Monthly Archives: July 2012

As the Dust Settles | Open(ish) RP

siffed:

liesmith-loki:

justaskfreyja:

As she looked up at the All-father her eyes still held tenderness, finding herself standing in one of the last places she had ever wanted to be. She was a lady of Asgard, and yet she stood at the bed of a quite badly injured Prince, a man she considered a friend. “I am not here to take him away from you,”

And yet as Freyja spoke she gave a soft sigh, because she could not simply abandon her given duty. In truth she had come to simply wait, and hope with the rest of them that there would be no need of her on Loki’s behalf. She looked up at Odin as he was brought to his full height, slowly removing the golden helm and closing her eyes.

“So long as he has breath, he will stay.” She corrected, her tone almost a breath, her fingers still resting on his cheek gently, feeling the air that drew raggedly in and out of his lips. She took a step back from the imposing man in front of her, not nearly full of enough bravery to try and face down the All-father.

Frigga: 

Freyja’s appearance woke the Queen from her stupor. She placed herself between the bed and the new arrival in silent support of her husband’s words.

She would be dammed to Surtur’s fiery pits for the rest of time before she let her son go, or all the effort that was put into making him whole go to waste. This was not a day for death.

Loki:

Loki stirred a little under the golden spell as voices sounded about him, reminding him that he was part of the world of the living—but he did not quite wake.  

Cat squirmed in Thor’s grasp, protesting even more loudly at being handed to a total stranger.  Fixing his bright green eyes on Thor in a look which could only be described as challenging, he sank his teeth into the god’s thumb. 

A long, arduous night stretched out before Sif’s mind’s eye, but she gave Thor one decisive nod. She would seek Jane, but first she would stop at her own flat to search high and low for any misplaced Asgardian magic she may have left. A healing stone, perhaps, enough to patch the lung she feared Loki had punctured, or some bleed that wept inside him.

Sif took heart at Odin’s fierce denial of Freyja, who was her friend, but would not take Loki again this day. She let out a breath and fled the confines of the tiny space and the heat of bodies, tired legs taking her back the way she’d come.

“No, please, I’m his friend!” Summer panicked, seeing the other turn away, the door sliding closed. Some miracle seemed to jerk it open again before her, a tall, dark woman striding out, who seemed not to even see the diminutive redhead. “Please,” Summer cried, her voice cracking.

He might not count her a friend, but she counted herself one, and she had so few. Desperation led her to drop her shields, to shove a pulse of begging/demand/love into the flat.

Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

“D-don’t,” she managed, once the seizure had run its course. “C-can feel that too. Ah god it /hurts/!” Biting her lip, she strained against a resurgence, fists clenched. “‘s not your fault, L-loki. I called it … t-to me. Should have ex—expected this.” Every breath shuddered in and out, shaped by force of will.

Finally, finally, the spasms ran their course, and she sagged against him, limp and aching. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she whispered.

His hands reached out towards her face, shaking a bit.  He pulled them back to hide that unfortunate weakness.  ”No, I should not have involved you in my…” he shook his head.  ”Please…what can I do?” he asked quietly.  Helplessness was not something he could tolerate. 

Summer rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the lingering ache. “Are you good enough to give me a massage? I’ll beg, if you want. Gods, OW.” A swift circling of her head on her neck yielding a series of pops and a sigh of relief. “And don’t let me hear you telling me what to choose again. I could have let you go. Remember that, and don’t say you involved me.

“If nothing else, please just hold me for a moment, and let me pretend you care.”

Loki said nothing to that, only frowned.  For some unknown reason, he was bothered by his reputation; that was a first.

Careful hands worked over her shoulders, down her back, gently gathering her hair out of the way, and then he was holding her to him, quietly.  Like it or not, he had involved her.  And he had been involved with worse.

Summer stifled whimpers when he hit particularly sore points, burying her face in his chest. After a moment, she came back up for air, and murmured, “Let me guess. You think I said that because of who you are.” Her voice was a little raspy, a little tired. “You think, because you’re the ‘God of Lies’,” the quote marks were audible, “I believe you can’t care.”

