Tumgik
#the prince and his dragon
the-lady-amphitrite · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 10
a fate already affixed
pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader word count: 5,043 summary: the time for your Weaver's Reading has arrived, and Skuld tells you what she can about your future in this chapter: references to Laufey's death & Odin's past removal of one of his eyes, reader feels so 15 bc of her attitude in this it hurts, blood magic & non-descript references to blood, very blatant canonical racist attitude about Frost Giants, lots of Skuld being cryptic author notes: hello everyone, i return once more after dragging myself out of bg3 hell long enough to finish polishing and uploading this! this chapter concludes what i like to think of as "act one" for AFB (with all of the setup about soulmates, glimpses at interrealm politics, and a look at how people get their godnames in this AU), and the next chapter kicks off "act two"! i'm really looking forward to posting the six chapters that make it up; it's honestly my favourite thread of this whole AU.
( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )
Tumblr media
You yawn at the stars as you lean against the front side of the karvi as it sails along Yggdrasil’s branches. The bright, distant stars are nothing more than blurred lines as they fly past the ship. They remind you that (despite not being able to tell yourself) this ship moves faster than even the racing skiffs on Asgard.
The ship — you remember someone had referred to her as the Grey Wolf — arrived on the shore of Asgard this morning, spearing through a dense fog in such silence that it left you in awe. The sun had yet to crest above the horizon when the karvi docked, there only to pick up you and your mother to head to Gymirsgard.
Sleep still clung to you like the mist of a light, drizzling rain when your mother dragged you from bed to get up and dressed for this trip. Your birthday party had run late into the previous evening, even though the celebrations had started from the moment you walked into a private breakfast with your family. Even Volstagg, his parents, and his sister Birsa (who just returned from her Valkyrjur trials), were all invited to the family breakfast. It was the first of many surprises for your fifteenth birthday.
Fifteen.
A smile works its way onto your tired face as you remember once more. You’ve looked forward to today for as long as you can remember. You can’t count how many times you’ve dreamt of your visit to the Weavers of Fate over the years. Of facing Skuld before Mímisbrunnr.
Skuld reveals one moment — just one — from a Drekasál’s vast future when they visit her after they’ve turned fifteen. A moment that you’ve been told again and again no dragon ever reveals to anyone else. Not even their soulmate.
A thrill of anticipation sings its way through you, winding through your limbs and rattling your breath. To keep something so close, so secretive, must mean that it’s a moment of unparalleled importance to a dragon. You’re meant to be able to tell your soulmate everything. You’re meant to trust them with the best and worst of who you can be.
Your imagination runs wild with a dozen ideas of what could be so important, each one spilling across your thoughts like a overflowing bottle of watered-down ink on heavy parchment.
You look behind you at the three dozen other drekabǫrn on the karvi. More than half a dozen conflagrations are on this ship with you and your mother. Each of them a different size, and from a different realm. Dragons from across the Realms of Yggdrasil, all headed to speak with the Weaver of Futures.
It’s painfully obvious how much you stand apart from the others. They came with their conflagration; you only have your mother at your side. For the first time since you met him, you can keenly feel the two year age gap between you and Gauti. Too young still to receive his own glimpse of the future, Gauti waits back on Asgard with the rest of your family.
In some ways, you suppose it’s a bit silly to only really feel that age gap now. In all the years you’ve known him, the only lessons you’ve ever shared with him are the Drekasál ones. He’s a child of the Court of Asgard like you are, but he’s also in the class below yours, so you’ve never shared those lessons with each other. Still, watching how close the other drekabǫrn are with their conflagrations reminds you of Gauti. And not just of Gauti, but of Loki, Thor, Baldr, and Volstagg. Part of you yearns to return home already. To the familiarity and warmth of your friends.
Soon. Soon you’ll head home. You just have to get through this visit to Gymirsgard, and then you can return home.
◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦
Your first glimpse of Gymirsgard comes as you approach the realm, the excited gasps and chattering from the other drekabǫrn drawing your attention from the distant stars.
The blue star of the Jǫtunheimar system blazes brightly in the distance — though for you, it just appears white. You only know that it’s blue because of your lessons about the various star systems of Yggdrasil.
In the open space before Jǫkullknǫttr — the star — sits Gymirsgard in all its wondrous glory.
Unlike Asgard’s unique standing as a small, flat realm, Gymirsgard is a round planet, its only edges that of its atmosphere. Truthfully, for a realm, Gymirsgard is on the smaller side. Yet it not only houses more Drekasál than you can imagine, it’s also the same realm your mother and uncle were born to. For decades — centuries even — Gymirsgard was the only realm they knew. It was the realm they called home before home became Asgard.
You eyes quickly shift away from Gymirsgard to look at the vast, open space that occupies most of your view, scanning for the one other planet of this system with sharp eyes. The realm forbidden to all — and for good reason. After what happened to Princess Laufey, to High Lady Dagmær, to your uncle, and to so many other Drekasál and Asgardians there, no one should step foot on that accursed realm.
Jǫtunheimr. A realm full of icy darkness and ravenous monsters. A realm that will rip the life from any who dare venture to it.
You don’t see the ice planet though, wherever it is. Good.
Your attention shifts back to Gymirsgard as you approach the realm. Second by second, the realm swallows up the view in front of you, until the karvi is descending through the atmosphere, and the stars are swallowed by the sky and the clouds.
Your mother leans against the side of the karvi beside you as the starship breaks through the heavy clouds hanging over this part of the realm. She peers out over the vast, forested land below with a fond smile. Shifting her gaze, she points towards a seaside city in the distance, a wide smile you don’t see too often on her face.
“That’s Krossavík,” she tells you.
The name strikes a familiar chord in you, but at first you can’t place the name. When you do, it’s like a strike of lightning zips through you as you remember where you’ve heard it before.
“The city you grew up in?”
“The very one.” Her hand falls, and her smile fades a little. “It’s quite strange. Sveinn and I are from the same city, and yet we spent so long trying to find each other after our Soul Awakenings.”
“How long?” you ask, leaning your chin against your crossed forearms as you stare at the city. In the distance, you can see a few dragons in flight, returning from the sea to Krossavík. From here, you can’t hear the beat of their wings, or make out anything that makes them stand apart from other dragons. They’re just dragon-shaped blobs of grey, soaring over the grey sea.
“A century or so. Your uncle is only a little more than a decade younger than me, but I was gone from Gymirsgard by the time his Soul Awakening happened. We only met because I came home to see my mother.” The smile on your mother’s face fades further, becoming softer, sadder.
“Will we see here while we’re here?” you ask, excitement bubbling in your chest. You’ve never met your grandmother, and your mother rarely speaks of her. Photos of her are even rarer.
“No, no, she won’t be at the landing ground, my star,” your mother says. She reaches out, placing a gentle, comforting hand on your shoulder. She knows you’ve always been curious about your grandmother, what with how you prod about learning more about the dragon you’ve never met whenever your mother or uncle brings her up.
You pout a little at her words. It’s followed by a soft chuckle from your mother, and then a kiss placed atop your head.
“You’ll meet her someday, I promise,” she vows.
“But when?” you ask, impatience threaded in your words even as you keep them hushed so as not to draw the attention of the other dragons. You draw away from her, standing tall and looking Kára in the eyes. “This is the first time we’ve left Asgard. And we’re here, Mamma. Why can’t we just go see her?”
Kára looks away, but you continue to stare at her. She closes her eyes, shaking her head. She says, “It’s a lot to explain, especially now. I would love for you to meet her, it’s just… not the right time. Not with everything else.”
Everything else. That mysterious phrase is the bane of your existence. All you’re allowed to know is that phrase has something to do with her Weaver’s Reading. Something she can’t tell you. Something she is never allowed to tell anyone.
You let out a frustrated breath, leaning against the side of the karvi again, your back to her. You don’t look at Kára. Instead, you watch the land that passes below and the other drekabǫrn as the conflagrations mingle with each other. None of them come near you, though you can see the way their eyes dart to stare at you for a few seconds now and again.
Neither you nor Kára speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t even look at her, ignoring her presence the best you can.
