#tragedy

Imagine your icon going on a bloody rampage to avenge their beloved

literarymessy:

His hand moves over her hair and he adds:

I love you. I’m not just saying that, I really do.

Her eyes fill up with tears again and she closes them. Even in memory she will find this moment unbearably intense, and she’s aware of this now, while it’s happening. She has never believed herself fit to be loved by any person.

Sally Rooney, Normal People.

Marianne told him this thing about her family. He didn’t know what to say. He started telling her that he loved her. It just happened, like drawing your hand back when you touch something hot. She was crying and everything, and he just said it without thinking. Was it true? He didn’t know enough to know that. At first he thought it must have been true, since he said it, and why would he lie? But then he remembered he does lie sometimes, without planning to or knowing why. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the urge to tell Marianne that he loved her, whether or not it was true, but it was the first time he’d given in and said it.

Sally Rooney, Normal People.

And, though I was a soul in pain,

My pain I could not feel.

Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol.

His hand moves over her hair and he adds:

I love you. I’m not just saying that, I really do.

Her eyes fill up with tears again and she closes them. Even in memory she will find this moment unbearably intense, and she’s aware of this now, while it’s happening. She has never believed herself fit to be loved by any person.

Sally Rooney, Normal People.

She wants to tell him things. But it’s too late now, and anyway it has never done her any good to tell anyone.

Sally Rooney, Normal People.

His brain was perfect; it must be the fault of the world then - that he could not feel.

Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

gilbirda:

Every time danny uses his ghostly wail, he looks- and feels- a little less human (PR160)  by @ghostey-o-toby

For the @phicphight

My AO3 series

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

The first time he felt it was after the Christmas Incident. They didn’t talk about the Christmas Incident, he wanted to leave it behind and forget the time he was forced to speak in rhyme because his anger got out of hand. He learned from his mistake and wanted to move on.

But that last Wail took a lot from him, and Danny wondered if permanent damage would come to him. He was thinking something in the lines of his vocal cords, or maybe permanent damage to his ghostly side - the Wail wasquite draining and left him very disoriented. 

But all parts were fine. He didn’t think much of it.

***

When he tried to use it to stop the giant sphinx with Tuck’s face, while it failed to do its purpose, he was sure he felt something different this time. Something… cold, inside of him, as if his organs were freezing or something.

But his friend needed him and he ignored it. He needed his head in the game if he wanted to snap Tuck out of whatever the evil mummy had done to him.

Going back to human felt uncomfortable, like trying to push two magnets closer with the wrong side touching, but it was doable. He washalf human, he had a human form. He ignored how the first few steps after transforming back felt like trying to walk in heels (don’t ask too many questions, it just was something that happened).

***

Danny admitted that something was going on after coming back from the chaos and the frenzy of dealing with a clone, finding out that Vlad was crazier than he thought and destroying the cursed lab with a well placed Ghostly Wail. After using his most powerful power he felt cold, colder than a corpse, and that’s rich coming from a dead person. He tried to ignore it, but once he got home he changed in front of the bathroom mirror. Just in case.

It was subtle, and he only noticed because he was looking for the seven differences in the picture, but his skin was less tan - it was slightly greener than usual, the subtones colder than the usual warm flesh pinkish. He was… He was ghostlier.

His first thought was about Dan. The only other time he saw himself with blue-green skin was when he had to deal with a future evil version of himself. Dan was ghostlier, but was that only because he got rid of the human half.

He panicked. Was he losing his human half?

Keep reading

Title: Stjarnavetr

One Shot: The Wager

Author:renlem

Character: Loki

Genre: Angst, Erotica, Drama, Romance, Tragedy

Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)

One Shot Summary: Loki and his mistress Stjarnavetr make a bet to see who can go the longest without sex.

Chapter warnings/triggers: Language, Sexual Content

Author’s Notes: This one shot takes place sometime between Parts I and II.

Stjarnavetr:Table of Contents

__

Loki

The room was quiet, only the somnolent crackling of the fire and the soft scratching of pen across paper to be heard. I was sitting at the table in my bedchamber, open books and papers strewn before me, researching a topic for Master Hauknefr. The essay I was working on was supposed to have been completed a week ago, but was still unfinished and due tomorrow morning.

Stjarna was lying on my bed—had been for the past hour and a half—already in her nightgown, and every ten minutes or so she would sigh loudly and dramatically. I did not ask her what was wrong since I knew, but unfortunately there were more pressing matters at hand.

Finally, I heard her get up and come to stand behind me. She bent down, wrapped her arms around me, and pressed her head against mine.

“Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“When are you coming to bed?”

“Soon,” I assured, silently cursing myself when I accidentally smeared a word with my hand.

She huffed. “You said that an hour ago.”

“I have to finish this.”

“You should have finished it last week.”

“I know,” I replied, somewhat curtly, “but I didn’t, so I’m doing it now.”

“If you haven’t finished it by now, you’re not going to.”

“Thank you for the encouragement, darling.”

Stjarna exhaled sharply and let go of me. She poured herself a cup of wine from the flagon on my table—her fourth cup this night—took a few sips, and sat in the other chair. She glanced disinterestedly around, tapped her fingers impatiently on the tabletop, and sighed again.

“Do you need something?” I inquired, somewhat apathetically, and not bothering to raise my head.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to distract from what I’m doing right now?”

Stjarna sighed heavily in answer, obviously frustrated, and I could not help a little smile. It was not often that Stjarna was the one begging me for sex, but I must admit I liked when she did, since normally it was the other way around. Regrettably, though, if I did not finish my work tonight, Master Hauknefr would likely report it to Mother, who would drag me in front of Father for neglecting my lessons, and that was something I wished greatly to avoid.

“We haven’t done it since the day before yesterday,” Stjarna complained, and my eyes flickered to hers. She was reclining in the chair, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers, cup dangling from her other hand.

“So?”

She gave me a look and I laughed.

“What, it wasn’t enough to hold you over for a few days?”  

“I was half asleep, I hardly noticed.”

I snorted. “Oh, so it is habit to scream my name while you’re half asleep?”

Stjarna’s cheeks bloomed pink and she huffed again and stood up, placing the now empty cup loudly on the table. I thought she was going to go back to bed, but to my surprise, she came around the corner of the table to stand next to me, pushed some of my books out of the way, and lifted up to sit on the edge.

She smiled at me, slowly swinging her legs.

“I was using those,” I remarked dryly, cocking an eyebrow.

“And?”

She crossed her legs, gazing expectantly at me.

“Honestly, Stjarna, I am surprised you want to do this now. My education is very important, you know.”

Stjarna, appearing unfazed, promptly and confidently responded, “Like I said, Loki, if you haven’t finished it by now, you’re not going to.”

I set my pen down, leaned back in my chair, and folded my hands over my stomach, studying her.

“So you want to fuck me?” I asked, attempting to conceal a smile.

She glanced away, cheeks flushing an even deeper pink, and I wanted to laugh. For as long as we had been together, and all of the raunchy, debauched things I had done to her, and she to me, she still grew embarrassed when I spoke so.