Suddenly, she was hugging him, fiercely. “Did I not say, about your light? Of course you can care.” Muffled against him, she added, very low, “But no one cares about a firechild.”

Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

“Mother of unholy things!” Summer swore. “Gods of all th—” The paroxysm seized her unawares, jerking her spine into a bowed arc and clamping her teeth together on the end of the phrase. One hand, clawed with tension, reached out, flailing at nothing. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, choking on a cry.

Loki’s gaze turned desperate as he clutched at her.  ”Summer!” he demanded, frenzied.  ”Summer, come back to me!”  If he panicked, that would be worse, wouldn’t it? She would feel it…

He forced himself to calm down and held her closer.  ”I’m so sorry…” he muttered, beginning to feel the familiar pangs of self-loathing.

“D-don’t,” she managed, once the seizure had run its course. “C-can feel that too. Ah god it /hurts/!” Biting her lip, she strained against a resurgence, fists clenched. “‘s not your fault, L-loki. I called it … t-to me. Should have ex—expected this.” Every breath shuddered in and out, shaped by force of will.

Finally, finally, the spasms ran their course, and she sagged against him, limp and aching. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she whispered.

His hands reached out towards her face, shaking a bit.  He pulled them back to hide that unfortunate weakness.  ”No, I should not have involved you in my…” he shook his head.  ”Please…what can I do?” he asked quietly.  Helplessness was not something he could tolerate. 

Summer rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the lingering ache. “Are you good enough to give me a massage? I’ll beg, if you want. Gods, OW.” A swift circling of her head on her neck yielding a series of pops and a sigh of relief. “And don’t let me hear you telling me what to choose again. I could have let you go. Remember that, and don’t say you involved me.

“If nothing else, please just hold me for a moment, and let me pretend you care.”

Gallery

tasteofhiddles:

“You look marvelous, darling,” he says, his eyes breezing over your body from head to toe and back up, pausing briefly at your chest. “I might have to excuse myself if I stare at you for too long.”

You stammer a thank you and he laughs breathily. “I would keep you company if you had to,” you say, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. A sly smile tugs at one side of his mouth. He clears his throat and takes an extra large swig of his champagne. He pardons himself, setting the now empty flute on the bar behind him. 

“Care to follow through on your offer?” he asks, pulling you into his arms. You are suddenly aware of every place on your body that is in contact with his, the full length of him pressed against you. Your chest on his, his thigh brushing yours, the large hand resting on your lower back, just waiting to drop lower and give your ass a pleasant squeeze.

You grab onto his tie, high up near the knot, and pull him lower as you crane your neck to whisper to him, “Anything for you, my love,” and leave his ear with a lick. He exhales with a deep growl, spinning you around so that you are able to walk slightly in front of him. You feel his growing hard on bump into your ass as you maneuver through the crowd and out to the balcony.

It’s empty except for another couple at the other end, but they are far enough away and drunk enough not to care when Tom pulls you into the corner and claims your mouth with his. His tongue meets with yours as you simultaneous deepen the kiss. You can taste the faint sweetness of champagne as you trace his teeth and explore his mouth.

His hands are on your back, keeping you close while yours are around his neck, caressing the back of his head, and coming down to rub his chest. He brings one hand up to your hair, gripping it tight and making a fist. It sends a chill through you and goosebumps raise on your skin, your nipples hardening, as he tugs at the roots.

You break the kiss and try to push him, backing him up until he is pinned to the wall behind. His hands find your ass and pull you tight against the rock hard bulge in his trousers. You grind against him, drawing out a raspy moan that hits you right in the core.

“I want to fuck you so hard,” you say, as he kisses along your jaw.

“Do it,” he answers. His words are strong and demanding, punctuated with a rough thrust of his hips. You’re control is wavering as he humps against you, and you’re certain if you don’t stop soon, you’ll come just from the thought of having him inside of you.

