Monthly Archives: August 2012

Loki and the firechild

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

Summer wasn’t sure what Loki wanted, only that she’d been summoned to meet him at the shattered edge of the bifrost. What should she be for him, tonight? Did he want to drink, again? Flirt, play?

Rehearse his history?

As she flew down the remaining length of the bridge, fire-born wings trailing sparks behind her, she could see him, poised at the edge. Landing softly, she called, “Loki?”

For a moment, he was mesmerized by those graceful wings, like ethereal lights tucking themeselves back into her being.  He blinked as the rest of her came into focus.  Distracting…

“Summer.”  He greeted, nodding at her.  There was little time for formalities.  

“I need you to listen to me very carefully.  Thanos has targeted us; both of us.  You angered him last night by showing loyalty to me.  He is not one to ask questions, he will simply kill for sport.”  He took a few steps closer to her, holding out the transport device.  ”We have only one option: he must fall first.”  He looked at her with pleading eyes, as if to say, you will help me, won’t you?

“I — ” Summer started, them closed her mouth and began again. “D’you have a plan? I wouldn’t even know where to look. I’m not minded to go haring off into the wild blue yonder without at least some shape of a plan. Even for you.” That last held a slight edge.

She paced to the side of the rainbow bridge, glancing down and down. “It’s a bit out of character for you, isn’t it, being worried for someone else’s safety? Or perhaps I’m just insurance, your wild card, as it were.”

“I will be entirely honest with you, Summer.  I ask you to join me more out of my own need than concern for your safety.” That was only mostly true.  ”As it were, I don’t think I am acquainted with anyone more fit to assist me.  You have great power, do you realize that?”  He was well aware of the power of talking someone up.

“Oh, sure,” she said wryly. “Butter me up. I hope you remember saying that when the convulsions take me in the middle of things.” Summer looked out at the stars all around. “Are you okay to do this? Go back into that? I can’t hold him off and hold you together at the same time.”

But even as she was double-checking, she was also calling her battle armour, knowing she couldn’t live with herself if she let him go out there alone.

I feel owe this, somehow. I hate that feeling. Just scroll if you don’t care.

I majored in English. I majored in English to be a writer and an editor. Spelling and grammar are, literally, instinctive for me, and I can easily be turned off of someone’s writing if those instincts get aroused.

I’m not looking at your writing checking for mistakes. But I do see them. I can’t /ignore/ them, in my own mind. Usually, when I’m roleplaying with someone, I silently correct errors, and move on. When I point out a mistake, although this is damn hard to convey in type, I /am/ trying to be polite, helpful, and gentle. I do /not/ comment on any mistake in spelling or grammar to make someone feel bad. I /know/ very few people have my ability in this area, and I’d really rather not /be/ reminded of all the reasons why people hate me, thanks all the same. I’m not trying to demonstrate how much better I am, or how much you suck: I genuinely want to help you.

If wanting to help people, albeit clumsily as text enforces, is a mistake, I’ll … take the risk and continue to make that mistake. I’ll issue sincere apologies as needed to people whom I hurt, and the rest of you … well, basically you can go jump off a cliff with your assumptions about my motivations.

Is there something I can do to make up for this?

liesmith-loki:

i-am-the-firechild reblogged your post: i-am-the-firechild replied to your post: Men Were…

I … phrased that badly. Sorry….I believe it’s ‘scandalous’ and ‘déshabille’, although…

…excuse me for mis-spelling one word out of thousands, and for leaving an accent off of one french word which has been borrowed into the English language—and thus lost its required accent.  I’m not an ignoramus, and it is unspeakably rude to point this sort of thing out in another person’s roleplay.))

liesmith-loki:

i-am-the-firechild replied to your post: Men Were Deceivers Ever | Closed

my romantic heart loves this tale but my english major mind wants to apply a spellcheck so badly.

…I run a spellcheck and I haven’t found any mistakes, thanks?))

I … phrased that badly. Sorry.

scandelous state of dishabille?” 