“I… wouldn’t necessarily word it like that…”

I smirked, reached over with one arm, wrapped it around Stjarna’s waist, and dragged her towards me. I pushed my papers and books out of the way and sat up a little straighter, nudging her legs apart so they dangled on either side of me. Stjarna grinned impishly when I took her by the hips and pulled her closer, so she was perched just on the edge of the table and my front pressed against the inviting heat between her thighs.

“Then how would you word it?” I murmured, tenderly kneading her soft skin through the wispy material of her gown.

Before Stjarna could reply, however, I lowered my eyes and leaned forward to affectionately kiss the space between her breasts. I slowly slid my open hands down her thighs, grabbed two fistfuls of her nightgown, and lifted it up to expose her bare skin. Slipping my fingers beneath the hem, I ran my hands back up her legs.

Stjarna’s breath caught in her throat when I turned my head and kissed her breast, taking her quickly burgeoning nipple between my lips. I smiled, wetting the diaphanous fabric with my tongue, languidly sucking on her. She reached up and curled her fingers on the back of my head, moaned my name and tilted her head back when I bit her.

I glanced up briefly before raising my head to pepper openmouthed kisses over Stjarna’s chest and across her collarbones before descending to her other breast. I tugged on her with my teeth, coaxing a halting gasp from her lips, and shifted restlessly in my chair. I could feel myself already growing increasingly aroused, not helped by the breathy little sounds Stjarna was making, and she way she was ever so subtly grinding herself against me.

I slowly opened my eyes when Stjarna tugged on my hair, pulling my head back so I was looking up at her, and she lowered her face to mine and kissed me, pushing her tongue past my teeth to explore my mouth. I responded eagerly, could already smell her desire lingering in the warm air.

Stjarna breathlessly broke the kiss, nipped playfully at my bottom lip, and whispered mockingly, “It’s too bad about your essay…”

I pressed my lips together, and feeling just as equally mischievous, stood up suddenly. Stjarna gasped in surprise when I yanked her off the table, spun her around, and pushed her down so she was bent forward over the edge. I trailed my open hand down her back, over the ridges of her spine, and pressed my lower half against her. I felt the crease of her arse through the thin fabric of her nightgown and the desire simmering inside me flared a little hotter.

Stjarna whispered my name when I leaned down, wrapped my hand gently around her neck, and lifted her up so she was pinned between me and the table. Her breaths were coming a little quicker now and I smiled shrewdly as I kissed beneath her jaw and then up and down the side of her neck, knowing she could feel me hard against her backside.

“I’m not sure you’re that torn up about it,” I breathed, snaking one arm around her. “You’re getting what you wanted.”

She laughed softly and I reached up to pull her nightgown down over her shoulder.

“You wanted me to touch you?” I asked, placing a wet, openmouthed kiss to her warm skin.

Stjarna slightly arched her back, only let out a quiet breath in response.

“Well?”

“Yes,” she answered in a whisper, turning her head so her lips brushed against my temple.

“What else?” I wondered, lifting up to nip at her earlobe.

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to tell me,” I said, lightly stroking the column of her throat with my thumb.

“I want you inside me,” she finally replied, grabbing my hand and moving it to her breast. I cupped it, squeezing a little too hard, and cajoled a breathy, pleasured whimper from her lips.

“What part?” I grinned, lightly pinching her nipple through the gauzy fabric, damp from my kissing earlier.

She laughed and with her other hand reached between us. My breath hitched when she touched me, began slowly, methodically, rubbing me with the heel of her hand, bringing me rapidly the rest of the way to arousal. Stjarna was well aware of how hard she was making me, and when she spoke I could hear the smirk in her voice.

“What part do you think?”

I closed my eyes and bit the top of her shoulder, exhaling slowly as she palmed me. Pleasure radiated up and out, building between my legs. No, but this was too easy—I wanted to have a little fun.

Abruptly I grabbed Stjarna’s wrist, withdrew it from between us, and pinned it to the table. I leaned forward until she was once again bent over the edge, pressed completely flat against the surface, cheek resting on an open book.

“You want me to fuck you?” I growled, lips brushing against her skin.

She only whined my name in response, pushing back against me, and I let out a breath against her flushed skin, wet with my saliva. I moved my hand down her body until I slipped my fingers between her legs, and a rivulet of desire coursed through me when I felt how wet she was.

Stjarna moaned and pressed her face into the book, curling her fingers on the table as I languidly rubbed that little pearl at the top of her sex through the soaking, gauzy fabric of her nightgown.

“Tell me,” I demanded breathily, gradually increasing the pressure of my touch. “Tell me what you want me to do…”

If she had so wittingly interrupted my studies for this, she might as well indulge me.

Stjarna huffed and squirmed beneath me; clearly she wanted it now.

“I won’t let you come at all if you keep acting like this,” I threatened. “You’ll have to finish all by yourself.”

Stjarna chuckled to herself, but then gasped when I pressed my fingers harder against her.

“What is so funny?”

“You—you wouldn’t be able to watch me without joining,” she retorted breathlessly, and the fire smoldering in the pit of my stomach flickered at the notion.

“Is that a challenge?” I muttered.

“Maybe…”

“You don’t think I can resist you?”

“I know you can’t,” she laughed.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” she remarked haughtily. “You can barely go two days without it.”

I felt odd at that, and was quiet for a moment before suddenly releasing her and taking a step back. Stjarna’s laughter died in her throat and she pushed herself up off the table and turned around.

“What are you doing?”

“I can go two days without it,” I insisted.

“No, you can’t,” she rejoined with a sly smile.

I scoffed. “And what are you doing right now?”

“Oh, please, Loki, we both know it is almost always you,” she stated assuredly, rolling her eyes and coming to stand before me. “When I return from staying at Konavefr’s, you practically drag me into bed!”

“I only do that because I want to.”

She giggled and reached up to place her hands on my chest. “I am sure.”

“I don’t have to,” I maintained. “I can control myself.”

She laughed again, obviously not believing me, and ran her hands down over my front until she came to the laces of my pants. Just as she went to fall to her knees, I caught her hands, stopping her, and she glanced up at me in surprise.

“Hold on, Stjarna,” I said. “Look at this, you want me just as much as I want you.”

Stjarna paused, considering my words, and straightened. She folded her arms over her chest.

“Well, how about this? How about neither of us act like we want the other?”

“What?”

“Just what I said, Loki.”

“Are you testing me?”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh, a competition?” I asked in amusement, quirking an eyebrow.

Stjarna considered it for a moment and then smiled. “Yes.”

“Alright then,” I agreed. “We will see who can hold out the longest.”

“Without sex?”

“Yes,” I concurred arrogantly, foolishly not even bothering to think ahead as to how miserable I would be. “Whoever gives in to the other first loses.”

“And what does the winner get?”

“Er, what would you want?”

Stjarna appeared pensive for a minute and then announced, “Your mother’s wanted to have a dinner with just us and Thor and Vinda but you keep refusing to go.”

“Yes, because it is idiotic.”

“Well,I would like to go. If I win, we go.”

“Ugh, fine. What if I win?”

