that marked the start of autumn.

A bed of white flowers swayed with the breeze, their yellow bulbs almost as rich as gold. Loki thought of Y/N’s golden eye, how it was both strange and very much suited to her features. If her people could see what she’d become, she’d be a spectacle worthy of a goddess.

He bent down to pick a handful of the white flowers, making sure not to pull at the root or bend the stems. The action was calming. Simplistic. Maybe he’d enjoy gardening after all. Planting seeds and watching them grow. Cutting sprouts to put in a vase for Y/N in the mornings. Filling their home with different sweet, earthy smells.

“I remember when you used to pick flowers for me,” his mother’s voice came sweeping in from across the flower bed. The white fabric of her dress was enveloped by the rows of white petals. She looked like a forest spirit, joined at the hip with nature as it bloomed.

“You flatter me, but we both know that most of them were weeds,” he said, a fond smile creeping over his face.

“They were still beautiful,” she bowed close to a pink flower and inhaled its scent before eyeing his lean bouquet. “Flowers for your bride? Kamille, interesting choice.”

“She’s sleepwalking,” he plucked a few more stems before righting himself. “They’re supposed to ease restlessness.”

“Be sure to pluck some for yourself, you look tense.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t. In the bedroom, earlier, the reality of being awake and facing the consequences of his actions was merely a suggestion. Something to do after he got dressed and left Y/N’s room. Even with layers of clothes on, he felt naked. Exposed like a fresh wound. It would take a while before normal felt like normal again.

“Has father said anything?” he asked, taking in the magnificence of his mother’s garden.

Frigga nodded and Loki steeled himself for what she would say next. “He says many things. Depends on the day really. He wasn’t a fan of the fish we had for dinner. The sauce didn’t agree with him. Complained all night.”

He sighed, almost grateful. “That’s not what I meant.”

His mother laughed as she rounded a corner and took his free arm, “I know, child. Your father’s pride will temper. It always does.”

He didn’t find her words reassuring, “What happens if it doesn’t temper after the year is up?”

Frigga took a second glance at his bouquet and frowned, “You’re missing something.” She walked over to a basket filled with ribbons and plucked one from the sea of colours. It was yellow. Warm. She tied it around his bouquet with a delicate bow. Smiling with pride as she trimmed the edges with the gardening scissors she kept in her dress pocket. “There, all done.”

“You’re avoiding my question,” he pointed out the obvious.

“An artform you perfected as a child,” she reminded him. “Do not concern yourself with the weight of what is to come. Go, spend time with your bride. Be happy.”

With a lifted brow and a wry smile, Loki saw an opportunity to capitalise on his mother’s words, “Then, in the interest of happiness, I have a favour to ask.”

To be continued...

#loki #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki disney+#himmeløyne

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

Text

Himmeløyne [25/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Violence / Angst???

A/N: ...

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“You shouldn’t be here,” Loki said.

Shivers ran up your spine. For the first time since you knew him, he looked terrified. Helpless.

The Creature—the monster—that materialised from the mist inched closer. Its steady pace was unnerving, like pinpricks to the skin.

You took Loki’s hand in yours, felt his grip, ironclad, and said, “Right here is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Then our reunion was fated to be a short one.” He glanced at the creature, at its eyes, and clenched his jaw as tightly as his muscle could allow. He took an instinctual step back, pulling you behind him. “There’s no escaping it.”

You turned to the creature, unsure of what it was entirely that you sensed from it. It wasn’t fear—at least, not your own. Not hate either. Though it was masked in those emotions well. There was a drive behind its instinct, a purpose. Keenly aware of the fact you still had your magic, you let your magic do the searching where vision failed you. Tendrils of energy waned as if something unseen was pushing back, resisting. You planted your feet, took a deep breath and blocked out everything except the creature. There was familiarity there. A sense of pain. Grief. A broken heart.

Bestla’s words rippled back to you, reminding you of what she had said about Loki, “Loki is a fraught boy. Torn apart by two halves that will always be at war.”

A tendril of magic managed to touch the creature and incoherent flashes distracted you, making you lose balance.

With a grunt, you and Loki were both flung back, the wind knocked out of you. You rolled from your side and noticed the creature was undeterred from his path. A strong magical barrier surrounded it.

The creature lunged, its bone and flesh sword for a hand tearing the seams of Loki’s subconscious world.

You had to get Loki away from the creature, find a way to reassure him, give him room to process everything in safety. As long as the creature was a stone’s throw away, you wouldn’t be able to help him. “How do we escape it?”

Loki turned to you, downcast, “We don’t. I’ve never escaped it.” He looked at his hands. “I have no powers here.”

“But I do,” you forged a connection to his subconscious through your linked hands. “Think of a place, a memory, anywhere you feel safe. I’ll take you there!”

The creature neared and Loki’s mind flooded with too many images, too many years condensed into a barrage of smells and touch, hot and cold, emotion and emptiness. Steeling yourself, you clung onto the strongest sensation: smell. Berries. A burst of blue and purple. Warmth from an oven. A hug.

Instantly, the both of you were sucked into a portal of light, teleported deeper into Loki’s mind. Before the portal shut, the creature let out a roar, snagging skin from your elbow as it slashed and slashed in a frenzy. You seethed from the surprising burn of its cold touch.

You were thrust forward and wrenched back, a tension to your muscles, adrenaline soaking tissue. Your magic sparked, and you lost your bearing. When the world stopped spinning, you were in a kitchen, not the human kind with a hearth and cast iron pots, but Asgardian. Polished stones greeted your feet while gold embellishments decorated everything; curtains, fine dishes, the liquid within crystal clear tumblers.

“Where… where are we?” you glance around, unfamiliar with your surroundings.

Out from a blind spot, two boys darted into the kitchen area. Frigga followed soon after, a youthful blush on her face, hair the colour of magnificent straw. The boys played with wooden swords, clashing in a dull thud. Laughter keeping the room vibrant. The boy with the sandy hair yelped, and before your eyes, his wooden sword transformed into a snake, slithering away.

The raven-haired boy turned ghostly pale, frightened by what he’d just done. He clenched his fists in horror. Frigga calmed him, a sweet smile on her face as she ran her fingers through his hair. She hesitated for a moment before she hunkered low to hug both her sons. Soon after, a baker walked into the room with a silver tray of pastries. Blackish filling spilt over the folds, the smell of citric berries permeated into the space like a blanket, sweet and tart.

“Home,” Loki said. A look of longing crept over his face, a slouch to his shoulders. “I remember this day… This was the day before Father had taken us to the vault to tell us stories, of our grandfather, of the war…the Giants. Mother had asked the baker’s to make her favourite pies. We helped her pick the berries from a thicket near the edge during the day. It was the first time I used transformation magic. I was so scared. So was Thor. But not Mother… she just held us till we stopped crying. Made us feel safe in her embrace. She said I got my magic from her. That we were born under the same stars. Blessed by the same spirits.”

You placed a hand on his back and he leaned into the contact. “It seems like a happy memory.”

“Many of them were… before…” he turned to look away from the homely scene unfolding. “They were my family. My blood.”

The child version of him smiled with pie filling smeared over his round cheeks. You recognised Baldrick in his features. Slight, but distinct. The same dark hair and wide eyes. An impression more than anything.

“They still are,” you said.

“They are not my family…” he sneered, clicking his tongue. “And after what I’ve done, they couldn’t forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“I have done plenty wrong!”

You flinched, his anger turning the room cooler, snuffing out the air, closing you in. Mist crawled onto the windows, and, suddenly, you knew. This feeling—this dread—it had been warped around the creature too, preventing you from fully penetrating its barrier. That same magic now surrounded Loki. More apparent after his outburst.

“Not from where I’m standing,” you said. “Perhaps there is much you need to take responsibility for, but not this”—you placed your hand on his chest, felt the thrum of his heart—“not for who you are…what you are.”

“They lied to me! Made me think I was one of them. Hid my birth rite from me. Hid me,” he shouted. “I’m a monster!”

The mist had enveloped all the windows now. Cracks spread like veins. A chill wracked through the air.

You ignored the foreboding signs and kept your focus on Loki, “By that logic, so am I.”

His eyes snapped up meet yours, his lower lip trembling. “Not you. Never you.”

Your heart ached at his words. “I’ve taken life… Life that I now see was more than a simple monster made real from under my bed.”

Recognition flashed across his face, “The Giant in Jotunheim. The one who...”

You nodded, slowly. “Yes.”

“But he took something from you,” Loki held your shoulders, speaking in haste as he shook you. “You deserved vengeance. And wanting it… that doesn’t make you a monster.”

You let out a sigh, somehow feeling older as you did it, feeling the heft of another’s life—of Bestla’s life. “Only because something had been taken from him, too. Something that was rightly his.” A sad smile came over you. “Do you know what he said before I killed him? He said his kind were always the villains in my stories. I never thought much of it, at the time. But then I met someone…your grandmother. She told me things, about the Great Wars, the histories of the Giants, the truth. And I see now…”

Loki rambled, taken aback by what you said. "My... grandmother? H-How? When? I—I don't..."

The creature materialised into the room, stone walls exploding into flecks. It growled and Loki stiffened. He was about to pull you away, but you stopped him, mustering all your magic to urge the Jotun beneath his pale skin to surface. His breath hitched as he staggered, fighting the process. You kept watching as the creature continued on its approach. You had a few seconds at best.

“I see now that there’s more than one side to any story. And war… war destroys more than the past. It takes history. It takes truth. It makes martyrs out of monsters and monsters out of martyrs. Makes kings. Destroys empires. Breeds hate. And these effects ripple out, for generations. You and I are but small grains of sand taken by the whims of the past, struggling to be still.”

“What are you—” Loki’s eyes went wide, making him look so small, so human, as his blue skin surfaced. You trailed along his arm, magic between the two of you building with a charge. With possibilities. He shuddered, taking a few deep breaths to centre himself, to grow used to his reflection in your eyes.

“And this is my truth…” you kissed him gently as the mist clung to your robes and feet. “I love you, Loki, Son of Asgard, Last Prince of Jotunheim... Trickster God. I love all of you. And I bent the world to save you, but the truth is, you aren’t lost, you’re running away.”

The creature lunged, and the wind died out. The creature’s shadow fell behind Loki. From over his shoulder, you could see it raise its arm high, ready to strike… ready to kill.

“It’s time to face who you are…” you whispered.

The creature struck. Loki shouted your name, cradling you close. There was a boom. A rush of air followed by a harrowing silence.

Loki stumbled backward, shocked. All around him were shards of ice, suspended in the darkness until it receded back from where it came. In the light, the creature sloughed away, like fungus being scraped off wood. The layers turned to snowflakes and dispersed all around you. Under the rage and strength of the creature was Loki’s double, pale skinned, blue eyed.

You walked over to Loki’s double and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you see now? Do you see what you were running from?”

Loki paced from left to right, never letting his eyes leave his double. Then he took a step forward, mouth agape, the reality of everything dawning over him. “It was me.”

“You blame yourself for everything. For what happened to my village and what happened to me in the throne room. I suspect you’ve always done so. Resolved yourself to hate the part of you that was different. That was hidden. And that part of you, stricken by self-loathing and doubt, guilt and grief, remained buried here, in the depths of your mind, alone. Apart from you. And when you went under, you could no longer supress him. But after the throne room, those feelings grew in your subconscious, giving form to the very thing you feared. The Jotun in you. The Giant. The monster of your stories.”

“N—No… I—It can’t be.” Loki shook his head, conflicted.

You held out your hand for him to take, “Do you trust me?

He nodded, at a loss for words.

“Then connect them, the two pieces that have been separated for so long. Accept the truth,” you delicately ushered him closer to his double who just blinked, expression empty, hollow.

As the two Lokis stood face to face and the world shook. You took several steps back and watched as Loki put his hand up. His double mirrored his action. When they joined palms, a torrent of emerald light streamed outward, both cold and hot all at once. As bright as a star. As piercing as an arrow. Everything melted out of view until it was only you and him, the illusion of a night sky forming in the background.

He stood close, his smile not quite right. Snaking his arms around you, he held you flush to his chest. You looked up, chin resting on his chest. Finally, you were home.

“Thank you,” he whispered before kissing you. The kiss was life affirming, as though he was saying a thousand things in a single act. You kissed him back, lips tenderly caressed by his own.

A swell flourished in your belly. Warmth you hadn’t felt since the last time you were in his arms flooded back. It was joy. You gasped as that feeling of solace returned from where it had been stripped away. Elated that you could feel his magic again. Feel him again. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could finally breathe again. Be at ease again.