When the karvi lands, it’s in a valley to the far north of Gymirsgard. A narrow stream flows out from the mouth of a cave at the end of the valley, the bubbling sounds of it lost beneath the flurry of activity of the conflagrations jumping over the side of the ship. You sigh, then heave yourself over the side of the ship, landing in the soft, crunchy layer of snow that barely covers the top of your boots.
You watch as the different conflagrations separate from one another entirely. The vængforinginn of each conflagration checks that their drekabǫrn are accounted for, and the adult dragon with each one merely hovers nearby.
There’s another crunch of snow beside you, one that causes your eyes to dart over before they shift towards the drekabǫrn once more; Kára hopped over the side, joining you in observing the drekabǫrn. She places a hand between your shoulder blades after a few second, guiding you forward, and everyone begins the short trek over to the cave.
The drekabǫrn trade glances with each other — and with you a few times — as all of you make your way towards the cave. Kára’s pace is swift enough that, soon enough, the two of you are leading.
Everyone is (mostly) silent during the walk. The crunch of snow is the loudest sound in the valley as you walk alongside the river that spills from the cave. Even the birds have gone quiet, the presence of so many dragons setting the forest on edge, it seems.
The conflagrations stop several metres from the cave’s mouth, but Kára keeps walking the two of you forward. You can feel the eyes of everyone drilling into your back, sending waves of unease up and down your spine. Something in your chest claws at your heart and lungs, begging you to pay attention to the danger that lurks at your back. It takes everything in you not to look back at them.
Kára stops just before the mouth of the cave, and you turn to face her, finally looking at her again. Her eyes are focused on the cave beside you. There’s a brief twitch in her jaw, a sign of her unease with being here. It makes you wonder if she’s remembering her Weaver’s Reading once again.
Her voice is hushed as she tells you, “Once you step inside, you cannot come back out until Skuld releases you. No matter what you see, what you hear, you do not leave. Understood?”
Your skin prickles at her words, hairs raising along your limbs and the back of your neck as you realise the extent of her unease.
“I understand.” You step away from her, into the cave itself. The two of you stare at each other for another moment. Then you nod at her before turning away and making your way further into the cave.
◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦
Your first steps into the cave are tentative. There’s soft torchlight coming from a few metres in, and you pass by the first of the torches on soft feet. You look back over your shoulder only once, after you’ve passed them. Your mother still stands there at the mouth of the cave, alone. It’s an unusual, unsettling sight. Uncle Sveinn is always with her. Always.
Except for this one time. He wasn’t allowed to come along for this journey. No one would explain why. All they would say is that he had to remain on Asgard.
You face forward again and continue down the tunnel.
Torch after torch, the tunnel turns into an ascending loop. Your footsteps are the only sound besides your soft breaths. Even the torches are quiet, which is far more unsettling than you would have expected. You make your steps as light as you can, your ears straining for any sounds besides your soft footfalls.
You continue your ascension, winding higher and higher with each loop. You’re not certain, but you think the loops are wider now than when you began — not that you can really tell.
When you finally reach the end, you find the tunnel opens up into a wide cavern room. There’s a slow, watery glow to the room as you step past the threshold. Like you’ve walked into a world beneath the waves, despite never stepping foot beneath water. All through the room, you can see stalactites dripping from the ceiling and stalagmites rising up from the unnaturally smooth floor.
“Ah, she finally arrives,” a voice calls out. Skuld’s voice, it has to be. You turn in a circle as you venture further into the room, searching for the Weaver, whose voice echoes all around you. “We have long awaited this day, little drekabarn. We have watched you with great curiosity. Your future is shrouded more than most.”
“Shrouded? What do you mean, Weaver?”
“Just as I said. It’s unusual for one like you. However, it always signals an interesting future as it unravels. Now, come. There is much for you to see and learn.”
Skuld glides out from behind you without warning, her footsteps soundless. You jump at her sudden appearance, wondering where she appeared from. Your back was to the cavern entrance, and you’re positive you looked at every shadow you passed as you stepped further inside. Still, you follow her as she moves deeper into the cave.
It strikes you how little of the Weaver you can see, the same as it did when Loki and Volstagg were given their god-titles. A black shroud covers her face, forbidding you from seeing beyond it, and a black dress that drags soundlessly across the floor, covering all but Skuld’s hands. Hands that you had assumed would be clean and boney, but are actually heavy, worn, and scarred.
As you cross through the cave, you approach a small seating area. Two large, dark rugs with the faint workings of a pattern woven into them, covered in a myriad of pillows, and a small circle of stones set between them. The arrangement is set at the base of what appears to be a well. The source of the watery glow of the room, if the way the ripples seem to fall onto the ceiling above it is any indication.
Mímisbrunnr. The Well of Wisdom.
Awe dances through you at the sight of an object so revered and sacred. Over the aeons since this Well was discovered, so many have sacrificed pieces of themselves just for a bit of knowledge they sought.
All-Father Odin sacrificed his eye to Mímisbrunnr years ago. No one truly knows what he’d sought an answer to when he did so, but it’s easy to guess what answers he likely sought. He sacrificed it to learn how to end the war with Jǫtunheimr. It was where the All-Father went after, appearing on Jǫtunheimr with one less eye before leading Asgard at Eldgard’s side against the Frost Giants once more.
The All-Father ended the war, but the Well had apparently not told him how to win it without losing the one he fought to bring home. Princess Laufey died on that frostbitten and cursed realm, never to know the warmth of Asgard again.
Skuld takes her seat on one side of the Well, gesturing for you to sit opposite of her. Once you’re settled, she reaches across the space between you, taking one of your hands and drawing it closer to her. Flipping it over, she leans forward and raises your palm to her shrouded face. With the index finger of her free hand, she traces lines over your palm — not following the ones etched into your skin, but different ones.
“You are remarkably calm and quiet, for one who does not know what I am doing,” Skuld says as she continues to trace lines over your palm.
“I’m not worried,” you tell her. Her tracing falters for a moment, like your answer surprises her. “I have faith in whatever you’re doing.”
“You have more faith than most. Most curious. Perhaps it is because you’ve been raised among the vættir, rather than the Drekasál,” Skuld says. You don’t say anything, despite all the questions that crowd your tongue because of her words. You have more questions than the Weaver would ever be willing to answer, that much you know.
Upon releasing your hand, Skuld sits back. You draw your hand back, placing it in your lap with the other. Only then do you allow yourself to as her the one thing that begs to be spoken.
“Why would other Drekasál not have faith in you, Weaver? You reveal Soul Awakenings, you tell us what is to come. Should we not have more faith in you than the vættir?”
“How do you break the faith of a people, and still have them seek your mercy?” Skuld asks, her voice suddenly sad and hollow. You can’t see her eyes, but you can feel her gaze as it sits heavy on you.
For several long moments, you’re quiet as you turn over her words, searching for an answer. For her part, Skuld does not press you to answer her, letting you come to your own conclusion about her question.
Mercy. Mercy implies that Skuld has more power over the Drekasál than you thought. That, if she chose to, she could punish your people. But punish them for what? And why, if their faith was broken, would they still go crawling to the Weaver, seeking Skuld’s generosity? What could she have promised —
A promise. Skuld promised them something. Something about the future. Something that they clung to desperately for so long, a hope perhaps, but —
“You promise them a hope they need, but they lose faith in that hope,” you finally say, your words slow and not entirely sure of themselves.
Skuld does not say anything, but she does nod. Something inside you fractures and weeps at the realisation. Skuld promised hope to your people about something, something they once desperately wanted to believe in. A hope they needed to believe in, and yet they have lost belief in that hope ever blooming true.
You look away from the Weaver, to Mímisbrunnr.
Silence fills the air between you both for long minutes. You think Skuld might be letting you process her answer, but it’s impossible to tell. To you, she’s just a shrouded figure, no expression to give away her thoughts. After too much silence, though, you turn back to Skuld, more words dancing sharp and angry on your tongue. Skuld speaks before you can let any of them spill forth.
“Twenty-four.” She says this like it’s an answer. When you look at her with a confused expression, trying to puzzle out the number, she explains. “Your Soul Awakening will happen in your twenty-fourth year.”