“You won’t,” she expressed confidently.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but what if I do?”

“Well, what would you want?”

I grinned, already having it in mind.

“If I win, you will accompany me as my partner to the next banquet.”

“What?” she cried. “Loki, I would really rather not—”

“I see not why that is a problem, seeing as you’re so confident you’ll win?”

Stjarna pressed her lips together, staring hard at me. The last banquet she had attended as my partner—sitting up at the high table with me during the feast instead of at the handmaiden’s table—had not gone so well in her eyes, and she had refused since then to accompany me to one despite my insistence.

Finally, Stjarna acquiesced and I grinned triumphantly. The next banquet was a little over a month away and would be to celebrate the annual hunt. I figured our little wager would be finished by then, and I had no doubt Stjarna would be accompanying me.

“Well, I suppose it is time for bed,” Stjarna announced suddenly, making a show of stretching her arms and yawning.

“Actually, I think we should finish what we started tonight and begin fresh tomorrow.”

Stjarna did not even respond—just laughed loudly as if I had said the most absurd thing in the world—and headed to my bed. She slipped beneath the covers, purposely oblivious to my glare. I was still hard, desire still simmering in my lower half. There was no way I was going to finish my essay now, I wouldn’t be able to think straight.

Grumbling to myself, I undressed as I walked to the bed, and Stjarna eyed me as I crawled under the covers.

“Are you going to be okay?” she wondered, attempting to mask a smile.

I glanced down at my lap, where the evidence of my desire was quite prominent.

“Yes, I am perfectly capable of getting off without you—”

“You can’t do that.”

“What? Why not? You’re not involved. Though you’re more than welcome to watch, of course.”

“That’s cheating.”

“I’m not allowed to get off by myself?”

She smirked. “No.”

“That was not part of the agreement,” I retorted. “It was whoever broke first and begged the other for sex.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Just try not to wake me up.”

“Well, I’m not that desperate for it,” I uttered, rethinking it. “It will… go away.”

She only smiled, leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Loki.”

I grunted a baleful good night and she giggled to herself before sliding down further into the bed and turning over.

I lay there on my back for a long while, hands folded on my stomach. Eventually—too long, in my opinion, my desire faded, and I gradually fell asleep, speculating whether I was prepared to forego sex for as long as Stjarna could. But then, based on tonight, I figured it wouldn’t be that difficult.

I was determined to win.

__

The next morning when I awoke, Stjarna was still asleep and curled up against me, wrapped around my arm, nose pressed against my skin. It was still early, so I lay there for a long while, listening to her gentle breaths, before carefully disentangling myself without waking her.

I ran a bath, and while waiting for the tub to fill, quickly—and somewhat bitterly—got myself off. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was better than nothing, especially after last night, and I felt a little better when I emerged half an hour later.

Stjarna had woken by then and informed me breakfast was on its way. She glanced over at the table as I began getting dressed, where the ruins of my attempt to complete my essay lay.

“Oh, you didn’t finish it.”

I snorted. She said it as if it was some unfortunate coincidence.

“Well, it is entirely your fault,” I snapped. “You try to seduce me, get me to stop working, and then we don’t even fuck.”

Stjarna burst into laughter. “You survived, though, didn’t you?”

“Barely,” I muttered, thinking on how long it had taken the night before for my desire to fade.

Still giggling to herself, Stjarna disappeared into my bath chamber. When she later emerged, we ate breakfast together, which had been brought while she was readying.

“Loki, may we dine together tonight?” Stjarna asked halfway through, holding a piece of pink fruit between her fingers.

“Very well. Honey cakes?”

She grinned. “As always.”

__

That night, I had dinner brought to my chambers as Stjarna had requested.

I was sitting at the table, and the servants were just finishing laying out the food when Stjarna arrived. She slipped through the open doorway, smiling innocently enough, and my eyes immediately fell down to her breasts, which were half-exposed by the low-cut collar of her dark blue dress—one I had never seen on her, but vaguely remembered.

My lips parted in shock as she sat down and thanked a male servant who filled her cup with wine, and whose gaze I noticed also drifted to her chest. I cleared my throat, annoyed by his wandering eyes, and he quickly bowed and scurried out with the others.

Stjarna smiled at me once the door was shut.

“Good afternoon, Loki.”

“What is that?” I said flatly.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” I snapped. “Your breasts are practically hanging out.”

“Oh,this?” she laughed. “Do you not remember? You gifted me this dress—”

“Years ago,” I interjected brusquely.

Stjarna never wore such revealing clothes, save for the little shifts she sometimes donned at night when we had sex. I had gifted her this particular dress over two years ago, hoping she would like it, taking a chance on the low collar edged with gold embroidery, and, as I had suspected, she told me she had liked it, but never actually worn it.

Tonight, however, I knew her intent. Part of me was surprised—and a little impressed—at my usually innocent Vana’s guile.

“I’ve seen your breasts plenty of times,” I remarked nonchalantly, taking a draught of wine. “Think not you’re going to accomplish anything tonight.”

“Loki!” Stjarna exclaimed, feigning offense. “I am shocked you think I would lower myself to—”

“You’re a terrible liar, Stjarna.”

She grinned, reaching for a honey cake. “I know.”

I began piling food on my plate, and though I tried to hide it, I could not help myself from glancing surreptitiously at Stjarna’s breasts. Though I was not allowed to touch them, what with this ridiculous wager of ours, I was allowed to look, for it was not often I received such a tantalizing view of them while eating. Only an inch lower and I’d be able to see—

“Loki.”

“Yes, darling?”

She was drizzling glaze over the venison on her plate, smiling without regarding me.

Grumbling to myself, I averted my eyes, but my attention was quickly drawn back when Stjarna spilled a bit of glaze on her fingers and began licking it off, much too slowly to actually be useful.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve got glaze on my fingers,” she rejoined.

I rolled my eyes, suppressing a laugh. “You’re not a very good flirt, Stjarna.”

She sighed, picking up a cloth to wipe her hands, and I burst into laughter.

“You’ve always been a terrible flirt, actually.”

“Yes, well, if I remember correctly, in the beginning you almost ruined everything with your terrible flirting.”

“But I got you, didn’t I?”

“Somehow,” she muttered, poking at her food.

I smirked. “And you love me now.”

She did not answer, but I saw the corner of her lips twitch upwards in a smile.

“You know,” I said slyly, “I could show you how much I love you tonight. Or right now…”

Her eyes flickered up to mine. “I know you could.”

I stared expectantly at her, silently urging her to stand up, to proclaim she could not stand it any longer, but she only tilted her head, smile growing.

“Do you think I’m going to give in that easily?”

I frowned.

“Then tuck your breasts back in, it’s not going to work.”

“Oh,” she sighed, as if dismayed. “You seem to like them well enough the rest of the time…”

I stuffed a mouthful of venison past my lips as she gazed penitently at me.

“Do you not like them anymore, Loki?” she wondered sadly, curling her bottom lip.

I swallowed my food. “It’s not going to work, Stjarna.”