“I—” Loki steadied himself, as though he were about to speak the world apart. “I—”

But before he could finish, you felt a third presence tunnel its way to your subconscious. A message warning you from the other side, from the woken world. It felt like Heimdall’s magic. And it was filled with desperation. “Wait! Heimdall… Something’s wrong!”

“I feel it too,” Loki said.

You felt yourself being pulled from the world, out and through. The world adapted to the invasion. Tears of reality blended into the space.

The voice of a guard shouted, “Captain! She’s resisting. We can’t separate them!”

“Pull harder!” the captain shouted back, her voice heated and coarse like lit charcoal.

Through the tears, you saw the healing chamber. Heimdall and the rest of your companions were defeated, huffing for air. They were being ushered out of the room in shackles. The resisted to no avail, dragged out one by one by the guards in shining armour.

Through the distortion, and past the ebbing flow of sound, you saw Odin enter the room. He carried a familiar tome in his hands. Bestla’s amulet!

You had forgotten that you’d left it in Heimdall’s care. Odin must have taken it from him as he was being dragged away.

“I haven’t seen this in a long, long time,” Odin said wistfully. His thumb brushed against the bird bones, beads catching light from the golden castle. He whispered to the captain, the amulet trading hands between them, from his to hers. Spine bent, Odin took his leave.

The Captain narrowed her eyes at you, and, had you been in your body, present and aware in all senses, you were certain you would have taken a step back.

The captain loomed closer, the tug of so many unfamiliar hands on your wrists and elbows. She shouted again, but the world phased and her sound never reached your ears.

With a dimmer, Loki’s world had begun to flitter out of view.

Sensing this, he drew you close, desperate to have you hear his next words. His lips moved with fervour, words spilling out harried and muffled, incomprehensible. The outside world grew louder. More real. Loki tried to hold onto you, but you felt his hold on you slip away.

With a mind splitting headache, your body greeted your subconscious in the woken world. A wave of exhaustion washed over you as you were overpowered by the guards.

Loki, awakened, reached for you again as he shouted for the guards to desist. Some took a moment to consider, conflicted, but the captain silenced them with a look.

Loki struggled to keep his feet steady. The weeks suspended in the chamber had taken their toll on his body. It was spent. Just like his mind.

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard, I command you to release her immediately!” he said, anger sparked within his eyes. He motioned to summon his magic, to use a spell to fend off the heavy men with heavy grips.

Softly, you shook your head. Speaking low enough for just his ears, “No! Loki… No more violence.”

“Hold her still,” the captain ordered. You were wrenched further back. Loki was still reaching for you, just a little out of reach, staggering with weak knees.

“I’ll make this right!” he swore. “I promise. I’ll make it right.”

With a grimace, the captain placed Bestla’s amulet close to your neck and it came alive, a will of its own as it twined uncomfortably around your neck.

“Wai—”You recoiled from the deadened aura of the amulet. Once it settled in place, you fought the urge to cough. The amulet’s distinct lack of presence overpowered you. It made you limp and you felt sparse. Lacking. No magic. No warmth. Eyelids as heavy as boulders. The strength to stand seeming impossible in the moment. It was worse than the leeching. At least that came with pain, with something.

“Take her below,” the captain said before turning her sights on Loki and ushering a few healers into the space. “The prince needs assistance. Hurry.”

Woozy, everything seemed far, far away. The drag of your feet away from the healing chamber came with less resistance. Loki shrunk in your peripheral, still staggering to close the gap.

#loki #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki mcu #loki x y/n #tom hiddelston imagine #marvel #himmeløyne #reader insert

27 notes · View notes

scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

Text

Himmeløyne [24/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Angst???

A/N: Sorry for the slow updates and return, it’s been a shitty year for me so far and I barely have the energy to be creative or enjoy writing as I used to. Anyhoo, enough dark-loomimg-clouds overhead, I’m going to try and write more and slowly get back in the flow of things. Can’t wait to conclude this journey with all my Loki lovers out there!!♥

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Heimdall

The descent from the mountain was tough. The winds held a biting anger to them, as though they knew outsiders had slipped into Jotunheim, unwanted. It was morning, or a semblance of it, and the snow threatened to turn its grey, sludgy pelt to a blinding light-catcher. Snow blindness would have been an issue had the sun been young in Jotunheim. This old world was always angry every time he stepped foot on its lands, but, after the gates of Mímir’s Tomb closed behind him, the world seemed the slightest bit angrier.

Y/N stirred in his arms. Eyes closed, brows drawn close together. Her lips moved as if possessed, soundless words spilling from her mouth in a fervent cascade. Speech of tongues, a sign of dark magic possession. Y/N’s consciousness was in the stream now, and none could wake her. Even her magic, her presence, was sealed off to his own. Every time he tried to reach out, he felt nothing but the air on his cheeks, or the snow on exposed skin. It was cold. Cold and empty. He knew this feeling all too well. It had taken years for him to become adept in traversing the ways of dark magic. In his youth, it was common for him to be overcome by the Transcendence—the pull of the power of the ancients. Dark magic tapped into more than just the kindling of the Eternal Flame that breathed life into Yggdrasil and life beyond, it tapped into essence itself, of the past, the present and what lay in secret. Being a conduit to its onslaught was a thin blade to dangle by, for both the conjurer and their souls.

Shaken from his reverie, Heimdall caught sight of Hogun in the white-out of the landscape below. Hogun had scouted ahead to mark the safest path down the mountain. For some reason, he had stopped to kneel over a rockery below, from the way the rocks were stacked it looked to be the remnants of a shrine.

Sif waited for Hogun to wave them down and give the go-ahead, but to their dismay, he did not. Heimdall became more and more aware of the seconds trudging by the longer he stood out in the open. The colour from Y/N’s fingers and lips began to drain too. He dreaded seeing them turn blue.

“What’s the hold-up?” Fandral shielded his eyes as he stole a glace below.

Hogun mumbled to himself, voice lost to the harsh wail of the winds. Then, with a shift in his countenance, he turned to the group and shouted across the divide, “The ground… something is moving!”

“Towards us?” Sif shouted back.

“No, beneath. There’s something beneath us!” Hogun said. Just then, a rumble gurgled through the mountain, layers beneath, and Heimdall felt a wave travel from his soles upwards.

The frozen sea in the distance cracked. A hollow, whip-cracking noise echoed against the mountain’s stone. Sharp notes sliced at Heimdall’s ears, making him wince. The others showed discomfort too. The boy who they’d found in the tomb beside Y/N began to blink away whatever spell had pulled him under. Unlike Y/N, he looked to be untouched by the cold. In fact, the longer he was exposed to it, the brighter he seemed. Livelier.

The boy mumbled, and for the briefest moment, Heimdall could have sworn he heard the beginnings of Jotun trickle out. Volstagg was oblivious to this, simply thinking the boy’s sounds to be the groggy noises of between-sleep.

“Easy there, lad. You’re with friends. You’re safe,” Volstagg said in a low candour.

“We should get off the mountain,” Heimdall warned, refusing to let his voice be as loud as his fear truly was.

“Boy,” Volstagg lowered the boy from his grip, giving him room to find his footing, “can you walk?”

“Baldrick,” he said, swaying. His knees threatened to buckle, but before Volstagg could lend a hand to steady him, he righted himself. “Yes, I think I can.”

There was a dream-like effect to the boy. Reminiscent of a dream stretching long into the waking world. It doesn’t belong there, and yet, familiarity lulls the senses, as a sweetness masks a poison. His words fell soft, and struck hard once they faded, like swallowing ice; at first, there’s the initial chill, and then, once in the throat, you become terribly aware of the difference between your heat and the ice’s lack of it.

“Good,” Fandral said, face turned to the mountain peak, “because we’ve got another problem.”

With a roll of thunder, the crack in the sea of ice broke to form a cavern, hollow and open. The echoing sounds knocked against Heimdall’s body as If he were a tuning fork. Then, ominously, the wind went quiet, waiting. A single snowflake danced across the horizon, touched the ground and shattered. The ground shook, stronger than before, and a piece of the mountain burst into a mess of rock and dust. The snow gathered there tumbled downward, growing to an avalanche. The violent turmoil of rock and dirtied snow hurled itself towards them, tendrils separated into three prongs, outstretched in the shape of a hand reaching down. This was magic beyond conjuring. This was divine fury of a deadened world awakening.

Hogun waved them down, face paling. “Run!”

Heimdall felt his muscles brace of their own accord. A rush of heat to his chest and his feet moved faster, less cautious of slipping on the ice.

A formation of rock and magic took shape under the frozen lake. A head of something rendered from artifice breached to the surface. As if a snake, grey streaks writhed under the sea as this inanimate behemoth climbed to the surface, wrought, constructed and ancient. Two glowing orbs melted the ice to a waterfall as the construct continued its climb. A slow, guttural growl, strung together by fluctuating sound waves, burst into the air. It was language. It was Jotun.

As the behemoth grew, the mountain sank. Formations of rock working in tandem. Two muscles at work. And Heimdall and everyone else was stuck in the space between destruction and formation. The avalanche moved swifter than Heimdall’s feet could carry. Soon, the sky was filled with the wroth of the destroyed mountain.

~Y/N

Everything was black since the tomb. An emptiness. Peace. Waking up was riotous. White-out of snow was nearly blinding. There was a shaking to the world, roil and amble against flesh. As your eyes flung open, you realised your body was hovering off the ground, an avalanche charging towards you, but you weren’t afraid. By instinct, you raised your palm, feeling the cold of the snow before it touched you, and your magic spread as a vibrant shield. The rush of snow and rock piled over the magical barrier, threatening to overwhelm you. Once the barrage had stopped, you let your hand fall to your side, the magical barrier gone with it. The piled snow made a hushing noise as it shifted lower, for an instant, and then stopped.

“Y/N?” Heimdall’s voice called to you.

Startled, you turned and saw the familiar faces of your friends, gobsmacked, mouths agape. Further in the distance, the maw of a giant snake lay open, fangs of stone and a throat of darkness peaked out above a split sea of ice. For some indiscernible reason, you knew you had to go there. Body aching to cross the divide and melt into the stone snake’s midnight throat. It was then that you realised the devastated mountain made smaller, and the surrounding landscape, changed, was Jotunheim.

“What happened here?” you tried to clear the cobwebs from your mind, blinking sluggishly.

“What happened to you?” Sif asked, unable to stop staring in your direction.

Everyone stared at you a little longer than they should. Focusing on your face. Or, rather, your eyes. You had forgotten that the last time you saw them was mere hours ago, not ages as the Verdenspeil had led you to believe. To them, you had only just given up your eye to The Collector for passage into the mirror world. To you, it felt like a distant memory. Readjusting to time would be tricky.

Your hand hovered close to your newer eye—the golden one—and you smiled fondly, “A long story.” Suddenly, a streak of dread shot up your spine. “Where’s Baldrick? Where’s the boy?”

Heimdall reached for your shoulder, calm expression melting your rattled countenance, “He’s fine.” Your father frowned, searching gaze landing on Baldrick. The gears of his mind were working. An obvious look of caution and wonderment fighting for dominance over his frown lines. “Who is he?”

You sighed a breath of relief as Baldrick smiled back at you, bare feet untouched by the cold as he rooted himself on the mountain. You returned your attention back to Heimdall, an ease in your chest. “I cannot say for sure. But he feels so…”

“Familiar,” Heimdall understood the same as you did. The boy’s presence was confounding. “As if he was known to us, from before.”

“Not to interrupt this reunion—Y/N, so glad you’re up and walking—but in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re out in the open, were nearly crushed by an avalanche and had a giant snake appear from beneath a frozen sea. Perhaps, standing around, exposed to the cold, in hostile territory is not the best move?” Fandral said sarcastically.

“He’s right,” Sif added, head in a constant swivel, keeping an eye out for trouble. “We haven’t had the best luck lately. Best not to tempt our luck by staying out in the open.”

“And it’s not like the both of you can just open a portal and return us home, we’re fugitives now. Traitors to the Allfather,” Volstagg tugged at his braided beard in frustration, aimless.

Baldrick spoke low, Jotun sentences strung together with ease. He pointed toward the snake’s maw. Somehow, you understood him. Clearly.

“We deal with things as they come. But first, Baldrick says that’s where we need to go,” you nudged your head towards the stone snake.

“You mean… inside the ominous shrine of Jörmungandr?” Fandral laughed, flat and unamused. “No-no-no-no! We should not be walking towards that thing. In fact, it’s a bad omen. Like end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it bad!”

“Would you prefer the cold then?” you raised a brow at him, humorous tone catching everyone by surprise.