That’s nearly a decade from now. You’ve already waited forever for your Weaver’s Reading, and now you have to wait almost as long for your Soul Awakening? Impatience burns inside you.
“Isn’t that a bit old for a Soul Awakening?” you ask her. You can hear the sharp indignation in your words, and you lift your chin in an imitation of your royal friends.
“No. A soul Awakens only when it is ready. Twenty-four is a perfectly normal time for one to do so, drekabarn. Your mother's soul did not Awaken until she was twenty-seven, and her soulmate's did not Awaken until he was twenty-two.” You watch as Skuld stands, leaning over Mímisbrunnr. “I have seen souls Awaken when they are as old as seventeen, and I have seen souls Awaken as old as nearly forty. Dragonsouls are curious in that way.”
There’s the sound of something — multiple somethings being moved through the waters of the Well. The Weaver draws out several small logs from the Well, and you watch with rapt curiosity as she sits down, arranging the logs in the circle of stones.
A firepit, you realise. But the logs are wet. How does she expect to —
“Normally Mímisbrunnr requires sacrifice to learn,” Skuld says, interrupting your thoughts, “but you are not partaking in its waters, and it bends to the will of Yggdrasill, as we all do.”
“What do I need to do?” you ask her.
The Weaver passes you a knife, saying, “Three drops of blood onto the logs with the wish to know of your future. When I light the logs they will show me three things. Your most likely future paths, what your life might be in the more definitive of those paths, and which moment in your future you must hear today.” At the query on your face, she tilts her head to the side. You think she might be smiling. “Have faith, young dragon. The logs will light.”
Faith. You have plenty of that where the Weavers and Yggdrasill are concerned, even if so many other Drekasál do not.
So you listen, grimacing as you carefully make a shallow slice along the tip of your index finger. You hiss out a breath, the sting sharp as you squeeze it, letting three drops of blood fall onto different logs. Once that is done, Skuld hands you a small strip of wet cloth. You wrap it around your finger, hissing sharply at the stinging burn it causes.
Then, Skuld utters a word you don’t understand. You feel the ancient power that surges through the room. It condenses within the logs, coiling tight, then — it snaps apart, and the logs are ablaze.
You lean back on your uninjured hand, the other raised in front of your eyes at the sudden brightness. You expected thick smoke to blanket the room, but none rises from the logs. When you open your mouth to speak, Skuld raises a hand to ask for your silence. It’s only then that you realise she’s staring into the fire. You sit there, blinking as your eyes adjust to the firelight, until it no longer burns them to look at the Weaver.
“Your future is most interesting,” Skuld says. She leans closer to the fire, tilting her head to the right as she does. “I see many points that I could tell you now that will never change, no matter which paths you wander as you head towards your destiny. Most curious for one whose future is still so murky and ever-shifting.”
The hairs on your neck and arms raise. You’ve never given much thought to having a destiny. A future, a purpose to your life, yes, but not a destiny. It’s a weighted word. One that makes you think that, perhaps, you might become greater than you’ve ever let yourself imagine. That, maybe, you might live up to the legacies your parents have left for you to follow in the footsteps of.
And yet, the idea also unsettles you. To have a destiny means great things await you, yes, but you know the legends. The stories you have read, the histories you have memorised, all fall into similar patterns.
Greatness does not come without sacrifice, without pain.
“Weaver, what do you see?” you ask her, your words effused with curiosity about what she is seeing.
“I see many things, drekabarn. Every path that you might walk is open to me. I see wars that cannot be evaded, and wars that might never happen. I see a love that burns as bright and beautiful as the Kveldlagi of nights, and lasts for a lifetime; just as I also see loves that will burn like fires lit on a rainy day. I see death that will consume everything. I see your hopes, and your joys. Your wishes and dreams. Your sorrows and fears. I see the paths that you can walk, and the heartache that will shadow so many of them.”
The fire between you burns lower, barely more than embers and small puffs of flame compared to the small campfire it was just moments before. Skuld waves her hand over the embers, the fire banking until it is little more than glowing embers. The Weaver waves her hand over the fire again, and the embers begin to shift and glow in new patterns.
“I know which moment I must tell you. Are you prepared to hear?”
You suck in a breath and nod. Your heart thunders loudly in your chest. Anticipation chokes your limbs and shortens your breaths.
“Yes. I am prepared, Weaver.”
“Then listen closely to what I have to tell you, young one.”
Skuld gestures to the embers. You watch as they begin to glow in a way that forms the shape of a person. Her hand is outstretched, reaching for the hand of someone you can’t see, the image cut off. All the embers show of the other person is their hand, the details lost on you.
“This is what you must know,” Skuld begins. “You were whispered to my ancestors by Yggdrasill. Foretold by It to bring change to a great many things across Yggdrasil’s many branches. You will grow into a power that few will rival, blessed by beings far greater and more powerful than the vættir.
“Your path begins with this moment: on the day of your Soul Awakening. Much of your fate shall be sealed in the days after, for on the day of your ceremony, you will find the soul that the Voiceless One has bound you to in this life.”
You straighten up, mouth dropping open at Skuld’s words. You look at her with open awe. Warmth and giddiness floods your veins, and you don’t even attempt to hide the happiness this brings you — not that you could if you’d tried. To have your path align with your soulmate so early on? It is nothing short of a blessing by Yggdrasill for the bond the Voiceless One wove you.
You wait with bated breath for her to tell you more. To reveal any more scraps about the day of your Soul Awakening Ceremony. When she doesn’t say more, you hesitantly ask, “What else can you tell me, Weaver?”
Silence permeates the cavern, broken only by the sounds of breathing, of your heart thudding loudly, and the faint sound of trickling water. Finally, Skuld speaks once more.
“There is nothing else that I can tell you. That which I find worth telling you I cannot, for it might change the path you walk currently in ways that cannot be undone.” You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from pleading with the Weaver to reveal more to you anyway. If Skuld is concerned about changing the path you walk, then you must heed her. She's directing you towards the future you should walk, in the only way that she can in this moment. It surprises you when she speaks again. “Though, I can say this, for it is but a simple reminder. Protect your soulmate. Stand by them through all hardships, and always live for them. The Voiceless One chose this bond for a reason.”
“A simple reminder,” you murmur.
Tucking the words into your heart, you silently vow to never forget them. You’ve heard similar variations to that reminder before. More times than you can remember, your family has told you the Voiceless One chooses each bond for a reason.
It reminds you of when Frigga told you that the soulmate bond is a mixture of soul and blood magic. Of when you worried and wondered about if the bond was truly a curse in disguise, and how Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir’s interactions as a newly bonded pair banished such an idea. That afternoon showed you how well the Voiceless One chooses the bond for each of her children.
After all, how can something so effortless and comforting ever be a curse?
You do your best not to remember your exchange with Loki in the garden. Or the heavy, unspoken distance that lives in so many of the silences between the two of you these days in the presence of your conflagration.
Skuld stands without another word, beckoning you to follow her. You stand quickly, trailing after her as she returns to the mouth of the cavern. She stops before the mouth, and you step to the other side, but stop so you can turn and look at her. You place your left hand over your heart, bowing to the Weaver.
“Winds favour you, Weaver Skuld,” you tell her. Skuld pauses, as if your gesture has surprised her, and then copies you.
“Winds favour you, Lady Kárudóttir. I look forward to our next meeting. It will not be long now, before the vættir know your name.”
A shiver of excitement works its way down your spine. Skuld’s words promise to you that your godnaming will be soon. You smile, bowing to her once more. And then you turn around, and head back down the tunnel so you can return to your mother.
Each step is another one towards the destiny that awaits you.
( next chapter )
Tumblr media
@ladydracona @huntress-artemiss @sarahscribbles @mischief2sarawr @pbs-theundeadmaggot @loki-cees-all @bitchy-bi-trash
Tumblr media
Find the lore notes for this chapter here!
Join the taglist for this series (and other works) here!
21 notes · View notes
egophiliac · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!
I am not normal about any of these characters!