“I see,” she said, tone changing immediately. “Perhaps I ought to change, then, since you’ll remain unswayed.”

“A wise decision,” I smirked.

Stjarna stood up and went into my bedchamber, where I knew she had a chest with some dresses folded in it. I continued eating, feeling very sure of myself, but nearly choked when Stjarna reentered a few minutes later wearing nothing but one of those racy little shifts.

Her pale legs were exposed all the way up to right below her hip, just covering that spot between her legs, and her breasts were even more exposed than before, and I could faintly see her nipples through the filmy material, all of it held up by two thin little straps, which I knew from past experience could easily be ripped apart.

Stjarna’s expression remained completely neutral as she sat down across from me.

“You can close your mouth,” she stated, picking up her cup of wine.

I slowly closed my mouth, pressing my lips together.

“Why aren’t you this spontaneous all the time?”

“Because a dinner with your mother and brother are never at stake,” she countered imperturbably, taking a sip of wine.

“Do whatever you want, darling. It won’t work.”

She smiled.

“We’ll see.”

__

Stjarna and I had made it to the third week without giving in to one another and it was becoming extremely difficult. I wanted her, and she wanted me, but neither would forfeit to the other, and my wrist was beginning to ache.

One night after dinner, Stjarna was sitting in front of my fireplace reading. I had decided to bathe tonight and exited my bath chamber with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around my waist. I had not dried myself completely yet and headed to my wardrobe.

“What are you reading?” I inquired as I walked by Stjarna, pushing my damp hair away from my face.

“The queen let me borrow it,” Stjarna answered, flipping a page. “It concerns the history of Vanir art. She thought I might like it since my father was a painter.”

“Yes, it sounds interesting,” I said.

“It is, there’s an entire chapter on—”

When Stjarna suddenly cut off mid-sentence, I glanced at her. She was staring at me, words caught in her throat.

“Is something wrong?”

She pressed her lips together. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean ‘what am I doing?’ I just got out of the bath.”

But Stjarna only smirked and lowered her eyes to resume reading.

I began rifling through my wardrobe, but turned again when I discerned a prickling on the back of my neck. Stjarna was peeking at me above her book, and when I caught her eye she quickly covered her face and giggled.

“What are you doing?” I laughed.

“Reading,” came the muffled reply.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“You didn’t do a very good job of drying off,” she stated a little more loudly now. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Am I?” I said wryly, and I took the towel from around my waist and lifted my arms to roughly dry my hair. “Is that better?”

Stjarna was peering over the top of her book again, and though I could only see her eyes—wandering now with wild abandon over my naked body—I knew she was grinning.

“Yes.”

I chuckled, turned back to my wardrobe, and finished picking out my outfit for the next day.

Stjarna and I went to bed a little earlier than usual that night, so it took me longer to fall asleep. Eventually I grew tired of staring at the wall, and was just on the verge of drifting off, when I heard Stjarna—whom I had assumed to already be asleep—make a soft sighing sound behind me.

My eyes flew open, for I had heard that sound before, and immediately sat up and looked over. Stjarna, who was very much awake, froze and gazed up at me with an embarrassed little smile, and I saw that beneath the covers her hands were between her legs.

Heat snaked its way down my spine, coming to settle between my legs, knowing that she was touching herself.

Stjarna bit her lip, attempting not to smile so widely.

“What are you doing?” I inquired, not bothering at all to mask my own wolfish grin.

She scoffed. “You can’t just parade around half-naked in front of me, dripping wet, and expect me to ignoreit.”

I only laughed.

“So unless you’d like to join me—of your own volition, of course—I’d like to finish.”

“Oh, of course,” I smirked, lying on my side with my head propped up. “Carry on, darling.”

Stjarna’s lips twitched upwards in a smile.

“Do you want to know what I’m thinking about?”

I knew what she was doing, but figured I was strong enough to resist.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Tell me.”

She grinned and proceeded to recount to me how she was envisioning me on top of her, mouth on her skin, my body between her legs and deep inside her. Stjarna knew it drove me crazy to hear her talk like that, to have her exuding such blatant want.

By now I was hard, and by some miracle restrained myself from slipping my own hand beneath the covers. I only watched her, and though it was not the first time I had observed Stjarna touch herself—though it was the first time I had consciously made the decision not to help her or myself—I took immense pleasure in the way her smile eventually melted away and her lips parted, how her breaths began coming more heavily, how she rolled onto her side to face me and one of her hands came up to touch my chest.

If she would not give in to me, at least she made it evident it was I she was thinking of. Stjarna curled her fingers against my chest, closed her eyes, and I lightly wrapped my fingers around her wrist as she came. She let slip a breathy little moan as I gently ran my hand up and down her arm, and then a few moments later relaxed and smiled almost drowsily up at me.

Stjarna scooted closer to me, wiping her fingers on her nightgown before wrapping her arms around my middle. She buried her face in my chest and happily sighed, and I lay there still burning up with desire.

Gods, she was driving me mad; I wanted to pin her down and fuck her into the mattress, until she was crying my name, to relieve this almost painful aching between my legs. She must have wanted desperately to win, she hardly ever acted like this—and I loved it—but unfortunately I could not touch.

“Goodnight, Loki,” Stjarna murmured sleepily, nestling even closer.

Attempting to banish this heat broiling inside me, I wrapped my arms around her and held her as she drifted off to sleep, consoling myself with the fact that soon—not soon enough, but soon—she would have to give in to me.

__

In the morning while Stjarna still slept, I went in to my bath chamber and, like that first morning, quickly got myself off, recalling Stjarna’s little moans from the night before. Afterwards I leaned against the wall, attempting to slow my breathing, and pressed my forehead to the cool stone.

It wasn’t good enough. I wanted her—badly—but this little competition between us was not only a matter of avoiding a pleasant dinner with my mother and brother and his mistress, but a matter of pride. Of course I loved Stjarna, but I wanted to prove her wrong, as well. I suppose it was the arrogance in me.

Sighing, I cleaned myself up and went to have breakfast fetched. Once it was laid out and the servants gone, I went back into my bedchamber and found Stjarna still sleeping. I walked up to the side of the bed, bent over, and kissed her shoulder.

“Stjarna.”

She flinched in her sleep, made a soft sound as she stirred, and slowly opened her eyes, turning her head to gaze up at me.

“Did you sleep well?” I inquired with a smirk.

She smiled knowingly and stretched.

“I did,” she admitted, rolling onto her back.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied, somewhat sardonically, and she giggled. “I’ve had breakfast brought. Get dressed and we’ll eat.”

Stjarna nodded, but just as I straightened up to go back into the other room, she caught my hand. I looked down as she sat up, holding the covers up to her breasts.

“Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we go to the city today?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a small shrug. “I was thinking about it last night. We haven’t been in a long while and I wanted to do something today.”

I considered it only briefly before acquiescing, and Stjarna grinned in delight, slipped out of bed, and went to get ready.

After we had eaten breakfast, I told a servant to let Mother know I would be taking the day off and to inform my tutors. They would be displeased, but I didn’t really care. I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on my studies today, anyway, what with images of Stjarna touching herself still lingering in my mind. A day in the city would help distract me and take my mind off of sex.