I believe it’s ‘scandalous’ and ‘déshabille’, although the latter is either spelling. :/ I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings D:

Loki and the firechild

lokilaufeyyson:

i-am-the-firechild:

lokilaufeyyson:

The first warm glow of twilight was spreading over the Asgardian sky.  Loki stood very still on what was left of the bridge to the bifrost, clear green eyes idly watching the celestial bodies in the sky.  His head ached from last night’s mental battle.  His hands were clenched in uneasy fists, one gripping a stolen transportation relic.  He knew what must be done.  He only hoped they could be off before Heimdall tried to stop them.

Summer wasn’t sure what Loki wanted, only that she’d been summoned to meet him at the shattered edge of the bifrost. What should she be for him, tonight? Did he want to drink, again? Flirt, play?

Rehearse his history?

As she flew down the remaining length of the bridge, fire-born wings trailing sparks behind her, she could see him, poised at the edge. Landing softly, she called, “Loki?”

For a moment, he was mesmerized by those graceful wings, like ethereal lights tucking themeselves back into her being.  He blinked as the rest of her came into focus.  Distracting…

“Summer.”  He greeted, nodding at her.  There was little time for formalities.  

“I need you to listen to me very carefully.  Thanos has targeted us; both of us.  You angered him last night by showing loyalty to me.  He is not one to ask questions, he will simply kill for sport.”  He took a few steps closer to her, holding out the transport device.  ”We have only one option: he must fall first.”  He looked at her with pleading eyes, as if to say, you will help me, won’t you?

“I — ” Summer started, them closed her mouth and began again. “D’you have a plan? I wouldn’t even know where to look. I’m not minded to go haring off into the wild blue yonder without at least some shape of a plan. Even for you.” That last held a slight edge.

She paced to the side of the rainbow bridge, glancing down and down. “It’s a bit out of character for you, isn’t it, being worried for someone else’s safety? Or perhaps I’m just insurance, your wild card, as it were.”

Loki and the fire child

lokilaufeyyson:

The first warm glow of twilight was spreading over the Asgardian sky.  Loki stood very still on what was left of the bridge to the bifrost, clear green eyes idly watching the celestial bodies in the sky.  His head ached from last night’s mental battle.  His hands were clenched in uneasy fists, one gripping a stolen transportation relic.  He knew what must be done.  He only hoped they could be off before Heimdall tried to stop them.

Summer wasn’t sure what Loki wanted, only that she’d been summoned to meet him at the shattered edge of the bifrost. What should she be for him, tonight? Did he want to drink, again? Flirt, play?

Rehearse his history?

As she flew down the remaining length of the bridge, fire-born wings trailing sparks behind her, she could see him, poised at the edge. Landing softly, she called, “Loki?”

As the Dust Settles | Open(ish) RP

siffed:

liesmith-loki:

justaskfreyja:

odinborsonallfather:

queen-frigga:

As soon as that awful ragged quality of his breath went don’t Frigga collapsed in a nearby chair. 

Hoping for Sif’s quick return with medical supplies so that she might actually be useful and not just another person taking air, she scooted a little closer and gingerly placed a hand on Loki’s less injured one.

The cat had made it’s way up to him and was near her elbow, so she attempted an almost unconscious pet over it’s fine dark fur.

Her eyes went to Odin as he spoke.

Odin calmed slightly once Thor was beside him.  He watched as Freyja’s spell eased Loki’s ragged breathing, mending the torn lung within his chest.  He eased off from the strenuous pulling of his energies, dimming the glow around his son, but not releasing it.  The battle against Loki’s failing body was nearly over, but the war was not yet done.

“Thor,” Odin turned his eye to his other son, “I’m going to try to transfer the spell to you.”  He caught the quizzical look in the thunderer’s eye and attempted to clarify.  “Loki’s body is healing, but there is more damage done to him than that—I am sure you know.”

He held out a hand and grasped Thor by the shoulder, supporting himself slightly as he continued his explanation.  “The properties of the Odin-Sleep help to unify the spiritual power of the Odin-Force within my body and anchor it into the physical plane,” he looked down at Loki.  “I can only hope it might have some of the same effect when it is transferred.  I cannot continue to serve as the conduit between the forces,” he flexed his hand, and the darkened veins appeared starkly in contrast with the pale skin, “but if I were to have Mjolnir connect the energies, it may give the spell more time, and ensure his spirit stays moored in this world.”