Tumblr media
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 6 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 6 spoilers#me just staring at the ceiling thinking about anime characters#if i start talking about the big stuff now it's going to turn into a huge rambling mess so in the meantime#i did not get sebek (yet) (i need to contemplate my gems...) but i did see his groovy#he is just full-on cinderella-sparkles bibbidi-bobbidi-booing into that armor! magnificent.#and i really don't have enough words for how much i love tiny malleus. he is perfect. he is precious. he is everything to me.#he knows who his dad is no matter what some crusty dead talking ectoplasm blobs say#(man no wonder lilia's got hangups if THAT was the general attitude he was getting)#('eww you got your dirty bat cooties on the prince' go sit in the corner with mrs. rosehearts you absolute garbage)#(...i did kind of love that lilia started to wake up because the senate said one nice thing to him)#(and he immediately was like 'this is not reality')#(sounds about right)#on a lighter note i was just. SO charmed by the little throwaway about ✨dragon lord consort esteemed diplomat revaan✨#who picks the vegetables out of his food and hides them under the tablecloth#everything i learn about this man makes me like him more. he was SO dumb.#now we know where malleus gets it from i guess#also unrelated but once again the fact that i named my mc tamago has had unintentional consequences#tamago take the tamago and tamago tamagao tamago#frikkin love that when yuu gives the egg back you can just be like 'i love him. this is my baby now.' 100% accurate.#also yuu continually referring to malleus as tsunotarou even to the senate = amazing. yuu really has NO self-preservation or awareness.#they fit right in with everyone else#<- see what did i tell you. huge rambling mess.#and i haven't even BEGUN to talk about MELEANOR -- (is dragged offstage by a hook)
7K notes · View notes
velnna · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
Someone let my man out it's been 5 seasons
2K notes · View notes
hazieash · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
Big week for himbos
3K notes · View notes
radiance1 · 8 months
Text
There was a dragon in space. A brilliant, glowing white eastern dragon that looked like a star moving within space.
It seemingly wasn't doing anything, just floating throughout space with seemingly, no destination in mind. Sometimes it flies around earth, looking but never flying down onto the planet, sometimes it lands on the moon, taking a nap or just playing around by itself.
There were other times it flew through the asteroid belt hiding the Watchtower, yet it hasn't found it yet.
Yet.
The dragon didn't seem like a threat, just playing around within space, minding its own business. Batman monitors it regardless, however.
They didn't know where it came from, what its powers were, why it was here or if its intentions of playing were bound to change into something of hostility. He made eventual plans for it, if it were to turn violent one day, though he leaved it to its own devices for the most part.
His plans were to be used for the What-ifs, not willy nilly.
There came a time when the Justice League were having a debrief in the Watchtower, as they usually do. When the satellites discreetly monitoring it picked up on something.
Another dragon.
One that resembled a western dragon more with black and purple scales.
The first dragon they were monitoring seemed to be off put by the other one, uncharacteristically hostile. Meanwhile the other dragon seemed to be smug, arrogant, seemingly about to on some kind of speech before realizing it couldn't talk in space.
They fought, and they got a view of the dragon's abilities for the first time. Ice, energy blasts, shields, and a wail so powerful it could even be heard clearly throughout space.
the other dragon was no slouch, either, though seemingly less abilities than the other. Fire, speed and strength, which was a given considering their species. It tanked multiple of the other dragon's attacks, though seemed desperate, wary, and even scared of its wail.
They both injured each other, quite severely too. The second dragon seemed to have gotten the upper hand, and got cocky because of that, and so, failed to avoid a wail that blasted it back, followed by two more.
It got hit by the second and barely dodged the third. Then had to retreat due to its injuries.
The first dragon wasn't that well off either, various cuts around its body and green blood leaking out into space. It sluggishly flew to the moon, landed, and then stopped moving entirely.
They decided to try and help it.
-----
Danny was the recently crowned prince of the Ghost Zone, though its king, Pariah Dark, was still in his coffin.
He got a new ability, which was sweet! He could turn into an eastern dragon, which was extremely nice, though a bit annoying having to get used to whenever he woke up and realized most of his body was off his bed because he shifted into a dragon overnight.
What was less cool was how many responsibilities as prince he had to go through, etiquette training, learning history, attending the apparent 'high society' of the ghost zone parties, deciding who gets what fair and square and making sure there was nothing going severely wrong in the Zone.
Something the King was supposed to be doing, but you know, can't when he's sleeping and all.
And how could he forget? The marriage proposals.
He goddamn hated them. So much so that he had to publicly demand to stop sending him them be he's never going to court and marry anyone.
All was good, for a while. But of course, everything couldn't go so smoothly for him. The Observants foresaw a future where he apparently went 'mad with power being the sole royalty' and thought him to be the next coming of Pariah Dark, and then forcibly stated that anyone who can beat him in combat is someone who will marry him, no courting involved and no matter how Danny feels about the ghost.
Danny Obviously didn't like that, not at all. But it was fine, for the most part, because there was no ghost capable of besting him in combat. Well, there were some, but they just simply weren't interested in becoming king or in Vlad's case, marrying him
Prince Aragon
The guy kept trying and trying, no matter how many times he defeated him. Claiming that because he has the ability to turn into a dragon, he simply has to marry him, that he deserved to have Danny as his bride.
Danny still batted him away, making jokes and mocking him for it, even. Though he had a sneaking suspicion that Aragon wanted to marry him to regain his nobility, but that wouldn't happen.
He then disappeared out of nowhere, off the face of the Ghost Zone too. Danny was glad for it, no skin off his back if someone that annoying disappeared, so he went on life as normal, hanging out with his friends, managing ghostly responsibilities, and spending more time with his family.
Even his grades got better! Now that ghost attacks happened less.
Then Aragon reappeared one day, declaring another fight for his hand in marriage. Danny thought it would be easy as all the other times. But something was different with Aragon, he was stronger, faster, more durable.
And it scared him. Scared him how very close the fallen prince was to defeating him in combat, how close he was to losing and having to marry Aragon, how close he was to having to have someone like that as his spouse for what may very well be eternity.
He had a nightmare, that night. One where he lost and was forcibly married to Aragon.
So he ran. He told his friends and family why he was running, and didn't care to tell anyone else why he was running, he just had to get away before his nightmare became a reality.
He went through a lot of dimensions, realms, whatever. Not staying for long, constantly looking over his shoulder just in case Aragon was right behind him, following him.
He ended up in space, near earth and he, tired of all the running and just wanting to stay somewhere for once, stayed. Floating around space.
2K notes · View notes
dragondreamers · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON PARALLELS
S1E02 | "The Rogue Prince" S1E10 | "The Black Queen"
746 notes · View notes
aliferousdreamer · 8 days
Text
WE'RE FREE OF THE UGLY WIG
Tumblr media
725 notes · View notes
withdenim · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media
Sorry for the stupid line callback he was just like. Specifically requested or something. Idk .
703 notes · View notes
Text
Danny is not okay.
He had just gotten back from shoving a very offended Spoiler out of the second story window with a broom when he discovered Red Robin hacking into one of the family computers and had to whack him too.
The broom was getting used a lot today, huh?
In Danny's defense, he had locked up the portals and lab tight before activating the houses security system. Unfortunately, Vlads murderer - some guy named Deathstroke- had used a Fenton product to do the crime, and now his parents (as oblivious as ever) are out hunting the hit man for revenge. Jazz was in on a girl's trip with her friends for a week, and his friends are both out of town with their respective families so the three of them had no idea any of this was going on.
Now here he is dealing with a bat infestation. He hopes his parents will forgive him for blowing up the computer, but he really doesn't want his parents going to jail. And with half the stuff on the computer being destructive mad scientist inventions and the other half being plans/tools to commit horrific atrocities and genocide of an entire dimensions worth of sentient beings?
Jail. Jail for a thousand years. Can't let that happen. So Danny is on his one man mission of throwing ninjas with daddy issues out various windows over and over again. This can't last forever! They have a city to return to, right?!
Well, turns out he was right! Too bad they were all now in what Danny could only guess was a new world full of talking monsters that kept trying to eat them!