Stjarna and I went down to the stables, took a couple of horses, and rode down to the city. Her favorite thing to do in the city, surprisingly, was to visit the market. It was an all-day venture, with hundreds of merchants—a good number of them from other realms—selling food, textiles, livestock, and other commodities.

For some reason Stjarna liked spending the whole day walking, stopping at different booths, and perusing the goods. I did not much mind, though, since I often found things that interested me, as well.

Eventually, a stall selling weapons caught my eye and Stjarna followed me over as I began browsing.

Stjarna always amused me when she would pick one up and say, “Is this good?”

And I would study it and comment on the metal being slightly warped, or too long or too short, and she would smile as if she was proud of me, and the merchant would glare at me from behind his stall because other customers had overheard me censuring his products. I never seemed to find any weapons to satisfy me, though, for none were as well made as those forged by our blacksmith in the palace.

Afterwards, Stjarna grew quite excited when we came across a stall run by a Van merchant, and who was also selling books. Stjarna conversed merrily with the man and they spoke of Vanaheim as I absently glanced over the selection of books. Eventually Stjarna began inspecting the stacks as well and found a few she liked.

“Loki,” she said, showing me a particularly distressed tome. “This one is about Alfheim.”

“I’m fairly sure I have that one on my shelf somewhere…”

“Oh, well, what about this one? It concerns the fire giants of Muspelheim.”

I took the book and leafed through it while Stjarna continued browsing, and eventually she settled on four books which she insisted on paying for herself. She was looking forward to beginning the one about Muspelheim, for I possessed few comprehensive books about that realm.

She bid a cheery goodbye to the Van merchant and we continued through the market. It was only when the sky began to grow dusky that we left and Stjarna wondered if we could visit her family. We paid them a brief but pleasant visit, and by the time we departed night was falling.

As we rode back to the city, twinkling in the rapidly fading light, Stjarna asked if we could stay there tonight.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. An inn, perhaps?”

“I suppose we could do that.”

“Somewhere along the river?” she requested hopefully, and I laughed.

“Very well.”

In the city, on a busy little street adjoining the river, we found an inn. I requested a room on the top floor overlooking the water, since I knew Stjarna would wish to view it. She was elated to be staying at an inn, though I could not understand why. I suppose she enjoyed the departure from our usual routine, and I would gladly indulge her.

We ate supper there, and though it was not as rich as what we would have eaten at the palace, it was hearty enough. After dinner, we went upstairs to our room, which boasted a small balcony. Here we sat, suspended in darkness above the street, watching the lazy river sparkle in the moonlight below.

Our chairs were close and Stjarna took her shoes off, leaned back, and propped her feet up on my lap. She began reading her new book on Muspelheim by torchlight and would occasionally comment to me on it as I gently rubbed her feet, surely sore from all the walking we had done today.

“Loki, do you know who the king of Muspelheim is?”

“Surtur,” I answered, affectionately kneading the ball of her foot.

“Yes, and his wife is Sinmara.”

“I have never heard of Sinmara.”

“Yes, they rule there together.”

“Muspelheim sounds terrible,” I remarked, shaking my head. “I think I would rather rule in Niflheim than Muspelheim.”

“The realm of ice?” Stjarna asked in surprise. “There is nothing there.”

I shrugged. “I would rather be cold than hot.”

Stjarna laughed, and we passed a pleasant evening sitting there, talking and observing the street below. When Stjarna at last began to grow drowsy, we went back inside.

I sat down on the edge of the bed to take my boots off and glanced up to see Stjarna standing by the little table in the corner. Her form was half-illuminated by the candle on the table, and I watched as she carefully placed her book down with the others she had bought today and began to leisurely unbraid her long hair.

I smiled when Stjarna began quietly humming to herself, running her fingers slowly through her hair. After a while, I stood up and went towards her, causing her to turn when she caught sight of my shadow flickering on the wall. Just as Stjarna opened her mouth to speak, I cupped her face, leaned down, and swallowed whatever her next words might have been with a kiss. It was not a passionate kiss, but deep and languid, and I pushed her back until she hit the wall.

“Loki,” Stjarna mumbled when I finally broke the kiss, and she blinked and looked up at me.

“I know, I know,” I breathed, resting my forehead against hers. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

“Why?” she queried smilingly, gazing up at me.

“Because I can.”

She laughed softly and tilted her head back against the wall.

“Thank you for taking me out today, Loki.”

“It was my pleasure,” I murmured, lowering my head to lightly kiss her lips.

Stjarna lifted her head to meet my lips and lightly fisted the front edges of my surcoat in her hands. I deepened the kiss, languorously exploring her mouth, tasting the spiced wine from downstairs lingering still upon her tongue, and pushed my fingers into her hair, further loosening her now messy braid. Stjarna let slip a faint moan into my mouth and pulled me closer, subtly pushing her hips forward against me.

When I finally broke the kiss and pulled back to regard her, she sucked on her bottom lip and I saw with pleasure her eyes glassy with desire. I stroked her cheek with my thumb, feeling it flushed.

“I want you,” she whispered, causing me to grin as she slipped her arms under my surcoat and wrapped them around me.

“Do you want to?” I inquired, not goading or condescending.

“Yes, but…”

“But what?” I breathed, tilting her head up and lightly kissing her lips and then her chin. Though we were only kissing, I could already discern the beginnings of lust stirring in me. Any kind of touching now—sometimes only if she looked at me in a certain way—aroused me, it had been so long since we’d done anything.

“I don’t know…”

“It will be our little secret,” I continued, lowering my head to pepper indolent kisses up and down the side of her neck. “In the morning we can pretend it never happened.”

Stjarna laughed softly, but then truly appeared to be thinking it over. Hope rose inside me, but moments later the feeling was dashed when she shook her head.

“I will be disappointed if we give in so soon.”

“So soon?!”

Stjarna giggled and lifted up on her tiptoes to kiss me.

“Come, Loki. Let’s go to bed.”

She took my hand in hers and led me to the bed. We slipped beneath the covers and Stjarna nestled against me, forgetting to even finish unbraiding her hair. Though I was somewhat frustrated, eventually sleep claimed me and we drifted off to the muffled sounds of the street below.

__

The next morning Stjarna and I rode back up to the palace and resumed our normal duties. More days passed and our little competition of abstinence dragged torturously on.

I had never willingly—or somewhat willingly—gone so long without sex, and eventually it was literally all I could think of. In the mornings I imagined bending Stjarna over the breakfast table; during my lessons I fantasized about fucking her up against Master Hauknefr’s dusty old bookshelves; during training, during the afternoon feasts when I caught fleeting glimpses of her at the handmaiden’s table, at night when she came to my chambers and I could touch her but at the same time I couldn’t—everywhere, all the time, it was all I could think about and it was driving me absolutely insane.

Finally, I decided it was time to end this. I would attempt to conclude this maddening agreement of ours and push her right to the edge.