Fandral opened his mouth, but came up short. He closed it and shook his head. “Into the snake’s mouth we go.” He led the charge for the foot of the mountain where Hogun stood.

The walk to the snake’s maw was slow. The ice of the sea was fragile, compromised from the new hollow spaces made from the stone construction’s movement. Baldrick was light-footed, jumping from one crack to the next, delicate. You found yourself holding your breath every time a crack formed under his weight.

Heimdall had refrained from asking questions, but you knew he must have had plenty. Hogun’s ear suffered from having to listen to Fandral’s tantrum quietly. Volstagg lagged behind, aided by Sif, whose stare made the nape of your neck prickle. She was dubious of you. You felt as if time had undone itself and you were the outsider again. Her, the watcher.

“Something is weighing on you,” you said.

Heimdall hummed, thoughts distracted by the sound of your voice.

“Why not ask what’s plaguing you?”

He sighed this time, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. “You seem… changed.”

You made a fist, stared at your palm that didn’t quite feel like your own and made a curious noise. “I do feel changed.”

“What happened once you crossed into the mirror? How do you have both eyes? Who is the boy? And why did Jotunheim seem to awaken to his presence?”

You chuckled low, “You’ve been wrestling with quite the mysteries, I see.”

“It felt wrong to bombard you with questions. You were barely lucid a few moments ago. Taken by the Transcendence.”

“Transcendence?”

“It’s a common… ailment that afflicts dark magic users. It’s one of the reasons the art form is feared. It was popular amongst my people’s sages.”

“Your people? Not ours?” You read his posture, saw the regret in his jaw when he realised he let something slip. “You’re not Æsir, are you?”

He didn’t say a word. Then it hit you.

“Of course! That’s why you know the ways of dark magic. That’s how you knew about the fairytale of Bor and Bestla. It’s how you knew to come here. To find me. You were there, during the First Great War.”

“It’s no secret.”

“Yet you omitted to mention it. Sounds like a secret to me. Why not tell me?”

“The Great Wars were gruelling. Unkind. And… I made choices…” He trailed off, eyelids heavy.

“That makes you older than Odin, but you don’t look it. How come?”

“My homeworld was known as Vanaheim. The Vanir were healers and poets. Our magic was linked to longevity, childbirth, and foresight. The Æsir were more powerful, stronger, tactical, but they were afraid of dark magic, so they saw us as a threat. My ageing is linked to this power. Slowed by it.”

“That means Odin was your enemy. Once.”

“His father was, yes.” It was evident, from his tone, he wasn’t going to explore that history further.

You changed the subject, afraid to let silence settle, to lose momentum. “Why didn’t you return, to Vanaheim I mean, after the war?”

“I couldn’t.” He rolled up his sleeves to reveal a sigil tattooed near his elbow joint. “The way is sealed for me. Asgard is my home now. Or… was my home.” He heaved a sigh, rolled his shoulders back and looked at you more animatedly. “Now, your turn. What happened once you crossed into the mirror?”

Give and take, you realised what his tactic was and smiled, showing teeth. “Ah, that’s why you told me all that. Cunning.” You spent the rest of the walk filling him in on everything that happened since you were separated.

When you got the snake’s maw, you noticed a stone door sealing the entryway to the strange Jotun structure. It looked similar to a vault. Before you could step forward to investigate, Heimdall pulled you aside to whisper something.

“Be careful around Jotun magic. From what you told me, of how things ended after your encounter with Bestla…” he frowned, unsure of how to word things. Maybe he simply didn’t have a logical reason. He looked to Baldrick, eyebrows drawing upwards ever so slightly. “Just… be careful.”

You squeezed his hand, “I can’t make that promise, but I will be cautious. For you… Father.”

His eyes shot up, compassion shining in them. He looked vulnerable, open and strange… like a father ought when filled with pride.

“I don’t see a key, or a lever anywhere. How are we gonna get it open?” Hogun asked the group after he finished searching the walls and stone carvings for any hidden levers.

Baldrick said something to you in Jotun and then placed his small hand in a groove on the wall. The left side of the snake’s under-mouth glowed with magic. You went over to the right side and placed your own palm in the groove there. The right side lit up with a different coloured magic. Slowly, loudly, the door rolled open, revealing a set of shiny, emerald dark stairs that led deeper into the snake’s pit.

“So we’re literally entering the belly of the beast?” Fandral asked. No one complained. Hogun just shoved him forward. “Well, I’ve had a long run. Couple of centuries. Some forlorn lovers. Few books of poetry…” Fandral’s voice disappeared down the tunnel way, still listing his accomplishments of a full life.

The stairs were winding, following the curves of a snake’s anatomy. The craftsmanship of such a construct was impeccable, and also unbelievable. It was stone, inanimate, hard and set. Yet, the magic that held its walls together, congealed them like glue, pulsed and shivered with a kind of electricity that was alive. It was odd, seeing life in a lifeless thing. Like the Destroyer, but not in the form of a weapon, in the form of architecture.

Baldrick ran his hands along the walls. Runes and drawings foretelling a story. A tragedy from the looks of it. You didn’t bother trying to decipher it like Sif and Heimdall were doing, you just appreciated the beauty of the carvings, imagining a younger Jotunheim, and a calmer people.

Eventually, the steps led you to a large crystalline and stone structure. A splinter of stone pathways diverging from the sharp-angled, dome-like centre, lowering to an oval-shaped annex. Giant archways encircled the annex, all of them leading to a dead-drop and a roiling darkness below. There were two protruding prongs in the epicentre, like key-slots.

The design was familiar, like the branching pathway in Verdenspeil that led to the abyss’ portal way. Baldrick called it by its name: the Through-Way.

The group split in three. Hogun and Fandral marvelled over the architecture. Sif and Hogun both kept their eyes trained on Baldrick. And you and Heimdall to the end of the floor, teetering between the border of endless darkness and the thin pathway leading to the central annex. Heimdall kicked a stone over the edge, waited to hear it plop, but it never did.

“Where are you from, boy?” Volstagg asked, curious of the boy’s knowledge of things. He seemed so much bigger next to Baldrick’s boyish frame. Like a large oak beside a green shoot.

“Now?” Baldrick turned to look at you, an odd expression to him. “I suppose, here. For a while at least.”

“And what of before? Where was your home before? You speak the Jotun tongue, yet you do not look as Giants do.” Sif noted, crossing her arms to seem imposing.

“I was told the Jotun are different here. Just like Jotunheim is different here. My home is similar but different. Warmer. As is our language. And our skin was not enchanted to survive the Endless Winter,” he answered in an airy manner. There was a purposeful vagueness melding truth and uncertainty together. A silverness to his words to the point you wondered if you believed him or simply wanted to. It reminded you of how Loki tended to explain around things in the beginning.

Hogun whistled, turning clockwise on his heel to get the full effect of the room. “I’ve never seen Jotun architecture like this…” He trailed off when he noticed ice, magically frozen and too stubborn to melt, used as plaster between the stone walls that rotated at an almost indiscernible pace. “Are we… moving?”

“Only a little. The ice hurts him.” Baldrick’s small palm was pressed to the wall, as if he could hear the thoughts of stone. “In my home, the snake moves for eternity beneath the sea. But the sea here is cold.” His bright, beautiful face fell. “Everything here is cold…”

Baldrick’s magic spilt outwards, invisible to everyone else. You could feel his sadness. Heimdall twitched beside you and you wondered if he felt it too.

“‘Hurts him?’” Hogun narrowed his eyes at the boy, a comprehensive look taking over. “Y-You can hear it? This… thing we’re inside… is it… alive?”

Baldrick shook his head, removing his palm from the wall, a light dimming in the cracks. “It is alive as much as any enchanted thing is alive. But, its magic is awake with us. And I can feel them…”

Sif turned from a carving she had been gawping at and said, “Them?”

A wind blew past you and Heimdall, and suddenly, you could feel them too. The echoes left behind by those that constructed this snake. Their hopes and dreams, their aura, the faintest whisper of voices. Their presence lived within the walls as magic. An afterimage.

“I feel them too,” you said.

Heimdall nodded in agreement. The other’s reflexively shivered away from the walls, trying to make themselves smaller. As if to toy with them, the walls constricted to swallow the distance.

Fandral made a strange noise and said, “Okay, we survived the belly of the beast, but I think I’ve had my fill. So… what exactly do we do now?”

A fizzling in the back of your mind grew to a cloud, foamy and large in shape. Somehow, you knew the next steps to take. It was just as Bestla said, the way was known to you, like instinct. You knew what the stone snake’s purpose was without context. It was a bi-frost, or… at least similar in function. “Those archways,” you pointed, “they’ll lead us where we need to go.

You took the first steps towards the annex, everyone else waited to take turns, afraid the thin pathway would give in.

You hovered near both of the protruding prongs, arms raising themselves without thought, fingers clamping down on the blunt grooves of either prong. The floor lit up, light shining through cracks. And the whole room shifted, adjusting to your magic. Numbness took over your body, a draining sensation, like the leeching, but kinder. You were a million leagues away from everything. Feeling weightless, an image filled your mind. It was the healing chamber and the sprawling sea near the gleaming, golden palace on Asgard. Loki was hovering in his curtain of golden light, still, quiet. And then, out of the corner of your eye, a swirl of colours gave birth to that very image in one of the archways.

~Odin

Aisling, Captain of the Guard, was beaming in her own right, having delivered the good news to the Allfather. The Destroyer had returned. So too was Bor’s belt back in its rightful place. With warranted cunning, she had purposefully neglected to speak a word of what had happened to Heimdall and the others.

Yet, for some reason, Odin’s bones groaned with discomfort. Not age, premonition. Premonition without vision, simply a sensation. There was power in the air, palpable, just as how the sea’s salt lingers in the air. He could feel the waves of magic trickle into the cosmos. It was subtle but meaningful.

“What of Heimdall, and the girl?” Odin peered at Aisling.

She swallowed, her grin faltering to a grim line. “From the commotion, one of my men gathered that she had disappeared. Heimdall, Sif and the Warriors Three fled without her.”

Odin slumped lower into his chair, a sigh capturing the room into a stoic silence. The room had turned grave indeed, no more smiles of triumph from Aisling and her men. “We mustn’t rest until she is found. It is most impertinent. So much hangs in the balance.”

“B-But… my liege—” Aisling’s second-in-command spoke out of turn, stuttering to gain his place, “—they used dark magic to escape. It is near impossible to track, even with a gifted witch on our side, of which, we have none.”

Aisling glowered at her underling, making him turn pale and skittish under her imposing gaze. “I give you my word, we will find these traitors and bring them before you, my liege.”

“Traitors?” Odin pondered the word, saw how it felt. He decided he didn’t care for it.

Aisling waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. She bowed, turned on her heel and left the room, her men following suit.

Out the window, through the throne room’s glass, a beacon of light, pure as azure, beamed down from the skies into a tower. A nexus point. A magical link. The wind wrestled against him, made walking that much harder, but when Odin got near enough to see where the light came from, he gasped. It was the healing chamber where Loki slept.

Odin hadn’t seen such seamless magic like this since his youth, before his mother’s death.

~Loki

Loki felt warm air blow against his eyelashes. With a jaw popping yawn, he stretched off the table, straightening his back. The library was quiet. And Y/N beamed her playful smile at him from the chair beside him.

“I must have dozed off,” he worked his tender muscles, looking out the window to see a twilight. Strange…

Y/N slid the book he had been reading closer to her, flipping pages absentmindedly, garnering his attention. “My, my… must be such a riveting read for you to spend all day up here, away from me.” She pouted. The words on the page caught his eye, for a second. The page was flooded with strings of letters swishing about, no sentences or structure. For some reason, his mind didn’t seek an explanation as to why the letters on the page were the way they were. It seemed natural, admissible. So, again, he looked away, fixing his attention back on Y/N.

He smirked, leaning close enough to Y/N’s face that he could hear her soft breathing. He whispered in her ear, a hand caressing her cheek, “We both know you’re the most intriguing thing in my life, pet.”

Her face inched closer, eyes focused on Loki’s mouth. Just when he thought she’d take the plunge and close the distance, she withdrew from him. Her arms folded over her chest, “Evidently, not.” She nudged her chin towards the large book.

Oh, he lifted a single brow. “Well…” he swept her wild hair to the side until her neck was fully exposed and bent to place soft, lingering kisses along her exposed skin. “I’ll just have to show you…” He pressed another kiss to her skin, marking a trail to the back of her ear. Feeling a warmth spread when she shivered against him. “just… how… important… you are… to me. How… much… of me… is yours.”