At least the house came with them so they had shelter. Why did mom program the teleporter to activate without coordinates put in anyway. What where these monsters? Where is Nadiria supposed to be in the galaxy? Where they still in the milky way? Was it safe to fanboy about being on another planet? Can Danny become a "monster wrangler" alongside the bats so they don't get eaten?
Can danny manage to hide his identity as a ghost/ "monster" from the bats while they're trapped in this freaky place?
641 notes · View notes
raayllum · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
First look at Book 6: Stars!
964 notes · View notes
the-lady-amphitrite · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 9
of mirrors and secrets
pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader word count: 6,452 summary: you settle your thoughts on soulmates, and then a conversation with your best friend goes wrong in this chapter: more soulmate talk, a sprinkle of Loki being jealous, more points for the "idiots in love" tag, Loki's pronouns are she/they in the second section, an interrupted argument with Loki (i'm sorry) author notes: and welcome back! if you've seen the masterlist today, then yeah the chapter count went up again. i'm sorry. this was originally meant to be the second half of the last chapter, but that cliffhanger was fun, right? 😊 also, if anyone knows anything about gardening i'm very sorry. i do not, and considering this is the only planned time gardening will be used in a scene i will not be learning about anything more than seeding and planting times just to make sure Voranda works in the rough timeline of this chapter. many apologies.
( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )
Tumblr media
Tension winds its way through you in the days that follow. Frigga’s words about the soulmate spell containing both blood and soul magic weigh heavily on you. It weighs more since you learnt it the days after Lord Ivarr’s bonding with Lady Tryggvadóttir.
Something that you once admired, something you once looked forward to, something that once seemed so sacred now feels like it could be the worst part of what it means to be a Drekasál.
You force yourself to push those lingering thoughts aside for other matters. Between your lessons and the upcoming string of back-to-back feasts, birthdays, and holidays, there’s so much else for you to focus on right now. And yet, the questions still find time to push themselves forward. To make you worry, think, and wonder.
You wonder the most about if you should ask your family how they see it. Do they see the soulmate bonds as a curse, or do they believe it’s blessed by Yggdrasill and the Voiceless One? Once, you might have believed that they all see it as being blessed by Yggdrasill and the Voiceless One. After all, you did, even if no one had ever asked you.
How else were you meant to view something that you see every day because of the bonded pairs you’ve grown up around all of your life?
It takes so little for you to remain quiet each time you want to ask. Seeing the relationships between your mother and uncle, or Katla and Tórbjǫrn, keeps you from asking.
Your mother and uncle are incredibly close, their bond strong from a thousand years spent with one another. Bonded by time, and by experiences that they sometimes talk about, regaling you with stories from their life before settling on Asgard. Of the battles, the friendships, the adventures, and the mundane moments that filled those centuries.
With Katla and Tórbjǫrn, the twins have always had each other, but you know from watching Loki and her brothers that such a thing doesn’t mean siblings don’t argue or have days they can’t get along. You’ve never seen Katla and Tórbjǫrn do anything like that. They just always seem to exist in harmony, annoying each other in an affectionate, loving manner, but never anything worse.
How can you reconcile the idea that you and your family are all cursed, when they look so happy to have the one they were meant to be bonded to?
The answer comes just a few days later.
You’re told at lunch by Katla that Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir are finally ready to meet the rest of the conflagration. Lord Ivarr had apparently even told Katla that he and his new soulmate would be remaining in Asgard. Something you thought she would look happier about than she was when she told you. He’s one of her heartmates, after all. Someone she loves dearly and has loved deeply for longer than you’ve been alive.
You do your best to distract her from whatever leaves a shadow in her dark eyes. You’re not sure how well it works.
Later, your family collects itself in Katla’s pavilion. It’s not as high up as your family’s, but her rooms aren’t as high in the palace as your family’s either. The whole conflagration stands together in a loose, casual formation, though it’s nothing like the one you take up when flying.
While your uncle stands next to your mother, you stand before them. You don’t know the order the others are standing in, but you think Katla and Tórbjǫrn are right behind them. You can’t turn around to check, though. Your mother’s hand on your shoulder feels heavy, rooting you to the spot.
Everyone is standing in tense silence as you wait for the pavilion doors to open. For the new soulmate pair to enter. When the doors finally swing open on silent hinges, you can almost hear everyone’s collective breathing just stop.
It’s strange, in a way. You’d been so eager to meet Lady Tryggvadóttir just a few nights ago when she first showed up. Now you’re worried about meeting her. She and Lord Ivarr have decided to remain in Asgard, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still change their minds. They could still leave. Lord Ivarr could decide to leave Asgard, to journey across Yggdrasil’s branches with his new soulmate, and leave your conflagration behind.
You don’t like the idea of that. Of losing a member of your family just because he decides he wants to leave.
Lady Tryggvadóttir enters first, Lord Ivarr close on her heels. Walking next to each other, you’re surprised to see how much taller the drekakona is when compared to Lord Ivarr. Her height, combined with her high-pointed ears, makes you realise that she’s both Drekasál and Ice Elf.
Watching them approach also makes you realise just how at ease they seem to be with each other already. It’s only been a few days, but if you didn’t know better, you would think they’ve known each other far longer. Something about the way they walk together, the way they move as a unit, is just… different. You’d never realised (consciously, or unconsciously) how your mother and uncle or how Katla and Tórbjǫrn move in the same way.
They move like they’re two halves of a whole. Like one could exist without the other, but to do so would leave you without the complete picture of either Drekasál. And suddenly, you get it. Not entirely, not quite the way a bonded person does, but for the first time, you’re seeing what it means, truly, to become one half of a soulmate pair.
To move without speaking and yet understand one another entirely. To know what the other is thinking, with just a glance. Offering a hand before one is asked, and reaching for it because you know they’re going to without you asking. Someone who is always in your corner, even if no one else will be. Someone to see and understand the worst of you, but also the best of you. A being who is always there, always yours.
It’s nothing short of beautiful.
“Go greet them. Remember your eyes,” your mother whispers to you, and then pushes you forward gently. Your first step is hesitant. Uncertainty winds its way through you as you approach them, even as your steps grow more confidant.
Your mother had said earlier that you must be the one to greet them. You hadn’t thought to ask then why it has to be you, and not someone else from the conflagration. Still, you shift your eyes as you approach; the world becomes sharper, gaining more variance in colour even as it remains monochrome. You can’t see the colour of Lady Tryggvadóttir or Lord Ivarr’s eyes, but you can see their shape. They wear their dragon eyes, just as you are.
You stop a few feet from them as Lady Tryggvadóttir drops to her knee. She bows her head, places her left hand over her heart, and then lays the palm of her right hand pressed flat against the floor.
It’s a gesture of respect. Something that both surprises you and thrills you in a way you can’t quite explain. Even more so when Lord Ivarr follows suit to do the same.
“My Lady Kárudóttir,” both dragons say.
“Lady Tryggvadóttir, Lord Ivarr,” you say. You nod your head at each of them, just as your mother and uncle have taught you. Yet you also choose to be a little unorthodox, to deviate a little from the norm of greeting a dragon who bows to you because you’re curious. “Lady Tryggvadóttir, might I inquire what colour your scales are?”
Without any hesitation, she replies, “Blue, my lady. Not like the dark blue of the ocean as your scales are, but the light blue of the sky.”
A small smile blooms slowly on your face at her answer.
For the first time in your life, you are not the only blue dragon on Asgard.
◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦
When spring arrives in Asgard nearly half a year later, it finds you once again in Frigga’s garden.
It’s Voranda now, the month where the mornings are cold, but the afternoons are starting to warm up. The perfect time to begin tending to the garden, preparing it for this spring’s growth. It's also the first time you've watched Loki try to garden with her new diadem.
Like her brothers, Loki’s sixteenth birthday meant, according to the Æsir, she had finally come of age. For Loki, it mostly meant she was finally allowed to take on a few royal duties, like her brothers had when they turned sixteen. With that milestone had also come the reveal of their royal diadem, and their rune. The symbol she had chosen to be hers, just as Thor and Baldr had done when they each came of age.