That night after dinner, Stjarna and I were lying on my bed. She was sitting up against the pillows and reading her new book on Muspelheim. By now she was almost finished with the book, and I was just watching her, rolled onto my side, head propped up on my arm.

“Do you like your new book?” I inquired.

“Yes,” she replied absently.

“Oh, good.”

Silence.

She turned a page, softly sighed.

I slowly reached over and languidly trailed my fingers down her arm. Stjarna did not react—only smiled when I leaned over and pressed my nose to her arm, and then my lips.

“What are you doing, Loki?” she questioned without looking at me, as if she did not already know.

“Nothing.”

“Oh? Because it feels like you are about to lose the wager.”

“Not at all,” I responded, glancing up at her. “I do want you, but I can refrain myself.”

“Can you?” she whispered, arching an eyebrow. “Then what is happening now?”

I shrugged, still kissing her. “I am bored.”

She laughed, unconvinced, and slowly closed her book.

“Loki, you know you can only say the words and I am yours.”

So different from that night at the inn, when she had seriously considered it, almost melted in my arms. Now she was back to teasing me.

“No,” I breathed, lifting up to press a tender kiss to her shoulder, where her nightgown was beginning to slip. “I can hold off.”

“Then why are you kissing me?”

“Because I want to,” I answered, and I took the book from her and reached over to set it on the bedside table. Stjarna fought a grin as I pulled her into my arms, straddled her waist, and trailed my open hand down her side to the curve of her hip.

“Ah, ah, Loki—”

“I don’t lose unless we have sex.”

Stjarna appeared skeptical as I lowered my head and kissed her.

“Well, you’re pushing it.”

I smirked, kissing her again. “Am I not allowed to imagine?”

“You’ve been imagining in the bath chamber every other morning, though,” she giggled, and I pressed my lips together in annoyance.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to if we hadn’t sworn off sex.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she grinned.

“Anyway, I was thinking of you today,” I murmured.

“Were you?” she asked shrewdly. “Pray tell.”

“I imagined taking you on the table.”

“Mmm…”

“And against the wall…”

“Yes…”

“And on the floor…”

Stjarna grinned. “That sounds exhausting.”

“And yet somehow you found it in yourself to keep going,” I smirked.

“I will, if you really want me to,” she breathed, and merely the change in her tone—lower now, brimming with lust—was enough to get the blood flowing. She put her hand on my cheek, stroked my skin with her thumb. “On the table, against the wall, on the floor… anything you want, Loki…”

Heat coursed through me, fire and desire and lust and everything else I had been attempting to tamp down these past weeks, and gods, I needed her—I needed to rip that flimsy little nightgown off and make good on all I had just alluded to, but I had come too far now to give in, I couldn’t do it, not yet, not yet…

“Don’t you want it, too?” I pressed, trying not to sound too desperate, caressing her skin with my parted lips. “Don’t you want me to kiss you? Don’t you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, and I grinned triumphantly. “But I can wait.”

Immediately my smile fell, and I gritted my teeth, realizing with a pang I had failed. I groaned in frustration before rolling off of Stjarna and onto my back, and she—I think genuinely surprised—lifted up on her arms. I raked my fingers exasperatedly through my hair as she gazed down at me, head tilted to the side, an arrogant little smile plastered across her face.

“I suspect you won’t be long now.”

“What do you mean?” I grumbled.

“Oh, please,” she laughed. “You’re so close to giving it up I can tasteit.”

I stared at her for a long moment, taking in her haughty expression, and something rose up within me and faster than she could even see, Stjarna was on her back again and I lying halfway on top of her, straddling her leg and pinning her wrists to the bed. My face was only inches from hers and her smile instantly faded.

“You were saying?” I growled.

“Is this you conceding defeat?” she wondered quietly, finding her voice again, though nowhere near as supercilious as before.

“Not quite,” I whispered, searching her eyes. “I only want to tell you what I’m going to do to you when this is all over.”

The corner of her lips twitched, and still she stared wide-eyed up at me.

“You’re going to be begging me to fuck you by the end,” I murmured darkly, and she chuckled softly, nervously. “And when you finally yield to me, I’m not just going to fuck you, Stjarna, I’m going to drag it out as punishment for teasing me and forcing me to endure this.”

I could feel her breaths coming a little quicker, though she tried to hide it.

“I’m going to pin your arms down like this,” I said, lowering my head to lightly kiss her parted lips. “Maybe bind you with my magic so you can’t move… kiss down your body, between your legs, use my tongue until you’re dripping for me, and slide my fingers inside.”

I grinned wickedly as Stjarna let out a gentle breath, eyes wavering not once from mine, no laughter now as her cheeks flushed that deep, beautiful rosy pink.

“And just when you’re about to come, when your body is shaking and you’re whimpering my name, beggingme to finish you,” I whispered luridly, knowing she could feel me hard against her stomach, “I’ll make sure you don’t come.”

Now I lowered my head, lightly scraped my teeth across her skin, felt with pleasure her elevated pulse on my lips.

“I’m going to let you come down, and then I’m going to do it again, and again, and again…”

Stjarna subtly squeezed her legs on mine and I lifted up, released her hand but caught both her wrists with my other, and reached down to lightly brush my fingers over her breast. She expulsed a heavy breath, nipple hardening under my fleeting touch, and shifted restlessly beneath me.

“And then I’m going to slide inside you, fuck you slow and deep, until you’re screaming because you can’t take any more…”

I lowered my head and began languidly kissing the side of her neck, meanwhile tracing lazy circles over her skin, gradually making my way down over her belly until I discerned those golden curls separated only by the thin fabric of her gown.

“Until you’re begging me to fuck you harder and harder…”

Stjarna’s breathing became audibly more ragged as I kissed and languidly sucked at her skin, wanting to make a mark, feeling a surge of victory—and lust—when she slightly arched her back beneath me, tilted her head to the side and let slip a telling little moan.

Heat flared inside, my own breaths coming heavier, and I knew she was going to give in to me. Not that making love to her would be so terrible, necessarily, and I readied eagerly for her acquiescence.

When I finally allowed my fingers to slip between her legs—admittedly, I was pushing the boundaries of our agreement—Stjarna gasped and stiffened beneath me. I grinned against her skin when I felt how unbelievably wet she was; the diaphanous fabric bunched between her legs was already soaking, and I could smell the heady fragrance of her desire hanging deliciously in the warm air.

Before I could push my luck further, though, Stjarna suddenly came back to life. She squirmed beneath me and I released her wrists, surprised as she used her seidr—because otherwise she was not strong enough—and pushed at me roughly until I was on my back.

She straddled my waist and I grabbed her hips, this exhilarating mix of pride and lust surging through me that I had won, but just as I lifted up to kiss her, to give in to this desire that had been simmering unbearably inside me for the past month, Stjarna put her hand on my chest.

“Stjarna—”

“Two can play at this game,” she whispered sultrily, and I pressed my lips together in irritation. She leaned down, smiling lips inches from mine. “What if it was you who begged me?”

“Impossible,” I dismissed, upset at this sudden and displeasing turn of events. “I do not beg.”