Y/N sighed sweetly when he drew his thumb close to her pulse point, fingers tickling the dip of her clavicle, “You’re off to a good start. But I’m still not convinced.” He could hear the smile in her voice. Feel how radiant she grew with every peppered kiss.

“Good, because I’m far from finished with my little presentation.”

Soon, in a fever, his lips were on hers, and it felt charged, full of potential. A desire to explore, and be explored. He deepened the kiss, finding solace in her body warmth. He felt like he was thawing but he couldn’t tell why.

In his daze, Loki was ignorant to the darkness befalling the room. The slow encroaching shadow that swallowed everything to black. When he broke the kiss, ragged pants making the air feel heated, he opened his eyes and felt a lump settle in his throat.

It was gone. The room. The light. Y/N.

In the darkness, a mist twisted and writhed like the limbs of an octopus, licking the blackened world with frost. Something large and tall, with protruding bone spurs and red eyes, seemed to materialise from the mist. It growled, feral with rage, and moved languid, as a predator does, towards him.

He tried to summon his magic, but it was dormant. Then his rational mind told him what he saw wasn’t real, but the cut that formed after the creature clawed through the air proved him wrong. Next, logic. To flee, but there was nowhere to go. There was nothing. Then his mind flashed back to the book, and how the words were illegible, floating like meat in soup, and his next idea was that this blackened world he was in, wasn’t real. A fabrication.

The creature stalked closer and Loki stayed in place, challenging with a lethal stare, hiding his doubt by balling his hands into white-knuckle fists. Tauntingly, the creature raised its clawed hand high up, the singular digits fusing into a jagged, bony protrusion.

Loki swallowed, too aware of how dry his throat was and how painful the bobbing of his Adam’s apple was. With a slice through the air, the creature bore down all its ferocity in a single attack. Loki felt warm liquid waterfall from his midriff. Before he could look down to see, he was wrenched from the dark world. Pulled by something powerful.

The next moment he blinked, he found himself seated in a meadow, pink flowers blooming with a subtle scent. He felt around his body, searching for a cut or the wetness of blood. But he found none. He was intact. Unscathed.

Something had changed. The world seemed to stretch, becoming brighter. And out near the gleam of sunlight over water, a woman’s figure grew larger. Her hand stretched out towards him. He took it, feeling completely safe once his skin touched hers.

He stood off the ground and shifted so he could see whose hand he held.

“Y/N?” he said, confused for a moment. She looked different, as if she had been unmade and was only just returning to the form he remembered her by. Still captivating, but in a damned sort of way. Darker, thin and tired.

“Loki,” she quivered, a hopeful laugh playing with her vocal cords.

He hugged her tight, shaking with fear that she might disappear if he closed his eyes again. A splitting headache caused him to wrench back and stumble. Gritting his teeth, he sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly to make sure the world was still there each time.

The memories came flooding back. Of what this place was. And why he was so afraid all of a sudden. The constant dreaming, reliving, being hunted by the creature and having it all restart again, aloof and confused. He was in his own personal hel.

Y/N moved closer so she could anchor him, give him something to lean into. He felt relief, but then the mist crept over the meadow, turning petals rigid with frost till they crumbled.

Y/N didn’t notice, too consumed with what was right in front of her; him. “Loki, what’s—”

Hurriedly, he grabbed Y/N’s wrist. She flinched from his callousness. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if she was real or another figment of his imagination. It didn’t matter. He’d protect any version of her. Always.

He looked into her eyes and noticed one was different, golden. A detail he couldn’t dream up. He took a moment to look at her, really look, and he knew she was real. And even if she wasn’t, she was warm and breathing and close. A strange relief despite the turmoil that threatened to tear this fake world away. Again.

“You’re real, aren’t you?” his voice cracked at the end, a little hope hidden there.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. She reassured him with a smile and a soft reply, “Yes.”

If she’s real… What happens when the nightmare gets her?

The gloom stretched further, stealing colour and life from the sky now. The flowers were all shiny and wet, like glass.

He pulled her further away from the mist, backtracking as the creature began to form again. Dread in his gut.

Her eyes widened, staring into the encroaching shadow, “What is that?”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

To be continued...

#loki #loki x y/n #loki odison x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #y/n #loki mcu #tom hiddelston imagine #himmeløyne #loki x you #loki fanfic

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

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Sorry for going awol again guys. But I’m working on the next chapters of Himmeløyne now. I intend to make them long and release them in one go! This has been an large undertaking for me. Perhaps my longest work yet. I may enter it into the Wattys so check out my account and leave a like if you want to. In the meantime, hope your weekend is going great.

#himmeløyne #scribescribbles #fic update #loki fic

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

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Himmeløyne [27/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: Wowieeee, it's been a long time since I've written a chapter this long. It feels like the old days. But also, I wrote this without my glasses, so... there will be errors.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“Do you think we’ll be hanged?” Fandral asked from his cell. It wasn’t intended as a question to the room. From his tone, he certainly wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but in need of anything besides the quiet of the prison area. “I think I’d hate a hanging. There hasn’t been one in centuries. You think it will be public?”

In the parallel cell, Sif paced about. Checking the golden barriers of her cage and then pounding her fists against the barrier couple of times. Each hit barely made a sound, let alone a dent. Adjacent to your own cell, Heimdall struggled to stay upright. He looked won out. In need of a long, long sleep. Normally, seeing him in distress would make you worry, but nothing felt normal with the amulet on.

“I’m not sure I’d prefer banishment either,” Fandral kept speaking.

“At least you’ get to keep your pretty head,” Volstagg chimed in, annoyed. His face was getting redder. It seemed his friend's ruminations were becoming tiresome to listen to. “Which is better than what I’ll do to you if you don’t shut up for a minute!”

“Yggdrasil’s branches!” Sif huffed. “I can’t hear myself think with you all yapping like starved pups!”

Her tone was different from everyone else’s. Sharper. That made them afraid. Talking was a way to keep distracted. With Sif’s outburst, everyone was forced to face that silence they were too afraid to let settle. Well, everyone except Heimdall and Hogun. You, on the other hand, weren’t feeling much of anything. Strange…

“Leave them be, Sif,” Hogun said softly. His face was calm, legs crossed at the ankle as he reclined comfortably on his cot, eyes closed. “Everything will work itself out.”

“You sound so certain,” she seemed surprised. “Why?”

“Because,” Hogun stretched, sitting up on crossed legs. “One way or another, everything always reaches a conclusion.”

Fandral let out a shaky laugh, “You’re a real comfort.”

Hogun shrugged, “Could be worse. You could have had Thor for a cellmate. You know how he hates small spaces. Especially if he’s confined in said small places.”

Sif tried to fight her smile, a reminiscent look on her face. All the warriors had it. Even Heimdall. It must have been a shared memory. Before your time.

“That big oaf,” Sif finally let her teeth show through the smile.

As the others began to trade anecdotes from the past, mainly about Thor’s claustrophobia and a previous stint in prison, Heimdall scooted closer to you, his back pressed up against the barrier o his cell, head turned at an angle to meet your eyes.

“Are you alright?” he squinted at the amulet and then focused on your face. He was searching for something, you weren’t quite sure he found. A moment later, he sighed. “Can you even hear me?”

Yes, you said. But he didn’t respond. He didn’t hear.

He wasn’t discouraged by his inability to communicate two ways with you. He soldiered through and found another question to ask, “Does it hurt?”

It doesn’t feel like anything, you said. Again, he didn’t hear.

He was frowning now, asking question after question as if the right one would get you to open your mouth. A task so simple, yet so difficult to do.

Minutes passed—or maybe hours—when guards came to round everyone out of their cells. Everyone except you. There was a commotion. Some unpleasant words exchanged. Someone tried to rile up the Captain from before. She ignored them, acting above reproach. An impenetrable shield, shining with true Asgardian worth. The guards never lowered your cell’s barrier, and after another minute—or hour—you finally registered that you were alone in the prison ward. It didn’t bother you though. Nothing did. Not even the spot of blood that marked the spot where two guards were knocked unconscious by Loki’s hands. Two more stood slack, in a headlock between Thor’s large arms. Frigga was with them too, casting sleep spells on the last few on guard duty.

The barrier to your cell faded in the blink of an eye. Faster than lightning, Loki rushed to your side, cradling your body against his own. He felt strong, like an anchor in the impossible storm. Smiling seemed the right thing to do, but you weren’t sure if you managed to.

He was trembling, his body hot from exertion. He kept his voice a whisper, his words only for you. “When I saw that the cells were empty, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But you’re here. I wasn’t too late. I found you again. I have you in my arms again and I promise not to let go. Never to let go.”

Those words should have meant the world. You should have been elated. Relieved. But there was still nothing.

When you didn’t reply or lean into his touch, Loki pulled back to study you. He tugged at the clasp, but the amulet refused to separate. It took a while for Frigga to understand what was happening, to notice the amulet for what it was.

As Loki turned to use his magic against the amulet’s hold, Frigga raised a hand in warning, “No, Loki, wait—”

Loki’s magic was invasive to the amulets, and you felt the ancient device retaliate, slapping his magic away. He was knocked back on his ass before Frigga could finish her sentence.

She knelled next to you, tearing a piece of fabric from her skirts and chanting below a whisper. The fabric began to shimmer, imbued with magical essence.

“The amulet siphon’s magic, drains the wearer and attacks anyone who tries to take it off,” she explained. “You have to trick it into focusing its curse on something else, and then…” She wrapped the fabric around her hand and used it to unclasp the amulet. As it fell, the fabric was turned to nothing in a flash of cold fire. The amulet dropped onto the floor. Loki and Frigga were cautious not to touch it.

You shuddered to life. Everything bright and real. The floor was cold. Your body was every bit as tired as you remembered. And the pull of Loki’s magic returned. Beautiful. Right.

He rushed to hold you again, and this time you reciprocated. Wrapping your arms around his midriff and clinging onto him as if he were the source of all life.

“I love you,” you said abruptly.

The air left his lungs. His chest grew still. Unmoving. You loved how that sounded. His heart racing. Your words. Everything about that imperfect moment suddenly became perfect.

You laughed, euphoric. “I really do. I love you.”

You looked up to him, saw his shock and adoration and a mix of every look he’d ever given you worn under one instant. His lips quivered. He tried to speak. To breath. But he was stunned in silence.

“I regretted not telling you before,” you kissed him. Your body finding solace in the proximity. Your heart beating strong and steady, in a way it never had before. In a way that promised forever. To love forever. To live forever. To be near him forever. You had forgotten what it felt like to be exhilarated. To actually cherish each heartbeat. And, as if a flood had passed over your body, you felt renewed. Loved. You poured all of yourself into the kiss, into him. And he drank gleefully. Greedily.

“Ahem!” Thor cleared his throat, obviously flustered from witnessing you and Loki’s moment. “I’m… Uh—I’ll just… be… over there… keeping watch for patrols.” He stalked over to the staircase and pretended to keep watch. Cheeks turning tomato red.

The kiss finally broke and you both needed more than a few seconds to fill your lungs with air again.

Loki grinned from ear to ear, “To think, I’ve waited countless of your lifetimes to feel this way about anyone, and you only needed the one. I knew I was missing something since I was a little boy. You restored that part of me. Gave me the chance to see that I could be something whole. You’ve healed a broken prince, and I wish I could give you more but… I suppose… this will have to do…” He trailed off, staring intently at your face. “I’ll love you fiercely for every lifetime I spent without you. Half-mortal or not, I’ll love you a thousand year’s worth every moment of every day. For as long as we have.”

“That’s a big promise.”

“No. It’s just what you deserve.”

“Then you deserve the same. It goes both ways, so that makes two thousand year’s worth.”

He arched his brow, some of that self-assuredness he used to carry with him returned. “That’s technically not true.”

A mounted torch holder fell off the wall with a loud clang! Everyone turned to see Thor kicking the polished bronze ornament into a darkened corner. He held up his hands in a silent apology. Loki rolled his eyes.

“My brother with his insightful contribution,” Loki said, tongue-in-cheek. Loud enough for Thor to hear this time, he asked: “Would you like to make a little more noise? I don’t think every guard in the lower levels heard you.”

“I just might,” Thor grumbled, placing his hand close to another torch holder. Daring his brother to say another word.

“I don’t mean to cut this short,” Frigga interjected, helping you up off the floor. “But if we mean to do this, we must get to the others before Odin has had time to pass judgement. After that his will is paramount. Not even the Rite of Conscription will save your companions.”

You wobbled on your feet and Loki instinctively slinked an arm around your waist. You leaned into him.

“What is the Rite of Conscription?” you turned to Loki.