Made of gleaming nornaseiða uru, the horns that curve back out of the band of Loki’s new diadem are tall and elegant. The cheekpieces curve softly around Loki’s cheekbones, adding a bit of something between awe and fear to the way the diadem looks on her. The segment between the horns also has an embossing of her symbol — a Kenaz turned on its side so it points down.
It’s because of how tall the horns of their diadem are that you’ve spent the last ten minutes kneeling a few feet away from her, trying not to laugh.
Loki’s tending to an elderberry bush, the branches only beginning to bloom in the early spring weather. As she’s checking the soil and pruning the lower branches of the elderberry bush, her horns keep getting caught in the upper branches of the bush. You were tending to a juniper berry bush just opposite her, but the constant rustling and aggravated noises Loki kept making as they tended to their bush ended up distracting you.
“You know,” you start to tell them after she breaks one branch trying to disentangle the horns from the bush, “if your diadem is giving you this much trouble, you should probably take it off.”
The laughter you’re trying so desperately to hold in as you watch Loki struggle must be clear, because she turns an exasperated, affectionate look on you. The branch she broke off falls to the ground, and you can’t help but smother your giggle behind your hand as it hits the soil.
“Sticky charm,” Loki grumbles as she sits back on their heels. It takes a moment for you to understand it's an explanation for why she hasn't taken their diadem off yet.
“Loki,” you say, unable to hold back your giggles as you give them a disbelieving look. “Tell me you didn't.”
“The sticky charm was the only way to get it to stay on my face!” Loki says to you with obvious irritation, their jaw clenching as she defends herself. “This one only has a half-band, not a full band like my ceremonial diadem. I know it wasn’t the brightest idea, okay?”
Her words throw you off balance for a moment. Loki’s rarely irritated at you, and you wonder how many times she’s had to defend herself today about casting the charm on their diadem. Your giggles die down quickly, your smile slipping into a frown.
A stricken look crosses their face when she sees your frown, and the young goddess looks away, shoulders stiff. You shuffle over to their side, reaching out a tentative hand to place on their shoulder as you lean around, trying to look into her eyes even as she turns her face further away from you.
“Loki…” You say their name as softly as you can, suffusing those four letters with the soft, gentle affection you hold for your best friend. You rest your chin on their shoulder. “Who said it?”
Loki is quiet, but then she takes a deep breath, her shoulders untensing as she leans her head against yours. Their answer is hushed as she tells you, “Both of them. They said I shouldn’t be so ‘irresponsible’ with spells I cast. I know they have a point, but…”
“You didn’t like hearing it after you’d already realised your mistake?” You offer.
“I didn’t like how they said it to me,” Loki corrects, then sighs. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with this with your parents.”
You let out a soft half-laugh as you wrap your arms around them, hugging them.
“Maybe not about seiðr, but my father still struggles to deal with me being a dragon, and my mother still thinks I’m too Æsir. Add in my seiðr that neither of them understands, and,” you give a half-shrug, “sometimes I think I might as well be completely foreign to them.”
The chuckles you and Loki both let out are tinged with bitterness and mutual understanding. This is far from the first time you and Loki have lamented about your parents, and you know Loki’s grateful that she has someone to talk to about it.
When Loki talks to Thor and Baldr about it, her brothers don't seem to understand what she’s telling them. Something the young goddess has told you she believes is simply because neither of her brothers wield seiðr the way she does. Thor and Baldr’s seiðar are more elemental in nature, rather than the free-flowing nature of Loki’s.
“I still can’t believe they let you commission six headpieces. Did you really need so many?” you ask, a teasing smile on your face as you try to banter with your best friend and get her mind off of what their parents had said.
“I needed more, actually.”
You can hear the grin in Loki’s words, her tone dry and playful, and you let out an amused huff before asking, “Really? The ones you’ve commissioned already weren’t enough?”
“Well, I was thinking about commissioning one with horns that angle out from the band, and then angle up like the others.” She moves her hands around to create a vague shape, trying to outline her idea for it. You lean around to look at their face — thinking for a moment that surely they’re joking with you — but she looks completely serious, even with the slight smile on their lips.
“You make me look forward to when I’ll have to commission my own headpieces after maturity less and less,” you say to her. You shake your head, a slight smile of your own on your lips, before resting your chin on their shoulder again.
“Do you know what design you’re going to do for yours?” She asks, leaning back against you.
“Mmm, I have a few ideas for what I want,” you say. “I know I’m only going to commission a ceremonial one, and a war one. I’m not royalty, so I don’t need to commission a diadem.”
“You could be, maybe, someday.” Her voice is soft as she looks away, twirling the stick they broke from the elderberry bush. You grimace at Loki’s words, feeling uneasy about her veiled suggestion for multiple reasons.
As the only child of Týr Hymisson, in some ways it makes you, well, valuable to Asgard.
Your father is the General of Asgard’s armies, and one of the most powerful gods in the Nine Realms of Asgard outside of the House of Odin (politically speaking, anyway). Of Asgard’s nobility, only your mother, Kára, outranks you. Once you come of age some time in the next decade, you’ll be the highest ranking unmarried member of the Court of Asgard. And with your family being so close personally with members of the House of Odin, it makes you highly valuable to Asgard. If the realm needs a non-royal for a marriage alliance with one of the other Realms of Yggdrasil, you would be its first choice.
Loki places their hand over one of yours, holding onto it gently. That strange, familiar warmth begins to burn in your hand and spread through your body. The sensation breaks you from your dour thoughts, bringing you back to this simple moment.
A cool spring breeze rustles the bare branches and the barely there leaves, driving some of Loki’s dark hair to tickle your face. The sun lays a gentle warmth on your skin, the heat seeping through your clothes. There’s a gentle twittering of birds from the trees across the Sleipa. And in the silence of the moment, you can hear Loki’s breath and your own heartbeat.
It’s one of countless simple moments between just the two of you that you’ve had together over the years. One you would like to do again and again, perhaps even for the rest of your life.
The warmth in your chest, centred in your heart as the beats grow heavier, trembles and shakes.
Like a match lighting a candle in the middle of the night, suddenly you can see into the web of those clouded, often nebulous feelings you associate with Loki. Feelings that you have so frequently pushed aside and ignored for the last year, as that trembling, shaking warmth in your heart envelopes you until the world shines brightly.
If it’s possible, you will do this with Loki for the rest of your life. Part of you belongs to Loki, a part freely given to her over and over through the years you’ve known each other. A large piece of your heart that has grown to cherish — to love them as more than a friend.
There’s a small part of you — springing off the realisation of your affections for Loki — that thinks, ‘Yes, I could be royalty someday. Because of you.’
But you can’t just say that. The words stick in your throat, clawing their way back down into your chest so they remain unsaid. Your heartbeat quickens and your stomach curls as the words refuse to be spoken.
Loki is your best friend. If you were to lose that to a confession of your affections, if you were to lose her, you don’t know how you could ever pretend everything is just the same as before.
So you let the words settle back down in your lungs. Let them make a permanent home there.
And then you pretend the words never crossed your mind in the first place.
Like you haven’t realised the sheer depth of your affections for the Goddess of Mischief.
“Comes with the territory of being my father’s daughter,” you say with a shrug.
An attempt at nonchalance over something that you both know bothers you. Something that’s bothered both of you since the first time Lord Alfarr made an off-hand comment about arranged marriages and betrothals between Asgard's nobility and the other kingdoms in the Nine Realms.
Before Loki can say anything, you scoot around them with a grin on your face. You give a playful swipe at her nose with one finger as you tell them, “Besides, my mother would never let me be married off. According to her, dragons don’t marry, we only take heartmates. And Babba always listens to her when it comes to Drekasál things. So, Princess Loki, you are stuck with me until I decide to go looking around Yggdrasil for my soulmate.”
Loki giggles as she shakes her head. She takes your hands in hers, her expression soft.
Your traitorous heart leaps in your chest at that gentle look of hers. Warmth burns and curls tenderly from your heart to your hands. She’s always beautiful, but even more so when this look is on their face. You love seeing such a tender, earnest expression on their face — especially when it’s directed solely at you. It makes you feel alive in a way you can’t quite put to words.