Stjarna laughed softly and sat up straight, hands splayed on my stomach. My eyes drifted down to her breasts, where I could just see her nipples hard through her nightgown, and I cursed to myself.

“So I suppose you’ve forgotten a month ago when you were practically sobbing for me to finish you?”

“Sobbing?” I snorted, eyes flickering back up to hers. “I don’t quite remember it like that.”

“What? You don’t remember the way you were begging me not to stop? ‘Don’t stop, Stjarna, don’t stop…’”

I scoffed at her impression of me and she laughed again.

“Oh, please. You love it when I do that…”

“Do what?” I asked smartly, as she slowly lowered herself onto me, thick blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders.

“When I use my tongue on you,” she breathed, moving down to kiss my chest, and I smirked.

“I’ll admit I do not mind it.”

She laughed quietly, knowingly, lips brushing enticingly against my skin.

“I like watching you just as much as you like watching me,” she confessed, and glanced up at me from under her brows. “I like the way you close your eyes and tilt your head back when I touch you…”

Her just talking about it was further arousing me, and much to my chagrin she could feel it. Stjarna grinned against my chest, and my heart began to beat a little faster when she began making her way slowly down my body—something I had not anticipated.

“I like touching you,” she admitted in a whisper, pausing at my navel. “I like the sounds you make, especially when I take you in my mouth.”

I exhaled slowly when she began languorously kissing down lower, parted lips grazing the thin trail of hair winding down to disappear into the top of my pants. Down lower, muscles tightening in my abdomen in anticipation, and then her lips brushed against my hardness. Though there was a layer of leather to separate her lips from my aching cock, a jolt skittered fiercely through me and I knew immediately we had to stop or I might not be able to help myself.

Abruptly I sat up, grabbed Stjarna’s chin, and lifted her head. She gazed up at me, waiting patiently for me to say the words.

“That’s enough,” I said, unable to mask the faint hoarseness in my voice.

Stjarna’s expression fell slightly—those had not been the words she had wished to hear. She sat up and raised her eyebrows, almost innocently.

“What is it, Loki?”

“We have to sleep.”

Yes, I had failed. Miserably.

“Oh, but we don’t,” she murmured alluringly, leaning forward to bury her face between my neck and shoulder. She began kissing me and I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to the top of her shoulder. I relished the feel of her pressed against me like this, the brief wetness of her tongue upon my skin, wanted so desperately to give in.

Would it truly have been so bad? Would it have been such a terrible loss? I imagined sliding inside her, sheathed in her heat, feeling her body so warm and pliant beneath me, hear her panting my name, crying out.

Gods, I wanted her.

“Are you giving up?” I wondered, lightly biting the top of her shoulder, hoping to the gods.

“Not at all,” she replied breathily, nipping playfully at my earlobe. “I just know how much you want me.”

And then her fingers brushed over my cock—with some pressure now—through my pants and I flinched at her touch.

“In fact, I know you want me…”

And she giggled as I put my hands on her and pushed her back.

“We need to go to bed,” I said flatly.

“Are you going to take care of that?” she smirked, eyes flickering down to the spot between my legs.

“It will go away,” I muttered resentfully.

Stjarna laughed, pushed my arms out of the way, and wrapped her arms around me. She pulled me down onto the bed with her and nuzzled affectionately against me.

“What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously, suspecting she was still attempting to get me to crack.

“I know we’re trying not to have sex,” she mumbled, “but I still want to touch you. I hope you do not mind?”

“No…”

Stjarna smiled and nestled closer against me, sighing, and I acquiesced. I was frustrated, but kept repeating this fraught litany over and over in my head, soon, soon, soon…

__

It had been over a month now, and I was going mad.

My only consolation was that I knew Stjarna was suffering just as much as me. I often caught her staring at me and could sense her want, but unfortunately she did not give in and neither did I.

And so I was quite relieved when it came time for the largest annual hunt held in Asgard. All of the higher gods participated, including Father, and there was to be a huge banquet held that night. Typically I disliked hunting, for there were far more interesting things to do than track beasts through the underbrush drenched in sweat and dirt, but this year I was looking forward to it. My interest had been piqued, of course, only within the past couple of weeks and I suspected it was because I was itching to release some energy.

That morning I left Stjarna in the bed with only a parting kiss, and Thor and I and the rest of them, including Baldr and Týr and Frey and Njord, geared up and rode off to the forest. It was an all-day event, and I found myself quite invested in the venture, and by some miracle by the end of the day, it was I who had felled the most, and largest, beasts.

Many of the others were surprised and begrudged I had bested them all, and Thor was particularly amused. I had told him a couple of weeks before of my and Stjarna’s little wager and he had found it incredibly amusing and was impressed I had gone so long without sex. Afterwards he blamed that for my winning and said if he had willingly gone over a month without sex he likely would have won, too.

That afternoon our party returned to the palace, wagons loaded with our kills trailing behind. Servants rushed to take our weary horses and to hurry the meat to the kitchens for preparation.

The banquet planned for that night would be beyond illustrious, for it was one of the most magnificent celebrations held in Asgard. The great hall was splendidly decorated and would host an especially large feast that would last long into the night, followed by dancing and much drunken revelry. Father would announce me as the one who had felled the most beasts, and that we would be feasting upon many of my own kills. To say I was eagerly anticipating the banquet—and putting to shame the prowess of Baldr and Týr and all those other idiots—was a colossal understatement.

Before I could attend the banquet, however, I would have to bathe, for I reeked of stale sweat and dirt and three different kinds of blood.

I made my way to my chambers, aching all over now that the adrenaline had faded and left me to experience each hard bump and fall today with every step. Upon reaching my rooms, I shut the door gratefully behind me and expulsed a heavy sigh.

I had only begun unlacing my leather vest, crusted in blood and dirt, when the door opened behind me. I turned, surprised to see Stjarna there with a big smile plastered across her face.

“Stjarna, what are you—”

But then her eyes fell down, took in the blood and bruises painted across my skin, and her jaw dropped.

“Loki!” she cried, rushing forward, concern etched upon her face. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I said, catching her hands when she went to inspect my neck, which had blood splattered across it. “I am fine.”

“Why do you look so terrible?”

“Er, thank you for that,” I chuckled. “I always look like this after a hunt.”

“No, you don’t,” she insisted, eyes worriedly scanning the rest of me. “Not like this.”

After a moment, I suspected she was right, since usually I did not elect to take such an active role in the hunting. This year, however, I had been itching to let some of my pent up energy out.

“Did you not hear?” I asked, holding her wrists so she would stop prodding at me.

Her pale grey eyes flickered up to mine. “Hear what?”

“I am the champion of the hunt, Stjarna. I put the rest of them to shame!”

She smiled, finally realizing I was not hurt in any way.

“You seem terribly pleased with yourself.”

“I am, and you should be, too.”

She furrowed her brows. “Why?”

“Because it is all your fault.”

“What?”

“How else was I supposed to spend my energy?”

Stjarna laughed loudly at that, realizing my meaning.

“Well, perhaps you ought to bathe now, the banquet will begin soon.”

“Yes, I see you’re already ready.”