He frowned, “It’s… It’s the best of my bad ideas. Conscription can only be evoked by senior members of the Asgardian royal family. Once enacted, it places a subject in a position of servitude. They become agents of the court and crown. And it also means, they cannot be tried as traitors. Once conscripted, they have full protection under the King, or, in this case, Queen.”

“Sounds simple enough,” you said. Loki’s expression didn’t reassure though. “But… it’s not, is it?”

“No. Conscription for you, given how little we know about your true lifespan, it could end up being a life sentence.”

“But I have no home to return to. No family besides Heimdall…” you felt a wave of dizziness and had to clutch onto Loki’s jacket to keep steady. His fingers found yours. He twined them together, holding them close to his chest. You looked up at him. “Up until recently, I was ready to accept Asgard as my new home. For good.”

“But it wouldn’t just be you, my dear,” Frigga pointed out. “We’d have to conscript them all to Asgard’s service. Forever. They’d never have the chance to become anything different in the future. Neither would you.”

A life of servitude in exchange for freedom from Odin’s unpredictable wrath. Or was it his illogical fear? If you had to make the choice alone, you wouldn’t hesitate, even if it landed you in a precarious position in the future. But you couldn’t dare play arbiter of fate over everyone else’s lives. That would be selfish. And you’d be no better than Odin.

“I don’t think I can agree to this,” you said solemnly. “If it was only me that had to make the decision, then… maybe. But, I was only just beginning to get to know everyone. I don’t want to be a source of tension. And Heimdall’s the only family I have left. From what he’s told me, of the Great War, of his people, conscription would be a cruel thing to do without even talking to him about it. This whole mess started because of scheming and secrecy. We can’t continue that pattern.”

Frigga’s eyes flitted to your hand interlocked with Loki’s, a new thought percolating to the surface. “Family,” she murmured.

“What?” you asked.

“Handfasting!” she said hastily, her voice the loudest you’d ever heard it.

Loki’s eyes went large, “You can’t mean…”

Frigga nodded, taking one of your hands in each of her own.

“We don’t have a priestess,” Loki spoke too quick, anxious.

“I don’t—” you tried to get a word in, but Frigga talked over you.

“It’s the best alternative. At the very least, it will grant us a year of peace. A year we can use to persuade Odin to forgive whatever transgressions he found so grave that he’d risk imprisoning the protector of the Bi-frost. I know him. If he truly wanted this, he’d have acted without hesitancy. This—” she gestured towards the prison “—this is all to buy time. He’s undecided. So we must decide for him.”

Loki brushed off her explanation, unwilling to listen, “He’s the king. His will is law. If he truly didn’t want this, he wouldn’t have done it.”

Frigga shook her head, a wizened edge hanging on her words, “Only tyrants rule in that manner. And he is not his father.”

“What does Bor have to do with any of this?” Loki said, eyeing his mother suspiciously. She dismissed his prying with a flick of her wrist. She did it with the same flourish that Loki did.

You looked to Thor then back to Frigga, lost. “Is anyone going to tell me what handfasting is, or—”

“It’s a marriage,” Thor blurted out.

Now it was your turn to go silent.

“Subtle, brother. Thank you for that,” Loki chided. He placed his attentions back on you in an effort to explain things more smoothly, avoiding your gaze. “Handfasting isn’t exactly as binding as marriage. Handfasting is like… a trial period. It was used in arranged marriages to see if the betrothed were… agreeable. It was also a way to end disputes politically. Give the respective sides time to assess and recuperate.”

“I see,” was all you could muster, your voice small.

“In fact, Odin and I were handfasted,” Frigga said. “And if you have any doubts, remember, as Loki said, it isn’t binding. But as a betrothed, your family gains diplomatic immunity. And since Heimdall is Vanir, both of you fall under allies, not subjects.”¨

Finally, you found your voice. “What of Sif and the others?”

“They’d be protected too,” she assured you. “The handfasting period is a period of peace. If anyone acts out violently, then they disrespect the old ways. And Odin is too traditional. The old ways are his ways. His father’s ways. He will respect the year of peace. I’ll make sure of it.”

You took a sure, deep breath. Steeling yourself. You had dreamed of a future with Loki. Years spent discovering each other, learning of intimacies beyond touch. Sharing desires and thoughts. Spending days in the library, discovering more about your peoples, more about your magic. It may not have included a mysterious boy from Verdenspeil. Or a handfasting ceremony as a last-ditch effort to one-up Odin, but then again, your life on Asgard had been far from ideal. Loki waited for your answer, his eyes holding a darker edge to them; desire. Frigga and Thor waited with bated breath, both their postures too ramrod straight, towering over you. Expecting an answer.

“Then, my answer is yes.” You smiled, both anxious and excited. There was a shared sigh of relief in the room.

Frigga turned to her son, happy for him. He pressed his forehead to yours and mimicked your actions.

“Yes,” he said with a laugh caught in his throat.

Frigga whispered a spell, and suddenly, a spool of ribbon inked itself between your hand and Loki’s. Twisting into an infinity loop at the wrist. You thought of the snake from the cave, then immediately, you remembered the dream with the snake in the cave. Something in you stirred. Through your conjoined hands, you felt Loki’ magic reciprocate that feeling. A yearning. He looked at you with a devilish smirk, making heat spread in your belly. You almost turned away, face too hot.

Frigga’s chant ended. The lyrical music notes of it lost to your unfamiliar ears. Loki and Thor seemed to recognise some of it. You made it a point to remember to ask one of them about it. Especially since the last line made Loki blush.

“I need something to seal the incantation. Something with magic imbued,” Frigga said, searching the surroundings for anything that could work.

Thor opened his fist and after a few seconds of awkward silence, his hammer came crashing through the walls perpendicular to where he was facing. Rumble rolled to your feet, and Frigga looked at him with the most motherly expression you’d ever seen.

“Will this do?” Thor shrugged and held the hammer above you and Loki’s linked arms.

“Just,” Frigga said as she finished off the incantation. A torrent of light, holding all the colours of the rainbow encircled the spot of union.

Everything was as clear as a summer’s morning. Colour giving life to the room. Magic tingling everywhere.

Frigga cleared her throat, “Marked by magic, and witnessed by a prince of Asgard, do you, Loki, and your betrothed, vow to keep the peace and set aside any grudges and conflicts for one year? Do you vow to share, in confidence, the truth of your thoughts and the full extent of your feelings for one another, whatever they may be, however they might grow?”

“I vow,” he said, openly.

A roucus above the floor alerted you to a group of guards immobilising on your position. Distracted, your head tilted up, as if you could will yourself to see through the stone. Your heart quickened and Frigga nudged you. Thor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his hammer an inch.

“Dear, you have to vow,” she brought you back to the present.

“Yes. I vow,” you nodded, trying to stay calm.

Frigga concentrated her magic, her palms coming close. “Then, with these words, I bind you to one another. Bind you in peace. And hope a union will spring from your time together.”

Frigga’s eyebrows drew close together, her hands straining to maintain the magic. A bead of sweat meandered across her temple. And with a grunt, Mjölnir went flying into the wall, a burst of energy exploding out war. Frigga released her grip, panting. “It is done. You are handfasted.”

“Was that supposed to happen?” Thor pointed to the new hole in the wall.

Frigga shook her head, “No. There was…” she regarded you carefully, making sure not to let her face betray whatever she was thinking. “Resistance. It—It’s probably nothing. We’re all tired. We’ve all been through ordeals. It could simply be fatigue.”

You glanced at your tattoo. It had cracks along the artificial ribbon, as if unfinished. The colour of bright emeralds flawed by golden veins. Hints of cerulean in the right lighting. The triquetra, Mjölnir’s symbol, had formed an endless pattern on the ribbon. Easily missed, and of delicate line work. The prick and bristle of the tattoo's magic was bewildering. Sparking with a deeper connection than you could articulate. It wasn’t just the symbol of a bond, but an actual link to both you and Loki.

Loki rushed to his mother’s side, placing a hastened kiss on your forehead beforehand. Thor’s palm called out to Mjölnir and it returned with the sound of thunder rumbling outside. The hoard of guards descending upon you sounded closer. Their voices louder.

“Bit much, don’t you think?” Loki frowned at Thor.

“Subtlety is lost on me,” Thor said.

“Yes, well… you wouldn’t be my brother if it wasn’t.”

Thor and Loki shared a moment. Their bickering giving way to something deeper. Something neither of them would voice aloud anytime soon. It was trust. A different kind of love. Greater than blood.

“We should get out of here,” Thor began spinning his hammer and suddenly a gut-punching realisation hit you.

You yanked on Thor’s bulky arm, “Wait! Where’s Baldrick?”

All three of them looked at you, confused.

“Who?” they asked simultaneously.

~Odin

The child that had come through the portal with Heimdall and Y/N was strange. Odin had brought him to his study and asked him questions.

The boy—Baldrick as he came to introduce himself—possessed knowledge beyond his years. An aura to him, almost ancient, yet also too young, too powerful. Odin had given him a puzzle to solve, one that required intimate knowledge of magic and science. Baldrick had fiddled with the pentagon-shaped object with a blasé expression. He had solved it faster than Odin had when his father had presented him with the same challenge.

“Astounding,” Odin remarked as the boy set the puzzle down. Baldrick busied himself by staring at the books in Odin’s study. He had made it a point not to speak beyond saying his name.

The boy seemed so familiar. A likeness in his small face.

Odin knew he was biding time by trying to figure out how Baldrick’s mind worked, but he was thankful for the distraction. When Loki had pounded at his door, demanding an audience, Baldrick had studied Odin as if he was the old man and Odin was the boy. It was a peculiar feeling.

When Aisling had been the one to knock on his door, hiding her true thoughts behind pleasantries, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. A judgement needed to be passed. After all, the Allfather does not lash out on a whim. He’s concise. Calculative. And pragmatic. And he had pushed things too far when he’d sent the Destroyer.

Regret. That’s what had been eating him since Loki fell unconscious. And what had he done once his son awoke? Cowered away. All in the name of protecting his family’s legacy and keeping the truth of his father’s reign buried. It was his curse. His duty. But, at least it hurt less than what he did to Hela. That was a transgression he could never make right, failing as a father.

He left the boy in his study. Odin feared he may have been more perceptive to emotion. And emotion was the last thing he cared to face.

Heimdall was held down by the straining arm of a member of the royal guard. His knees kissing stone. Beside him, Sif and her companions held the same posture; necks refusing to stay weighed down, heads facing Odin with arms tied behind their backs, armour stripped for simple clothing.

“What am I to do with you?” Odin finally spoke. His fingers ghosted over the intricate designs carved into his stave, feeling the schism between each drawn line and folded knot; feeling the obvious divide in his family and peoples. With a sigh, he continued, “Disobedience, theft, evasion and escape. Worst of all, you all knowingly defied the will of your king. One son wasted away in a tower, the other in taverns. And Frigga… My health is barely as it was. What would you have me do? Make an example of you? Show you lenience? Leave you to the mercy of the Destroyer?”

“Do as you wish. I have made my peace with my decisions, and I’d do it all again to ensure my daughter was safe,” Heimdall said.

His voice wasn’t intended to sound defiant, but lately, to Odin’s suspicious ears, everything sounded suspect.

“Safe?” Odin didn’t mean to condescend, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “And can you say the same for everyone in this room? Sif? Volstagg? Hogun? Even you, Fandral? Could you all say that you’d go to the gallows for an outsider? A mortal?”

“Half. Mortal.” Heimdall corrected. A withheld threat somewhere beneath his red-hot glare.

“Now, hold on a minute,” Fandral’s voice fumbled, “that seems an overreaction.”

“Is it not part of our teachings to show benevolence to those that see us as more?” Sif challenged, hurling the guard that held her down over her shoulder. “A mere mortal? You’re the Allfather, the one Midgardians pray to, the one whose story they carve onto mountains. Even if she wasn’t Heimdall’s daughter, it is our duty to protect her, to protect all of them.”

The guard tried to retaliate, but Odin held up his hand, stopping their advances.

“Your notions are young,” Odin said with a sad smile. “I miss seeing the world as simply as you all do, but that is not our reality. And that is why you do not bear the weight of a ruler. I hope none of you do.”

Heimdall watched him closely as he stood to walk closer. Some of that trust they’d built over years of infighting and war was still there, despite them both trying to act otherwise. Bonds of war and patricide were hard to shake.

“Are you still willing to risk everything to keep this fragile peace? This lie?” Heimdall asked. When Odin did not give an answer, Heimdall lamented to himself, “So, this is how it is then.”