He hoped he could be understood.  A severed soul was no mere wound, but a lasting fissure that would most likely not be solved with magic, no matter how ancient or powerful—but at least he could ensure the pieces stayed in place.  As Odin felt the forces of his own spirit and the spirit of the royal line flow within him, mixing and swirling in his blood, he granted his heart a moment of empathy.  “Loki is not the only one to have suffered a crowded self,” he murmured.

Freyja took a step back as Thor entered the room, her head giving a soft dip. Her hand landed on Frigga’s slim shoulder, squeezing softly. Her fingers were still warm from the use of magic, spreading into her queen’s skin and hoping she could provide some comfort; if only in the form of the easier breathing of their son. She stroked her fingers gently over the black cat as it crawled up Loki’s legs and curled itself between them, giving the gathered room a dismissive look.

She hoped for Sif’s quick return, but instead sat near the queen. Her nails made comforting path’s over her shoulders and back, looking up to Odin and Thor. The golden helm she had arrived wearing found itself discarded on top of Loki’s mostly empty dresser, her duties forgotten.

The cat paused near Loki’s shins, nosing the ragged leather before mincing around the still body to Frigga, rubbing his lithe little self against her arm.

Loki’s breathing hitched once or twice but he slept on in the faint golden glow. 

The floor of Stark Tower was just as they’d left it, broken and half-demolished, rubble everywhere. And no Jane in sight. There was no time for this, Sif knew, and she would leave without the mortal woman if she could not find her quickly.

One more floor, then, for more bandages would surely be useful, and Jane’s presence might aid Thor in ways others could not. Sif veritably stabbed at the button to the elevator, as though pressing harder would make it return faster. It did not take long at all to go up one more floor.

“Jane?” she called again, voice echoing off the walls.

Rock-steady and ignoring everything around her, Summer kept broadcasting, love and comfort and hope, reaching for every mind in Loki’s flat. She couldn’t know how much she was helping, but she couldn’t not try, either.

Feline Bliss | Closed RP

liesmith-loki:

i-am-the-firechild:

liesmith-loki:

i-am-the-firechild:

Several days later, Summer hesitated, then tapped firmly on Loki’s door. She’d wrangled with herself for most of those days, in between dreaming in code and setting things, virtual and actual, on fire, and finally concluded that regardless of anything else, she owed him an apology.

The fact that said apology consisted mostly of supplies for Macrowafter was utterly irrelevant.

Heart pounding, trying to look suitably contrite, she waited.

There was a thud from behind the door, and the mixed vocal protestations of Cat and Loki alike.
“—wouldn’t stand right behind me like that, I wouldn’t step on your tail!” Loki was saying as he opened the door, glowering down at Macrowafter, who was standing a little ways away with his bright eyes fixed on Loki, offended dignity in every line of his little body.

Looking up at Summer, he assumed a neutral expression.  
“Miss Summer.  To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I, um, I came to apologise.” Summer ducked her head, canvas bags swinging from one hand. “I … said some really inexcusable things last time, and I’m sorry.” Looking up at Loki, her mouth quirked a bit, and a little hope, a little laughter crept into her eyes. “Do you have an altar I should lay my offerings at?”

Loki’s glower had lightened somewhat as she spoke—and the last sentence brought a smile and an appreciative gleam to his eyes.
“No.  I have no altar, but Macrowafter seems to think he deserves one.  Come in and he will tell you what he would like you to do.”
As if on cue, Cat rose and trotted into the parlor, mewing imperiously. 

Summer laughed a little, out of relief as much as anything, and followed the little black kitten. Setting one bag on the floor, she delved into it and emerged with a handful of fuzzy, brightly coloured things — toy mice. The other hand came up with another mouse-shape, but a dark green-brown. This one she held out and waggled at Cat, before spreading them all out on the floor.

The next thing to appear out of the bag was a smallish paper box. “I brought an offering for the master, too. I hope you like chocolate.” She rose, and held out the box with a hopeful smile.