“I will always be happy being stuck with you, Firefly,” she says. She leans towards you, the look on her face becoming a questioning one as she stares at you. “Do you really want to go running alone across Yggdrasil for decades? What if you never find them?”
“I’ll find them.” You say it with heartfelt conviction. You understand now (because of Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir, and because of your mother and uncle) that, while it’ll take time, you’re destined to find your soulmate at some point. “It’s the Voiceless One’s will. It might take me a while — a long while even — but when I do find them, it’ll be worth it.”
You look up at the sky, where Iðavǫllr hangs, high and shining in the daylight. Your mind wanders and wonders about the realms out there. Places you’ve only read about, places your heart yearns to see and experience. Your voice turns wistful as you say, “I’ll get to see so many places out there among the stars, Loki. See so many things that we’ve only heard or read about.”
“Yet Asgard is your home, and we are your friends. You would truly leave us behind to chase after a being you might not find for centuries?”
“It’s not like I have much of a choice. The chance I find them in Asgard? It’s low.”
You shift your gaze from the sky back to Loki, who’s looking at you. The look on their face is something that reminds you of desperation — but that’s silly; this is Loki, and she’s never desperate about anything.
And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that is exactly what you’re seeing.
“I’ll come home for you,” you promise. Your words are soft, but their meaning is weighted. “I’ll always come home to you.”
You squeeze her hands, watching the way her eyes dart around your face. It’s something Loki has always done, weighing the words they hear. Like sometimes she’s not sure she can believe what she hears, despite their godhood being a domain that gives them more clarity on if someone is lying or not.
“I’ll hold you to your word,” Loki finally says. She gives you a tentative smile, squeezing your hands back. You smile at them in return, yours far less hesitant and far more bright. After all, you expected nothing less from the Goddess of Lies.
Loki stands, pulling you to your feet with them. Lacing their hand with yours, she tugs you along after her, saying, “Come. We’re going to find my mother. We’re done with the plants, and it’s nearing dinner time. And based on the procession of hǫfálfar that arrived just after lunch, we have guests from Søkkvavǫllr this evening.”
“Søkkvavǫllr? The hǫfálfar are visiting us again? So soon after Búradagrinn?” you ask, genuine curiosity and excitement in your words as you follow behind.
Búradagrinn was only a couple of weeks ago, and there had been several hǫfálfar in attendance during those three days of celebration. You’d had a lengthy and enjoyable conversation that first night with a young hǫfálfar named Bǫðvarr before Loki joined you. Topics about various interests like Søkkvavǫllr’s famed underwater fields, the recent discovery of an old castle in Vanaheimr’s polar cap that predates Álfheimr’s first visit, and the new play Death of Desire had all come up as you spoke with him.
“Hoping Bǫðvarr is going to be there?” Loki asks. She doesn’t look back at you when she speaks.
There’s something unfamiliar in Loki’s words, something almost bitter that makes you frown at them. They’d avoided your question entirely. Loki loves to tease that she knows the truth sometimes. You’re used to that, but rarely does she not answer. At least not without hinting she knows the truth. And their tone… you’ve never heard that tone before from your best friend.
“Well, he was nice to speak with,” you mumble, trying to ignore the sudden pit in your stomach. “Did you… not like him?”
Loki suddenly straightens, her hand gripping yours a bit tighter and subtly pulling you closer to her side. The way she does this is an answer in and of itself, and you can feel yourself relax almost immediately. You can’t help the bit of a smile that tugs at your lips as you wrap your free arm around theirs, and lay your head on Loki’s shoulder.
“You know you’ll always be my favourite,” you tell them. There’s a warmth curling and winding through you. Your heart beats a little harder in your chest. It’s borne of the sudden, spiralling fantasy that Loki’s jealousy might be something more than you greatly enjoying that brief acquaintanceship with Bǫ��varr.
It’s a fantasy you have to quickly shove down and lock away. You can’t recall Loki ever even hinting that she thinks of you as anything more than her best friend. You’d make a fool out of yourself eventually if you let that fantasy run wild.
“Mmm, do I now?” Loki asks, but her tone is lighter now. More playful.
“Well, I would hope so! It would make calling you my best friend a bit awkward if you thought someone else was my favourite,” you say, squeezing their hand.
“And here I thought Gauti was your favourite,” Loki teases. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head at her words
“Oh dear. Well, don’t tell him he’s not actually my favourite. I’m sure it would crush him horribly to learn it's actually you, Your Highness,” you reply, doing absolutely nothing to hide your wide grin.
Loki brings the both of you to a halt. She presses a finger to her lips, tilting her head back and letting out a falsely contemplative hum. Then, they turn to face you, leaning toward you with a smirk and a playful glint in her eyes.
“No,” Loki says, poking your nose quite suddenly, “I think I will let him know I’m your favourite. We can’t let poor Gauti continue believing such a lie! That would be —”
It happens without warning.
One moment, Loki is looking down at you with that playful smirk. The next, something heavy, and solid, and sharp smacks into your face. You hiss in pain, turning your face away and backing away a few steps from her. You hear whatever it is thud against the ground a few times before rolling into the bushes.
"Ymir's drowning blood! What in the Nine Realms was that?" you ask. Hand pressed against your forehead, you take in a sharp breath, gently rubbing at the suddenly aching, tender skin.
"Are you okay?" Loki asks, something like distress in her words. She quickly steps closer, a hand outstretched towards your face. Brushing your hand aside, their palms cup your cheeks as she looks at your face.
It takes only half a second for you to realise what's different from just moments ago. Their diadem is gone. There's not even an impression left behind on her skin from where it's sat for most of today.
“That was careless of me,” Loki mutters, angry and annoyed as she holds your face, “not realising the sticky charm had a chance of dispelling before this day is over.”
You hold very still as she cradles your face, unwilling to move in case you give your recently realised affections for her away. The intensity in how she looks at you is disarming, and it takes a few moments for your mouth to work again.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve taken worse hits in training,” you tell Loki, trying to reassure them you’ll be fine in a few hours.
Their thumb swipes gently over where her diadem hit you in the face. The pain fades quickly, and you know without having to ask that she’s taken the moment to heal the minor bump.
“Better?” they ask, eyes searching your face to see if she needs to heal anywhere else. The healing hadn’t been necessary for such a minor thing. A tiny part of you finds it pointless, because you’ve definitely had worse injuries from training, but most of you appreciates the gesture for what it is. Affection and care.
“Yeah. Thanks, Loki.”
You gently pull away, quickly averting your eyes. They fall on Loki’s diadem, resting beneath a cluster of what appear to be shrubs just to your left. Looking at them, it takes you only a moment to identify what kind of shrubs they are. You know the shape of those leaves and how they grow. It’s a shrub you’ve helped tend to, and one you’ve harvested urushiol oil from when asked.
Thunderwood. A harmless plant to you, and to most other beings native to the Nine Realms.
You drop to one knee, reaching for their diadem —
“No!”
Loki’s voice rings out, sharp and high. At the same moment, an invisible force wraps around you in an instant. Before you can even understand what’s happening, you’re slung through the air and landing a few feet down the path.
You lay there for a moment, too stunned by the quickness of events to speak.
Loki is kneeling down beside you. She doesn’t touch your arm, even as she tries to check it over. You don’t know what they’re looking for. The look on their face is one you’ve almost never seen either — genuine terror.
“Did you touch it? Did any of it get on you?” she asks, her voice tight and her words rushed.
“What?”
“Did the leaves touch you?” their eyes flick up to your face briefly before returning to your arm. “I need to get you to Lady Eir, and quickly.”
You’re taken aback by their tone. As you sit up, you say, “What? No. Why? Is something wrong with the thunderwood?”
“Thund—gods above,” Loki says. Something in her features twists in a way that makes you feel twisted up and almost ill inside. You don’t like it, and you don’t know why.
“Firefly, that wasn’t thunderwood.” Loki picks up your arm gingerly, looking at it closer. Without even looking, she waves a hand at her diadem. It dissolves before your eyes, and you know they’ve sent it somewhere. Likely their room, since it wasn’t in their hand to store in a pocket dimension. “That was Hel’s touch.”