“Take me home and I will.”

He stops his torture on your neck and looks up, his eyes lust-laden and dark. “I don’t think I can wait that long,” he says, and moves his lips to yours again. You open up to his tongue and feel his thigh slipping between your legs, instinctively you rub against him. He slips one hand down to the hem of your dress, lifting it just enough to brush his long fingers over you. He pushes your panties aside and shoves his fingers into you, not surprised to find that you are drenched and throbbing. Aching for him.

 ”I hope you can keep quiet, my dear, because I’m about to be your undoing.” The timbre of his voice is dangerous and deep as he curls his fingers, a shockwave of pleasure tearing through you.

Oh god.

Jesus Christ on a CRUTCH.

thundering-god:

i-am-the-firechild replied to your post: ((there are literal tears in my eyes ladkfjsomg))

*dying* you think *wheeze* being an adult keeps those things from happening?

((I kno right?!?!!?!?! I THREW IT ON THE GROUND

I’M AN ADUUULLLLLTTT))

[this is a household of 32-year-olds  we own like six nerf guns  one of them has a feed belt  I have a foam sword  that I hit annoying people with  by which I mean people that annoy me  I know all about adult  ps the cats like to bite the sword  BITE THE SWORD]

Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

Too late for ‘should have’s. Summer hurled herself forward, desperately grasping for skin contact. “Give me your hands!” she hissed, dragging and dragging at the emotions she’d been trying to shut out only the moment before. Every shield she’d ever constructed would have to pale in comparison to this one, so she fed the fire inside with everything she could reach — and flung it around both of them.

“You shall /not/ have him again,” she growled, eyes wide and unseeing.

Loki’s eyes rolled wildly as he tensed all over.  He felt heat—unbearable heat—spread over and around him.  It burned like a wild fever killing off his infection.  He felt the connection to Thanos weakening, but not before he heard the words grate through his mind:

I will be back for both of you…

He snarled and snapped back into consciousness, gripping onto Summer like a madman.  He struggled to catch his breath.  ”What must I do?” he managed finally.

“Mother of unholy things!” Summer swore. “Gods of all th—” The paroxysm seized her unawares, jerking her spine into a bowed arc and clamping her teeth together on the end of the phrase. One hand, clawed with tension, reached out, flailing at nothing. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, choking on a cry.

Loki’s gaze turned desperate as he clutched at her.  ”Summer!” he demanded, frenzied.  ”Summer, come back to me!”  If he panicked, that would be worse, wouldn’t it? She would feel it…

He forced himself to calm down and held her closer.  ”I’m so sorry…” he muttered, beginning to feel the familiar pangs of self-loathing.

“D-don’t,” she managed, once the seizure had run its course. “C-can feel that too. Ah god it /hurts/!” Biting her lip, she strained against a resurgence, fists clenched. “‘s not your fault, L-loki. I called it … t-to me. Should have ex—expected this.” Every breath shuddered in and out, shaped by force of will.

Finally, finally, the spasms ran their course, and she sagged against him, limp and aching. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she whispered.

Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

“So it’s you who needs his inhibitions lowered,” she laughed softly. “Shall I climb you like a tree, or will you come down to me?” Every other word was punctuated by the touch of her mouth on skin: throat, collarbone, pulsepoint, jawline.

He smiled into the kiss and turned her so she leaned against the wall.  ”We could…possibly…” And then, a searing pain shot through his being and he stumbled backwards, gripping hands through his hair wildly.  

He hissed in pain, and tried to block the inevitable; Thanos was pulling at his mind, trying to transport Loki into his presence.  But he would not go without a fight.

“He’s…agh!  He’s in my mind again!” He growled to Summer, as if she could do something.

Too late for ‘should have’s. Summer hurled herself forward, desperately grasping for skin contact. “Give me your hands!” she hissed, dragging and dragging at the emotions she’d been trying to shut out only the moment before. Every shield she’d ever constructed would have to pale in comparison to this one, so she fed the fire inside with everything she could reach — and flung it around both of them.