“I must pass judgement now. Chaos cannot stand,” Odin quieted the room with a strike of his stave. The room grew very still. Then, Thor’s hammer burst through the door, causing a commotion.

Odin’s breath was stolen away when he saw Frigga stride in a few paces behind their son. And his heart stopped entirely when he saw the tell-tale ribbon tattoo shared between Loki and Y/N.

To his surprise, he was relieved.

“No judgement shall be passed today!” Frigga announced. “No judgement shall be passed until the year is over.” She walked over to pull attention to Loki and Y/N’s matching tattoos. “They are handfasted, and the rules of the old ways are clear. Y/N and her Father, being both of the Vanir, both of my homeworld, cannot be harmed. Nor can they be tried by the king of another realm. Especially since it is your son who is handfasted.”

Odin smiled, and everyone in the room was shocked by his response, “The old ways are sacred, and so, I accept your conditions.” His smile grew wider, “My Queen.”

Frigga walked over to his side easily.

He struck his stave once more and gestured for the guards to stand down. Y/N rushed to Heimdall’s side helping him up, while Sif and Thor and the Warriors Three had their own little reunion.

Yes, he thought to himself. This is a far better outcome.

“Mark today as the start of a passive year. A year of peace,” he decreed.

“Where’s Baldrick?” Y/N demanded, a protective scowl on her face.

Curious, he thought. That they’d form such a bond in such small time. The boy obviously had a way of influencing those around him. Albeit, passively.

Odin was about to answer when the boy shimmered into the room as if summoned, a favourite of Loki’s tricks. Loki stared at the boy, noticing the same thing.

“I am here,” Baldrick said. Y/N took large strides to his side and offered her hand to him. Baldrick walked to the other side, accepting the arm that wasn’t marked by the tattoo instead.

“Well, that was rather unpleasant,” Volstagg stretched, his stomach growling deeply. “How about some good, old fashioned merriment and song tonight?”

“Aye! I have a bone to pick with you all for abandoning me in a tavern to go off on your own adventure,” Thor pouted.

Sif ribbed his arm casually, “You were brooding. You’re utterly useless when you brood.”

“I am not!” he refuted.

“You are too,” Fandral and Loki said simultaneously.

Hogun patted Thor’s back, a teasing smirk on his lips, “Wait until you hear of the snake made of stone.”

Frigga walked over to Loki’s side, whispering something in his ear. He adjusted his collar as if he couldn’t breathe. His gaze fell on Y/N as he strode purposefully to her side. But before he could reach her, Heimdall blocked his path, imposing and large as he looked down at him with a set jaw.

“You and I have much to discuss,” Heimdall glanced at the handfasting tattoo with disapproval. “But,” he sighed, letting his body shrink lower, “it can wait till the morning, I suppose. Your father and I have much to sort through.” He turned to Odin and they both nodded in agreement.

Loki heaved a sigh when Heimdall turned his back. Y/N and Loki shared a secret laugh--the kind Odin had shared with Frigga in youth--before he got on his knee and extended his hand to the small boy.

“I’m Loki,” he said. “I take it, you’re Baldrick?”

Heimdall came to stand close to Odin, arms folded. “Where do we go from here?”

Odin sat back on his throne, his bones aching. “We let them savour their youth.”

“And what happens once the year is done?”

Odin eyes the dispersing crowd, unsure of how to answer that question.

To be continued...

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

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Himmeløyne [22/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: I have started my first original gothic story (it'll be much darker than this fic but can I offer you werewolves, vampires, 1970s Europe aesthetic as an incentive?). It's on Wattpad and I intend to update it every Wednesday, but I never stick to update schedules so... Here ya go: OUR LADY OF DARKNESS

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The end of the abyss—that frightful stream of continuous fall and forceful uplift—it finally had an end. It was a large door. Smell of rain and storms, with the slick glisten of wet rock hugging the archway. A dark type of stone, jagged and natural, the door seemed to be carved into the side of a mountain. But the mirage ended where the rock began, there were no walls. No infrastructure. Just the green of the mirror world and two hunkering doors. The archway was carved in the shape of a snake; same as the kind that embellished the rigging of ships, tongue curled, eyes made of rings within rings.

A sequence of lettering—foreign, yet oh, so familiar—hovered in the mist, your mind scrambling to make sense of the words.

“Oracle, what is this place?”

The whisper was quiet, for a brief moment you worried that you were truly on your own in this stretch of emptiness.

I sense… something has been concealed from me. Its magic is fevered, dusted in loss. Pain. Desire. It is out of place. Out of time. The conjurer’s magic has the same energy as yours, only… stronger.

“Stronger?” You shuddered at the thought. After a pause, you asked: “You don’t see the door?”

Door? What door?

“What of the letters?”

I—No, I see nothing. Describe it to me.

“There’s a serpent on the door.”

A serpent? Does he eat his tail?

“No, his head marks the start of the archway, but his mouth is facing the ground.”

Then it is incomplete. An incantation must be needed to complete the image. What of the lettering?

“These letters, they’re different than common tongue or Asgardian runes. They aren’t Jotun either. They look… I don’t know. They look so familiar.”

Reach for them.

“What?”

Familiar magic has a tendency to want to be understood, that is why it feels familiar. Touch it.

You stuck your hand up, jumping on your tippy-toes to try and grab the incorporeal words floating above your head. In defiance, they simply rose higher up, further out of reach.

Do not reach with your body, Child of the Sky. Reach with your magic.

With an exhale, you stuck both hands high up in the air, conjuring the bristle of energy that raced across your spine during spellcasting. Remembering through muscle and memory of what it was like to be in control of your magic. Of what it was like to revel in its deliciousness, its wildness, its link to Loki. A swirl of warmth took shelter in your belly, that warmth you’d grown to love before it was ripped from you and replaced by the cold of Odin’s incantation.

Suddenly, the words began to sink, lowering themselves like feathers, at first, then with the heft of an arrow, and finally, a stone.

With a crash, the words burst into fire and embers, each ember digging into your skin in a sensory overload that formed echoes in the mist.

A version of you,—the shade whose voice you heard in the abyss—older, magic glowing a different hue of blue, in strange clothing, stood by the door. You were witnessing the construction of the doorway. Every splinter, fibre, rock and sand particle materialised as though you were undoing the wroth of a sandstorm to make way for a rock giant. A woman, with firebrand hair and soft features, stood beside you, she looked drained, weary. She had magic too, it was the colour of blood. The colour of fire. It flickered in and out around her body, as if fighting to take over.

There was a young boy clasping onto the shade’s hand. Aloof in expression, a scaly growth the colour of white sands on his elbows, ankles, neck and cheeks. He was a beautiful child, hair as soft as down, curls that fluffed in a way you could never get yours too. Eyes of a pure and deep blue. Ocean surface during a thunderstorm blue.

He looked at the shade the same way little Sigrid had when she’d waved her plump, little hand goodbye before following after the hunters. It made you yearn for something so pure with a fierce heart.

“There, that should do it,” the shade said as the door materialised from thin air. “Now, we need a seal so no one who wanders can know of this place.”

“Is this absolutely necessary?” the woman asked, hugging her frame as if she were cold.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is the only way I know for certain that what we’re doing now happens.” The shade’s voice felt dark, wizened in years, the same way Frigga spoke of grave matters. “This fortress is the only way he survived in my time. If we can’t change things, as the sorcerer said, then the least we can do is ensure things continue on their set path.”

“He’ll be trapped… for who knows how long? Centuries? Millennia? He’s just a boy.”

“He’s more than that,” the shade got down on one knee to look at the boy. From that angle, you could see the mangled, L shaped scars over each of her shoulder blades. They resembled the scars birds would suffer when their wings were ripped for medicines. “This is the only way he stays safe. I’ve already cemented the other enchantments. Time will not be felt here. He will not feel sadness or regret or the bitterness of solitude. He will sleep, as I once did, except… he will not be aware. And he will dream of only happy things. Then, when the time comes, I will jump. I’ll take him back with me.”

The firebrand woman showed doubt for the first time, “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve already done it.” The shade touched the other magic bearer’s shoulder, a comradery there. A closeness built from time and triumph, much like that kindred fire you shared with Sif. “Now, a phrase. A word. Anything to bind this lock to. Something unique.”

“Why don’t you choose it?” “Because I know myself. It has to be something I’d never choose so that she never knows it, and no mind reader can ever guess it should they stumble upon this place.”

“Vision,” the woman’s lips quivered with loss, but there was a bloom of hope in the tweak of her lips as your shade repeated the word.

The biting of the magic ended, and suddenly, you were alone again.

What happened? Child of the Sky? Are you there?

“I’m right here, Oracle,” you choked out, a tightness in your throat.

You were gone. One instant here, the next… nowhere. Somewhere. Between.

“I know how to open the door,” you took several steps back and then cleared your throat. With conviction and authority, you calmly said: “Vision.”

What did the magic reveal to you?

Your head was spinning from the fabrics of this mirror universe being so amateurishly tailored, so lacking in its design and purpose. The more you discovered, the more you began to doubt if this world was ancient; or if it was barely into its adolescence. “I do not quite understand it, yet. You said you were imprisoned here?”

Yes. I have been without body or memory for as long as I can remember.

The snake on the door began to slither till its mouth was at the top, and its tail was tucked firmly in its jaws. Then its eyes glowed the same colour as the child’s, thunderstorm blue. With a groan and a strike of something loud, the door peeled back. Beyond its threshold was a mutation of worlds, all collided in exquisite syzygy; aligned, misaligned, human, Asgardian, Jotun, and even the liquid blackness of space with pepper spots for stars.

“And how long ago was that?”

I—I do not… Centuries? Millennia? Aeons?

To busy your mind of doubt and fear as you stepped past the threshold and heard the door seal shut behind you, you toyed with the idea of understanding more of this world. “You said you could hear the beginning of your name… What was it?”

The whisper grew soft, warm. It sounded like ‘see’. Or was it the sea? Sea? Sea. Sea!

A garden shifted into the plane, then with a breath, a lake, then a cave, then a temple, then a waterfall, then a tower made of metal and glass. The world wasn’t fixed to a temporal setting, nor a specific location in space. It was like watching fire tell a story; brief, bright and constant.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

At the epicentre, laying on a stone tablet with a curtain of gold—that same curtain from the healing chamber—wrapped around like a fleece, was the child. Unaged. Beautiful. Asleep. He had no scaly growths like in the visions.

You took your steps with trepidation. Almost afraid to make a whisper even though the Oracle chanted ‘Sea!’ over and over. Its voice morphing into the very faint intones of a voice you knew all too well.

The world began to peel away the closer you got to the child. A presence was syphoning the magic, transmuting it for another purpose. A purpose that you now realised was meant to happen. Soon, a figure of pure light, with large wings of utmost magnificence, formed from the siphoned magics of the world. The Oracle was gaining form. The fleece turned grey and the boy began to stir. The magic of the sleep spell was broken.

You approached him slowly. Hands seeking out his aura. Then, in the most silver of voices you’d ever heard, he said, “You came. You said you’d come.” A smile of familiarity adorned his freckled laugh lines.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“Do you know me?”

He nodded.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“How?”

“From now.”

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“What’s your name?”

He seemed confused. Reeling back from the line you’d cast him for with that question. Bait in hook, he fished in the muddy waters that were your consciousness. You could feel his magic, abrasive as sand between toes, cool and wet, but also warm and sea-salt thick. He replied, “You haven’t given it to me yet. But you will return hers to her.”

He pointed to the Oracle’s figure, pulsating into a more corporeal form. The boy opened his hand and you knew instantly what he needed you to do before you thought to ask. A reflex. His magic extended to yours, carrying thought, and the very genesis of thought in its energy. You placed your face close so his hand could cover the cavity where your eye used to be.

Sugar. Berries picked from the wild thickets. A prick into padded thumb. Ooze of blood. A slight sting, then a scab and finally nothing, no marks, no evidence of the thorn in your thumb. He was projecting images of what he envisioned as he healed you. What the berries would taste like; apples. “You can open your eyes now. It was gold when we met. I kept it the same.”

Feeling no different than before, you opened both eyes for the first time since you stepped into Verdenspeil. With a tickle, the runes drawn on your hand and forehead sloughed off like skin cells. You could see the world without them. You could see through both eyes again. The shifting world shifted to a hexagon of mirrors. One, the sky shifting blue of your mother, the other, the ancient, world piercing gold of your father, your face held two eyes again.

“It’s… beautiful,” you looked down at the boy with your eyes. He showed teeth with his grin, pleased with himself. Pleased with your laugh of awe. “There was a boy in my village. Half as beautiful as you are. Half as joyful, with a smile and constellations marking his nose and cheeks too. He showed me kindness. His name was Baldrick. I shall call you Baldrick.”