“No. No, it couldn’t be,” you tell her, tugging your arm from her grasp. You stand up and step away from her, wanting a few feet of space between you and the young goddess. That distracting warmth and fluttering feeling in your heart is not what you need to feel or focus on in this moment. “I know those leaves. I know the way thunderwood looks, Loki.”
Loki stands up after you do. She looks at you with a pinched expression.
“Thunderwood has red stems. Those stems are purple,” she tells you. Something about the way they say it makes your posture tighten. It hits you a moment later why. Something about her tone has shifted away from that Loki-tone you always hear, to the regal, authoritative tone of the Princess of Asgard.
“I know the difference between them, Loki,” you snap back to them.
“Really? Can you suddenly see colour then? Because last I checked, that curse makes it so you can only see in monochrome,” Loki bites out, stepping towards you. You swallow the growl that wants to slip from you. The growl that demands to remind her the kind of being they’re speaking with.
“It’s not a curse.”
“You still buy into the whole ‘fated’ aspect? Genuinely? Even though you could have died—”
“Because I am, Loki!” A growl slips from your lips without you realising for a moment. You turn away from her quickly and take several deep breaths, pushing down the swirl of wrath that snarls and howls inside you. Once it’s contained, you turn back to her. You can see the flinty look in her eyes, the stubborn set of her mouth.
“It is a curse, and it needs to be destroyed. Permanently.” Loki’s words are soft and sharp. They’re a dagger, slicing right into your heart as the memories of your conflagration’s soulmate pairs flash to the forefront of your thoughts.
Your words are still edged with hardness when you speak again, but they’re quieter than before.
“Just because you don’t understand what it means to have this spell on your soul—” you emphasise the word ‘spell’ on purpose, letting them know you don’t agree with their word choice, “—doesn’t mean you have the right to scorn something that is part of me. I didn’t judge you.”
Loki flinches hard enough that it surprises you. You freeze in turn. It was a low blow in more ways than one. You regret saying it now, especially when you know you’ve undoubtedly hurt her.
“What’s with the shouting I heard?” Frigga’s voice says from behind you.
You tense immediately, a sick feeling filling you once more as you watch how Loki turns a charming smile on her mother. If you hadn’t been the one arguing with her, you wouldn’t have even thought they were angry just a moment ago.
“Hello, Mother,” Loki says with their usual grin, tinged with that warning of mischief. “We were looking for you.”
You compose yourself quickly, turning to Frigga with a mostly neutral look on your face. You hope your slight quirk of a smile is convincing enough.
Frigga raises her eyebrow as she walks right past you to stand closer to Loki. She looks between the two of you as she asks, “Were you now? Well then, what can I help you both with?”
Loki places one hand on their hip, waving the other dismissively. “Not for anything of that nature. We finished tending to the plants you asked us to, and now it’s nearly dinner. Firefly’s hungry, so we wanted to let you know before we left to eat.”
When Frigga’s eyes land on you again, you shrug at first. You follow it with, “Loki told me we have guests from Søkkvavǫllr. I want to see them.”
“Very well,” Frigga says, nodding, “if you’re done for the evening, then go ahead. I’ll join the festivities in time. And Loki?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Try not to cause too many problems for our guests this evening. I heard they weren’t quite so entertained by your antics with the young prince during Búradagrinn. I’d rather you not offend them again, understood?” Frigga says it with a smile, placing a hand on Loki’s back.
“Yes, Mother,” Loki says again, though their tone is a bit more exasperated this time.
“And wear your diadem with the full band this time as well.”
Loki’s smile slips a little, then becomes a bit more forced. She says, “Of course. I’ll grab it before we go to dinner so I can change too, since I doubt you want me going to dinner in trousers and a tunic. Anything else that you need me to do before I go, or are we free to leave?”
Frigga seems to be trying to withhold some of her amusement as she looks down at her child. You’ve known the Queen of Asgard long enough to recognise how terribly she’s hiding it though. You’ve never quite understood why Loki’s occasional lack of subtlety is so amusing to Frigga.
“Yes, you may leave,” she says. She drops a kiss on top of Loki’s head. “I love you, Loki.”
“I love you too, Mother,” Loki says as she begins walking back towards the garden’s entrance.
“We’ll see you later tonight, Frigga,” you tell her, before turning away to follow Loki.
Despite the tension you feel choking the air between you, Loki doesn’t try to outpace you as she walks. They walk like nothing is wrong, but you can tell they’re still mad or upset about the argument. She doesn’t link arms with you as you walk, nor does she speak.
You remain silent as you walk, too afraid of upsetting her more by speaking. Telling Loki you’ll see them at dinner once she breaks away to take a lift up to her room is hard enough. Especially with how friendly Loki acts towards you right before she gets in the lift.
It feels easier for you to breathe once Loki’s gone. You don’t understand why Loki reacted the way they did in the gardens. They’ve never snapped at you like that before.
And you’ve never growled at them before either, you think to yourself.
“It is a curse, and it needs to be destroyed. Permanently.”
The words sting, and you’re glad you’re alone when you remember them. You lean against a wall, somewhere between the lift you left Loki in and the lift you’re headed to so you can change as well. With your head in your hands, you bring forth the hundreds of memories you have of your conflagration’s soulmate pairs.
As always, your mother and uncle are the first to spring to the forefront of your thoughts. You’ve seen them almost every day of your life that you can remember. Theirs is a more subtle bond, but you’ve always felt the love between them. You’ve seen them support each other, and you’ve seen the easy way they bring joy to one another.
Lord Ivarr and Lady Helga are the next to come to your thoughts. They’ve been a wonder for you to watch since that first day. You’ve watched them as they adjust to seeing the world in a new way. You’ve watched Lady Helga learn how to fit herself into Lord Ivarr’s life, and how easily he’s made room for his soulmate in so many spots. Sometimes you’re not even sure if he’s aware he’s doing it. Lady Helga is, though. You’ve seen it on her face a few times.
Then there’s Katla and Tórbjǫrn. The twins have always shown you without any restraint the joy and warmth that comes from being each other’s soulmate. You envy them for how close they are. You also can’t count how many times you’ve begged the Voiceless One for your bond to be like theirs.
An aching joy fills you as you let the memories of them fill you. You yearn for your soulmate, whoever they will be. You have your hopes for a bond like Katla and Tórbjǫrn’s, but you know you’ll adore whatever bond the Voiceless One gives you. They’re yours, whoever they are.
You know the soulmate spell isn’t a curse for your people. You just can’t figure out how to show Loki so she sees it like you do.
After a few more minutes, you push away from the wall. A deep breath in, then out, and then you head towards the lift that will take you closest to your family’s quarters.
You don’t know what awaits you tonight, or what tomorrow will bring, but you know what your future holds. Your soulmate. Whoever they are, wherever they are right now, they’re yours. And when you find them, you know without a doubt your universe will be all the brighter for it.
( next chapter )
Tumblr media
@ladydracona @huntress-artemiss @sarahscribbles @mischief2sarawr
Tumblr media
Find the lore notes for this chapter here!
Join the taglist for this series (and other works) here!
32 notes · View notes
mytdpblog · 1 year
Text
Peak comedy
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
3K notes · View notes
miggiisdumb · 3 months
Text
The reverse harem in my head is a princess with her newly appointed knight who is dedicated to only guarding her, her fiancée prince from another kingdom who’s a bit of an ass, the court jester that’s really pushing his luck flirting with royalty and a part-dragon bandit leader who’s a little bit touch starved.
318 notes · View notes
ladygreene13 · 2 years
Text
Matt Smith didn't utter a word for the last 20 minutes of this episode, but still managed to convey every single thought going through his character's mind and give us one of the most thrilling sequences I've ever seen.
And I think we, as a collective, should thank him for that.
4K notes · View notes
manawari · 8 months
Text
Soren: I have divorced parents. My mom left. My sister has gone mad. My future brother-in-law is a kind tree elf who is pretty cool. My dad is dying. And oh, I have a stepfather and a creepy half-sibling!
1K notes · View notes
upgradewater · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
prince weegeta
654 notes · View notes