“You shall /not/ have him again,” she growled, eyes wide and unseeing.

Loki’s eyes rolled wildly as he tensed all over.  He felt heat—unbearable heat—spread over and around him.  It burned like a wild fever killing off his infection.  He felt the connection to Thanos weakening, but not before he heard the words grate through his mind:

I will be back for both of you…

He snarled and snapped back into consciousness, gripping onto Summer like a madman.  He struggled to catch his breath.  ”What must I do?” he managed finally.

“Mother of unholy things!” Summer swore. “Gods of all th—” The paroxysm seized her unawares, jerking her spine into a bowed arc and clamping her teeth together on the end of the phrase. One hand, clawed with tension, reached out, flailing at nothing. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, choking on a cry.

Ice Cream Run | Closed | @thundering-god

janelikesfosters:

odinborsonallfather:

thundering-god:

odinborsonallfather:

 #I really need to rp with our Odin oh snap

((I’m right here.  I’d love to do an RP about this, honestly.  Just remember that traditionally Odin does not approve.  Like, at all.))


((Odin no don’t be a buttface ok XD seriously tho let’s do that!  Odin would have to go back to Asgard after caring for Loki a bit, right?))

((But I HAVE to be a buttface—for a little while, at least.  I’d love to have a plotline where Jane proves how BAMF she is to Odin—also where Thor has to use words and sentences and logic to win a battle against his daddy in defense of her being his gf.

And yes, Odin’s going back to Asgard soon in the Dust thread.  I’d like some meaty conversations with Thor over Loki’s Loki-sleeping body, though—particularly to explain why Odin’s been away.  Odin’s having a hard time keeping his defenses up due to the effort of transferring the Odin-Sleep to his son.  That makes sense, right?  Right.  Thor might get on that.))

[ Uhm, that ABSOLUTELY needs to happen, because Jane definitely IS a BAMF. 

… We just need to figure out something incredibly badass for her to do. I’ll be letting the thought brew in my mind while I anxiously read the thread you two are going to have of them discussing Thor’s future. @________________@ ]

[She should accompany Thor, or possibly go alone, to fetch the golden apples?]

Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

the-loki-laufeyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

“Such a shadow must be thrown by a powerful light,” she responded. Her fingers curled into his scalp. “Let’s go find it, shall we?” Stretching up on her tiptoes, reaching with her whole body up the height difference, she pulled his head down and brushed her lips over his. “Forget destruction,” she whispered into his mouth. “Try creation.”

Loki mentally counted the drinks he had taken and used that to excuse himself falling into her embrace, kissing her hesitantly, then more and more forcefully.  His hands pressed against the small of her back, and he revelled in the pressure of her slight body against his.  He felt as if perhaps he had been bewitched; an enchantress possibly?  Powerful magic…?  He didn’t honestly care at the moment.  A faint sense of heat glowed from her, and he tasted it eagerly. 

“So it’s you who needs his inhibitions lowered,” she laughed softly. “Shall I climb you like a tree, or will you come down to me?” Every other word was punctuated by the touch of her mouth on skin: throat, collarbone, pulsepoint, jawline.

He smiled into the kiss and turned her so she leaned against the wall.  ”We could…possibly…” And then, a searing pain shot through his being and he stumbled backwards, gripping hands through his hair wildly.  

He hissed in pain, and tried to block the inevitable; Thanos was pulling at his mind, trying to transport Loki into his presence.  But he would not go without a fight.

“He’s…agh!  He’s in my mind again!” He growled to Summer, as if she could do something.

Too late for ‘should have’s. Summer hurled herself forward, desperately grasping for skin contact. “Give me your hands!” she hissed, dragging and dragging at the emotions she’d been trying to shut out only the moment before. Every shield she’d ever constructed would have to pale in comparison to this one, so she fed the fire inside with everything she could reach — and flung it around both of them.

“You shall /not/ have him again,” she growled, eyes wide and unseeing.