“Now that you have spoken my name, remind her of who she is,” the boy said, glancing at the Oracle. “You know. You know but cannot believe.”

A gasp left your mouth. A mix of hope and disbelief. With the new eye, you could see the face of the Oracle beneath the light, beneath the enchantment that kept her hidden.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“S-Sigrid.”

The Oracle hushed before exploding into a million, tiny pieces of energy. Out of the explosion was your mother, winged as the Valkyrie from legend, wearing the armour you had seen in the mirror prior to entering Verdenspeil.

“Y/N,” she said, lowering to the ground. Her hand cupped your face. You could barely feel her. “I have waited so long for this moment.”

“Mother,” you hugged her close.

A swirl of black formed once the mirrors of the world broke. Sigrid looked at you with panic.

“Listen, there isn’t time. Take the boy, “Sigrid removed a bracelet and cast it into the black-hole. A portal began to form, leading to what looked like a stone temple. “Take him and jump, it’ll lead you to the one with answers.”

“I don’t understand! Why can’t you come with us? How are you alive?”

“I’m not alive dear, sweet child. But I can promise this isn’t the last you’ll see of me. We will meet again, soon. I promise. But you must go, the world has fulfilled its purpose. There is no reason for it to exist anymore. It has already began to unravel.”

The mist began to turn sour, choking like poison.

You coughed, breathing through your sleeve, “But, as the Oracle, you said I had to take you to the source.”

“You are the source. You and the boy. Your magics are entangled. The maze was a lie, one devised by you. This world isn’t ancient, it is young. A deception. I am the deceiver. My purpose was to ensure none but you found the boy and the portal to Mímir’s tomb. You enchanted this world so all would walk along the lighted paths until they reached a portal that would return them to a random space within the nine realms. You enchanted this world with your memories, so only you could follow them. Hear them.” Sigrid handed you a four-pronged dagger, “Take this you’ll need it.” She kissed your cheek, then her form started unravelling with the world too. Through transference, she gave you her armour, it was lighter than you'd expected, and it fit to cover your proportions through magical effect.

“Why can’t you come with us?” you reached your hand out to Baldrick. He took it with ease.

“I am not meant for the lands of the living,” she lamented. “Go! Before the world takes you with it.”

You rushed to the portal, but before you could step through you asked one last question: “What did you mean by ‘sins of the father’?”

“The war,” Sigrid fluttered her wings to hover in the green mist. “It was a lie. The Jotuns, they didn’t start it. We—the Himmel Kvinner—there’s a reason why only the women in our family inherited the gift. It’s not just power. It’s essence. A woman’s essence. Odin didn’t know we would develop magic from the artefact, but none of us were able to understand the complexity of her spell. Until you. You will discover the reason behind it all. You told me you did. I suspect it is because you are not fully mortal." Bitterly, she added as her body turned to mist as well, "You will bring the heavens to its knees. And your fate is that none shall remember it.”

One of Sigrid’s wings dissipated, she faltered in the air, then shouted: “Go!”

“I love you,” you whispered before hurtling through the undulating expanse of the portal.

“I know…” you heard her whisper back as Verdenspeil was destroyed.

#loki #loki x reader #loki marvel #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson #tom hiddleston #himmeløyne #norse mythology #loki x you #loki x y/n #marvel imagine #loki imagine #tom hiddlestone imagine

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

Text

Himmeløyne [20/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: Nothin’ to report Cap’n

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

Heimdall’s grip on your forearm seemed impossible. Strong and restrained all at once. One ounce of added pressure and you thought he’d splinter your arm to the marrow of the bone. A little less and his hold would feel none-existent.

Maybe it wasn’t just strength you were feeling from him. Maybe it was his mind. Your magic was returning faster than you’d anticipated, and it was returning changed. Sharper. More attuned to the senses, not just gut instinct.

“What are you thinking?” he pulled you aside to a corner of the room. Sif and Hogun took their time getting closer. They were letting the two of you air things out, in what little air space you had.

You were too preoccupied with the prospect of having a way to wake Loki so close in hand to answer him. Brushing his words aside, you asked instead: “What did the mirror show you?”

“This is not the time to be putting trust in prophecies or tomes of magic,” he cautioned. “Magic is never to be trusted.”

“It felt familiar,” you brushed the pads of your thumbs against your bristling nails. “Like returning to a moment I know has happened before.”

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?”

“What did the mirror show you?” you pressed again.

Heimdall sighed, taking a moment to gather himself. Sif spoke on his behalf, pleading his case further.

“Heimdall is right, magic is unknowable, especially dark magics. It was dangerous for us to simply open a portal into Odin’s throne room, this is extradimensional travel. There’s always a price, and not just the one The Collector is asking.” She glanced over at the eccentric man with noticeable blue powder painted on his eyelids. His fur coat seemed extravagant for a such a steely place as Knowhere. With your sight back, you could see the architecture of it; the Celestial head. It was wrought, like the inside of the village blacksmith’s melting pot. “He cannot be trusted. He always works an angle, always to his benefit. We found Bestla’s amulet, we’ll find another way.”

“An amulet we traded for with a stolen heirloom,” you shot back, staring at the archaic design of beads and wolf fangs strung onto rope the likes of which you’d never seen before. It looked like such a human thing, rather than a god’s piece of jewellery. You couldn’t help but notice that you sensed nothing from it. No magic. No pulse. No power. Most objects sung or cried or whispered in their own way, some objects held the essence of magic wielders long after they had left, but the amulet was silent. “Once Odin realises what we have done…” you shook your head clear of unnecessary thoughts. “He is probably already looking for us. There is no other way. Not if we mean to save time.”

“But an eye?” Heimdall’s voice came off louder than even he anticipated. His brows shot up in surprise of his outburst.

“I’ll still have the one,” you cracked a wavering smile.

Heimdall clenched his jaw. From the look on his face, you knew he wasn’t going to try and talk you out of it. You were too stubborn. Too much like your mother. Too much like him as the days passed.

“We should hurry,” you turned towards the emporium.

“Endlessness,” Heimdall said suddenly. “As always. All I saw in the mirror was the endlessness of space. The endlessness of my watch. These eyes, they see everything, everything but my own fate. What did it show you?”

“That we succeed.”

The extraction was painless. A side effect of the strange poultice The Collector’s assistant had given you. It was the hollowness thereafter that felt strange, other. A subtle sting began to grow increasingly more noticeable, the throb and heat were concentrated around your left temple—where you were now eyeless. A simple wrapping of cloth was used to hide the fresh wound.

“Magnificent,” The Collector had placed your eye in a skull made of quartz and azure, a likeness to your face. How he managed to make it so quickly eluded you, but something told you this man’s ways would continue to do so. An invisible aura refracted the light off the skull in endless streams of rainbows, the kind seen on water surfaces, not skies. An enchanted item no doubt, the only way to preserve your eye.

“I trust you will fulfil your end of the deal.” Heimdall looked at The Collector with menace.

“Of course, of course,” The Collector stopped marvelling at the skull and directed everyone from the back of his emporium to the mirror. He reached into a concealed pocket sewn inside the sleeve of his coat and pulled out a small blade, talon shaped. “Your hand.”

Reluctantly, you presented your open palm towards him. His blade cut deep into your finger. A rivulet of blood snaked around the endless spirals of your finger’s lines. You thought of the snake in the cave. Before it fell, The Collector guided your finger to draw a runic symbol on the back of your other hand, and another on your forehead that was the tracing of two circles, one within the other.

Sif’s eyes went large when she saw the symbol, “Those are—”

“I know,” Heimdall said gravely.

Hogun tensed up as well. The show of bravery you’d been putting on began to crack. You took a double-take at the rune and realised it wasn’t Asgardian, neither was it Nordic. The symbol was of a language you’d never encountered before.

“The mirror is ancient, and magics were always much cruder before the Asgardian ways,” The Collector explained. Something about the way he said those words sounded off. Heimdall let out a hum. Disapproving as they were of late, this one sounded different. It wasn’t directed at you but The Collector. “Now then, this rune will bind you to your body. Entering the mirror is dangerous. You will see all manner of visions. What was, what is, what will never be and what is yet to be. It is said, the mirror world is built on the ranches of Yggdrasil itself. Do not stray from the path or you will be lost to the worlds within.”

“Heimdall,” Sif kept her voice controlled as she grabbed his wrist, shooting him a warning glance.

“This is her choice,” he calmly removed her arm from his wrist, but his jaw clenched again. He was rattled too.

You swallowed, focusing on the mirror and its three reflections of you instead. “How will I know not to stray from the path?”

The Collector smiled. That worried you. “I do not know. I have never travelled inside the mirror myself.”

You walked up to the mirror. The blood rune began to glow the colour of a red sunset. The sting in your hollow eye-space forgotten for a new sensation that bristled through you. That tell-tale prickling beneath the skin. That ominous sense of power coursing through your veins and rushing to your head before a spell was cast. That cold shiver down your spine when you instantly thought of the husk you’d turned into in the throne room—to the void-self burning with the desire to do one thing, and one thing only: destroy.

Your heart ached, and you had to grab ahold of the pedestal where the book laid. When your glowing hand came close to the leathery cover, a rush of air swept through the room. The book slammed open, and pages upon pages tore themselves from the bindings, floating in the air like tattooed, browning clouds. There was a reddish dye that branched unevenly, as if drawn by chaos across every page. Instinct told you to raise your hand. Magic followed after. All the pages aligned themselves to form a tapestry that would have been impossible to realise if the pages were still bound. The dye formed an image of a tree with nine rings bisecting its largest bough. Yggdrasil bloomed into view, the pages wafting that distinct scent of sap from the tree that wept near the village meadow during autumn.

Five runes burned themselves into your mind. You couldn’t read them, you knew you couldn’t, but every fibre of your being said otherwise. Your voice trembled, anxious to speak words you’d never spoken before. It was a kind of possession. One of knowledge, a hunger to understand.

Is this what it feels like for him? You wondered, imagining Loki in his library, always yearning to learn more. Always reaching into the beyond spaces, trying to understand the very mechanisms of the universe itself.

Speak the words, the whisper returned to circle like a flock of ravens in your head. Its voice was clearer, more demanding. Speak the words!

You did as the voice commanded. Throaty, drawn-out words unfurled from your lips. It was then that the spark ignited in your memory. These were words you’d heard before. In the village, during the massacre. You were speaking Jotun, the language of the giants.

With the ending of the final word, the drawing of the tree turned to solid light. The burn of a star’s heart shone into the entire room. It was so intense you thought everything would burn in a blaze, but there was no heat. A muffled scream rippled behind you. The pull towards the light blanked out all thoughts, and with almost divine clarity, as though stepping forward were all that mattered, you followed the pull into the burning tree of light.

It has begun, the whisper said victoriously. The undoing of the past. The undoing of the sins of the father!

#loki #loki imagine #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki marvel #tom hiddleston #odin #himmeløyne

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scribeofmorpheus · 4 years

Text

Himmeløyne [9/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Odin being a God-King...which is code for ‘dick’.

A/N: Hi, this probably my most IMPORTANT LOKI RELATED NOTE: The very talented and delightfully risque writer @lokilickedme has just released a book. I love her work (especially Sanguine)! Refer to this post for all details about her book.

Now, onto triffles.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“—I do not think I can keep this from her any longer,” you heard Heimdall say mid-conversation. He sounded like a man desperate to shout but too afraid to do so.

You swallowed, feeling guilty for impeding upon something so personal.

Just as you had made up your mind to leave, you heard Odin warn: “You remember what the Oracle said, old friend.”

Oracle? You wondered. And that was all it took to get you to plant your feet before the throne room’s doors and listen like a mouse in the night.

“Her vision already came to pass,” Heimdall said, defeated. “I’ve lost one. I cannot lose another. Not when she is safe within our walls. Safe here.”

“No place is impregnable to violence,” Odin let out a sigh. “I already took a risk in allowing my son to train her. If he knew what she was…”

You shifted, a soft noise coming from your hand that braced the door to steady your stance. Was there more about your powers that you didn’t know? Why did Odin speak with such animosity towards you? Did he fear you?

Heimdall’s works quaked with emotion: “Please, Allfather. I cannot keep this lie any longer. I cannot pretend as though my heart doesn’t ache when I see her. And ache all the more when I must remove myself from her presence. She is my daughter. What would you give to have your daugh—”

And that was the moment. The moment everything snapped into place. Heimdall and Odin kept speaking in secret and your mind struggled to make sense of things that were right in front of you the entire time: the bloodkin spell leading you to Heimdall’s post by the bi-frost; the gold in your eyes reflected in his; the mark that shielded your power from his gaze; Loki’s coy words during their Game of Fates; the disapproving glower Heimdall had flashed Loki when the dark prince had placed a finger on your knee; Your mothers mantra: “The universe rests in your eyes.”

Magic screeched inside you. Angry and betrayed. How many people knew Heimdall was your father? How many lies had you been subjected to?

“Hnnnfff,” the magic grew painful; piercing. You clutched your body. Everywhere ached.

Odin and Heimdall’s voices grew sharper.

“…Odin,” Heimdall’s voice shook. “I beg of you. When you ordered me to never look for Sigrid, I did it to protect her. To keep the prophecy from coming to pass. And she died all the same. Without ever knowing how I truly felt for her.”

“I am sorry,” Odin sounded regretful. “But if it came to it, I would take her from you as Sigrid had been. Such is the weight I bear. The weight of King. To protect my son, I would destroy your daughter. It is for this very reason that I cannot allow you to tell her the truth—to love her as only a father could. It is the smallest mercy I can give. And the only mercy I will allow.”

You wanted to escape, go somewhere far. Away from gods and magic and kings. You didn’t cry, there were no tears left to shed. Niflheim had broken you. Asgard had reset you wrong. Frayed, like the ice wound that scarred your chest.

You thought of the ocean, the one back home. And with gut-punching intensity, you were swallowed by a portal of your own making.

Home. You were home. And it was gone. The longhouse that belonged to the chief was nothing more than snow extinguished timber. The fabulous fabrics and furs that decorated his walls left no traces. The polished silver tankards you’d always wanted to drink from were black. The rest of the village suffered a worse fate. Huts leaving nothing behind but black shapes in the snow. There were no bodies to identify. No history to reclaim.

Slowly, you made your way back to your house. The air was colder than you remembered. Wind biting at your skin till you turned pale and stiff. The dress you wore provided little protection from the weather.

Your house barely stood. A state of decrepitude would be too generous a description. Stone walls struck down; no door to walk through; the eight pronged symbol visible on the stone floor beneath the foundations. With a heavy sigh, you tried to rebuild. Placing each stone block back where it had been. Reanimating wooden doors and burned furs from the ash. When you opened your eyes again, you were surprised by how faithful your iteration of home was.

The house stood again, walls shivering with magic. If it was an illusion, you weren't interested in breaking it.

When you walked in, you were disappointed to learn it smelled of fire. No herbs or mead or tanned leather scents to bring comfort. Just fire.

Your mother wasn’t sitting in her chair with her lit pipe. The only trace of her resided in the seer bones cast on the floor; untouched—predicting the future for no-one.

Without a plan, you walked to the small space with a mead stain on the furs. It was where you used to fall asleep to the warmth of the fires as a child. Then, with a wave of your fingers, you conjured a real fire in the fireplace. Sitting back to stare blankly into the flames. You drifted. Too tired to remember to blink from the dry air. Too tired to remember to be present.

Heavy boots broke your stupor. A man, shed of armour and wearing mortal weaves, sat beside you.

“Everyone was worried,” Heimdall’s voice found its way to your ears. He sighed. “I was worried.”

“How did you find me?” You asked, voice raspy.

He opened his palm to reveal a cut, “How you tried to find me, I suspect.”

“Bloodkin spells,” you intoned.

"Of sorts," he chose to sit close enough to seem familiar, but far away enough to let distance be a kindness. “I had to use older magic, more…dangerous magic, to find you.”

“And so you did.”

“Your powers are impressive,” he said. “To conjure a portal on your own and actually end up where you wanted to go is…impressive.”

Your heart beat sluggishly, neck straining from barely being moved for so long. “Is it true?”

Heimdall’s chest sunk, a deep exhale disrupting the flames in the fireplace. “Yes.”

“How?”

“It is...” Heimdall stopped himself. His open palm balling into a tight fist that shook. Something shifted in him. The next time he spoke, he sounded different: “Before you were born, the prince—Loki—fell ill. It wasn’t a sickness of the body, but…something else. Odin was secretive then. More than he is now. Frigga didn’t eat for days. Thor had been sent away so he wouldn’t cause a scene…

“There had been an attack, you see. Jotuns. Somehow, they managed to slip past me and into the castle. A portal I couldn’t sense. There had been a battle. Some died. Not many. But enough. In the fray, Loki had been injured. Odin had shut him in his quarters. I remember hearing Loki scream with fever for days. Spouting heinous accusations at his father.”

You shut your eyes tight. The thought of Loki suffering made you feel uneasy. Heimdall noticed this and quieted his words even more. He probably thought that by making his voice softer the words would hurt less.

He continued: “Odin called for a witch with strange abilities. Her name was Dagna, she was known to her people as—”

“Minnevever…” You turned to look at Heimdall. “She was my great-grandmother.”

Memory Weaver

He smiled humbly, the lines on his face showing the age that his immortal body hid so well. “I had been sent to a village near Lake Mälaren. That is where I first saw your mother. She told me I’d fall in in love with her the first day we met.” Heimdall’s cheeks pulled taut as his teeth peeked through his smile. “I had brought Dagna to Asgard to cure the prince. His treatment took days. For a few hours, during those days, I’d find myself slipping away—going back to the village. Again and again and again.”

Heimdall reached into his pocket and pulled out a lock of hair. You gasped. His smile fell. “On the last day, she gave me this. I didn’t know it was to be our last day. If I had—” He cleared his throat, eyes blinking rapidly.

You felt the urge to ease his pain; or maybe you wanted to mourn with him as the only other person alive who remembered Sigrid. Either way, the strangeness was too thick, your hand never managed to make its way to his side.

“She saw her death too,” you added. There was anger there. Between the octaves. “She saw and yet she didn’t tell me either. Such is the elusive ways of those with godly gifts.”

Heimdall wiped a tear from his cheek, “When I opened the portal to return Dagna to her home, she told me something. A prophecy. She said that I would only know pain if I let my heart know love. I was destined to be the Watcher—and one cannot watch the stars from above if their heart belongs below.”

His fingers played with the ridges of the braided lock of hair. “She warned that if I ever returned to the village, death would follow me. So I never returned.” Heimdall turned to look upon your face in the glow of the fire. Eyes moving over every spot and hair and sculpted angle. It was then that you noticed you shared more than the gold in your eyes. You shared the same chin and more of his lips than your mother’s. Two dark spots mirroring his beneath your left eyebrow.

In a strangled voice, he said: “And I never knew you existed until you were brought through the bi-frost…half dead.”

His choked up, finally giving in to his tears. Heimdall wept then. In the rawness of the moment, your hand finally found the strength to cross over and comfort him. Soon, you were both crying; mourning; celebrating; letting go. As you did, the house proved itself to be an illusion. It fell back into disrepair as you held your father's hand for the first time.

#loki #loki marvel #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #himmeløyne #tom hiddelston imagine #loki imagine #loki imagines #tom #hiddleston

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scribeofmorpheus · 4 years

Text

Himmeløyne [8/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Odin being a God-King...which is code for ‘dick’.

A/N: I haven’t slipped back into my narrative voice for this series completely, but I am happy to bring this old boii off the shelf. Mention of Hela...because, why not.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

Loki’s kiss still burned on your lips as you stormed through the endless labyrinth of hallways in the palace.

You had never heard him speak so candidly, sorrow and desire mixed as one.

“You've bewitched me,” His words beautiful, but too much.

Bewitched? You looked down at your hands, blue slivers of magic casting a glow. Had he done the same to you?

And then, while your mind raced and your palms shook, you heard them. Deep in the echoing chamber of Odin’s throne room, Heimdall and Odin spoke with the freeness of men promised secrecy.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But by the gods, any distraction was welcome.

~Heimdall

“—I do not think I can keep this from her any longer,” Heimdall said, his hand placed where Y/N’s had been days prior. He told himself he wasn’t going to ask for much. Just getting to see his daughter grow as a warrior and woman was enough. But he had been a fool thinking a drop of water could keep him from dreaming of the oasis.

The more he observed her, watched her, the more he began to want more. To know who she had more of; him or Sigrid.

Odin warned, “You remember what the Oracle said, old friend.”

“Her vision already came to pass,” Heimdall was begging now. “I’ve lost one. I cannot lose another. Not when she is safe within our walls. Safe here.”

“No place is impregnable to violence,” Odin sighed, his head too heavy for his neck this night. “I already took a risk in allowing my son to train her. If he knew what she was…” Odin’s eyes trailed to the door, holding a breath for a moment.

Heimdall set his helmet on the floor and took the knee by Odin’s steps, “Please, Allfather. I cannot keep this lie any longer. I cannot pretend as though my heart doesn’t ache when I see her. And ache all the more when I must remove myself from her presence. She is my daughter. What would you give to have your daugh—”

Odin’s eye flashed with anger not seen since his youth. His stave crashing down in the throne room. Heimdall lowered his head.

“I will say this only once,” Odin rose, his shadow growing to a giant behind him. “Y/N is no guest here. She is our prisoner. I allow her to stay because I am King. Daughter of yours or not, she will always be a threat to my son. Her very presence has disrupted the peace. Loki has already begun to dig too deep. If he discovers it was his magic the Jotuns tracked to Midgard…” Odin wavered. “My son is too important. He cannot learn the truth. Of himself or what Y/N truly is.”

“Odin,” Heimdall’s voice shook. He felt smaller than he’d ever been. “I beg of you. When you ordered me to never look for Sigrid, I did it to protect her. To keep the prophecy from coming to pass. And she died all the same. Without ever knowing how I truly felt for her.”

Odin’s heavy hand of sympathy found its way to Heimdall’s slumped shoulders. He dared not say anything, but Odin’s hand made him feel crushed.

“I am sorry,” there was actual regret in Odin’s words. “But if it came to it, I would take her from you as Sigrid had been. Such is the weight I bear. The weight of King. To protect my son, I would destroy your daughter. It is for this reason that I cannot allow you to tell her the truth—to love her as only a father could. It is the smallest mercy I can give. And the only mercy I will allow.”

For the briefest moment, in all his years, he hated Odin, body and soul. He feared what he would have done had he been wielding his sword.

Heimdall set his jaw, ready to leave, when a cluttering noise rippled from behind the throne room doors.

He thought of Sigrid and the flowers in her hair and he knew. Somehow, he knew she had heard them. He had felt his daughter’s presence, he had wanted her to hear. If he couldn’t tell her the truth, the next best thing he could do was show her.

“I too am sorry, my King,” Heimdall repented.

~Loki

“Have you found her?” Loki asked his mother through their telepathic connection.

Frigga looked exhausted, “No, but the palace guards are still searching. It’s a large place, she’ll turn up.”

“It’s been hours,” Loki bit his inner cheek. His magic prickling erratically under his skin. He was frustrated and worried and a little dejected from the fact Y/N had run from their kiss. Now she was missing and the palace felt less like home than it had in years.

Frigga moved her hands in an effort to comfort him. She stopped herself when she remembered they weren’t actually in the same room. She sighed, “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t say that mother,” Loki rushed to comfort her. “Never say that. If you didn’t meddle—if you didn’t fight to have her stay I never would have—”

Never would have what? Loki thought to himself.

“You never would have known love,” Frigga finished his sentence. She smiled warmly, but her joy was contained; restricted to her weak smile.

“You knew?” Loki looked up in surprise. Then, he scoffed at himself for being so easily fooled, “Of course you knew.”

“Son,” Frigga fidgeted, eyes cast down. “Maybe we should let her return to her world. She is mortal after all. You can never be together the way you desire…not for as long as you imagine, anyway.”

“No!” Loki’s heart raced. “Her home is here now!”

“Does she feel the same way?” Frigga asked. “Butterflies cast the most vibrant colours across the reeds, but if you keep them in captivity, they die quicker. And the flowers they could have touched never bloom in the next season.”

Loki furrowed his brow, not in the mood to listen to fables or parables, “Y/N belongs here. With me!” His eyes grew wider. “With us! Sif and Hogun and Volstagg and Fandral—and I can’t believe I’m saying this but—Thor too.”

“Brother, there you are!” Thor jogged over as if he’d been summoned by Loki’s words. “We think we know where she went.”

Loki cut his connection to his mother and gave Thor his full attention. “Where?”

“Midgard,” Thor grabbed both of Loki’s arms and shook. “She went back home. Heimdall used dark magic’s to find her. He went after her.”

#loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki x y/n #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #thor #mcu #odin #angst #himmeløyne

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