Stjarna was dressed in a sleeveless, trailing pale pink gown, which elegantly draped her body and emphasized her curves. In her hair she wore a delicate headband of beaten gold flowers and on her upper arm a winding arm band in the shape of a snake I had gifted her many, many years ago, and that I had not seen in a while.

I reached out to trail my fingers down her arm, only marveling her.

“You are so beautiful,” I finally said.

“You say that every time, Loki,” she observed laughingly.

“Only because it is true,” I affirmed, pulling her towards me, careful not to let my front touch and soil her gown.

Her cheeks flushed, which made me smirk, and she glanced away, trying to hide her own smile.

I tilted my head. “Why are you here?”

Now she hesitated.

“I… I came to ask if you wished me to accompany you tonight.”

I raised my eyebrows. So that was why she had dressed up more so than usual.

I slowly smiled. “I have not won our wager, though.”

“No, but… neither have I. I was thinking about it and… you have long wished me to accompany you. It has been long enough.”

My smile grew.

“Thank you, Stjarna,” I murmured, kissing her, and then sighing dramatically. “I suppose this means I must have dinner with Mother and Thor.”

She lifted up on her toes to peck my lips. “It would be the chivalrous thing to do.”

I sighed again in acquiescence.

“You should probably bathe first, though,” Stjarna giggled, and I pulled back, realizing I had almost smeared myself on her dress.

“Ah, yes, that’s probably a good idea,” I agreed, releasing her. I turned to head to my bed chamber and Stjarna followed. I untied my leather vest, caked in dirt and blood, and dropped it onto the floor.

“Loki!” Stjarna snapped.

“What? They’ll get it in the morning.”

She made a sound of disgust and rolled her eyes as I went into my bath chamber.

My tunic was practically stuck to my skin, so I reached up, grabbed the back of my collar, and pulled it off. I draped it over a stool by the wall and bent down to unlace the top of my boots.

And then, suddenly, I stopped. I slowly looked up at Stjarna, who was leaning in the doorway, arms folded over her chest, watching me.

“Wait a moment.”

A smirk slowly spread across her face.

“The wager is done.”

The corner of her lips twitched. “I suppose it is.”

“So what does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

I straightened, could already feel the heat curling in my lower half.

It meant I was about four seconds away from ripping that pretty dress off of her.

Stjarna seemed to sense my train of thought, and when I took a step towards her she flinched, smile melting away, and took one back.

“Now Loki, we still have to go to the banquet, it will start soon—”

“Damn the banquet,” I dismissed.

“There will be plenty of time afterwards—”

“I don’t care.”

I stopped and so did she, both of us tensed. I was smiling toothlessly, eyes fixed rapaciously on hers—and then I pounced. Stjarna, anticipating it, turned and managed to slip just out of my reach. She was running across my bedchamber, pale pink dress billowing out behind her, laughing loudly. Stjarna did not get far, however—I grabbed the back of her belt, causing her to gasp and falter, and reached forward to wrap my arm tightly around her waist. Stjarna squealed in breathless delight as I hauled her backwards and turned her effortlessly in my arms.

Within seconds she was pinned helplessly against the wall, breathing hard. Desire kindled inside me, winding down to curl hotly in the pit of my stomach.

Stjarna went to protest, but before she could even get a word out, I lowered my head to engulf her mouth in a bruising kiss. I placed one hand possessively on her hip, wound it around to grab her arse and pulled her close. I braced my other arm on the wall behind her, taking pleasure in the way her body softened against mine.

When I broke the kiss to take a breath, Stjarna attempted once more to refute me, though her voice was quiet now and only in half-hearted protest.

“Loki, you’ve ruined my dress—”

“I’ll have you a dozen more made,” I growled, kissing her again, and this time she wisely realized I wasn’t going to the banquet and neither was she and she responded just as vehemently. Stjarna pushed her tongue past my teeth, lifting up on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss. It was sloppy and hungry, evincing our shared desperation.

I moved my hand from the wall, grabbed the strap of her gown, and pulled it roughly down over her shoulder. Stjarna sucked in a breath when I broke the kiss and pressed my lips to the top of her shoulder, tugged her dress down even farther until her breast was exposed.

Stjarna moaned softly and tilted her head back as I cupped her breast and squeezed it, supple skin filling my hand, nipple burgeoning eagerly to my touch. I ran my thumb over her pebbling flesh, lightly pinching her nipple and coaxing a breathy gasp from her lips.

I bent my knees, lowering my head to trail wet, openmouthed kisses over her flushed chest, until I took her nipple into my mouth. Stjarna breathed my name, arching her back and reaching up to tangle her fingers in my hair. I flicked my tongue across her sensitive flesh, hearing her breaths come more heavily, nibbled and sucked at her skin until it became pink and tender.

With my other hand I tugged her other strap down, until both of Stjarna’s breasts were exposed, and switched sides shortly before falling to my knees in front of her, unable to wait any longer. Stjarna gazed down at me, eyes heavy with desire, lips parted in silent entreaty.

I lustfully regarded her, smirking impishly as I leaned forward and kissed her belly, then lower. Stjarna sighed my name as I kissed her through her gown. Nuzzling between her legs, I slipped my hand beneath the hem of her dress and ran my splayed fingers up the backs of her calves, her thighs, until her dress was gathered in my hands at her waist and she was bared to me.

Anticipation was churning deliciously in the pit of my stomach as I leaned forward and kissed Stjarna, almost reverentially, pulling her lower half closer to me. The scent of her filling my nose, heady and intoxicating, as I skimmed my nose down through the delicate curls. I hooked one leg under hers, dying to taste her, dying to hear my name falling from her lips, and hiked it up so it was over my shoulder, and Stjarna was supported on one leg and leaning against the wall.

Stjarna tilted her head back, breath catching in her throat when I ran my tongue languidly through her folds, unable to wait or tease, savoring the desire already pooled there. I pleasured her slowly, fingers digging into the tender flesh of her white thighs; her little breaths and soft gasps were music to my ears, encouraging me, and I took that little bud between my lips, coaxing a halting moan from her throat.

She was squirming slightly against the wall, keening in breathless delight, and moaned again when I reached over the top of her leg and placed my hand at the top of her sex. I lowered my face, sliding my tongue slowly across her opening, and simultaneously began caressing that little pearl with my thumb.

Stjarna gripped my hair a little tighter, breaths coming faster. I was already hard, aching to be inside her, but hearing her voice her pleasure, feeling her straining against me, was too good to stop. I increased the pressure of my fingers, scraped my teeth across her sensitive skin, and grinned wolfishly when she almost sobbed my name

Title: Stjarnavetr

Chapter: Part II – Chapter 36

Author:renlem

Character: Loki

Genre: Angst, Erotica, Drama, Romance, Tragedy

Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)

Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.

Chapter warnings/triggers: Language, Sexual Content

Table of Contents

Part I: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17|18|19|20|21|22|23|24|25|26|27|28|29|30|31|32|33|34|35|36|37|38|39|40|41|42|43|44|45|46|47|48|49|50|Epilogue

Part II: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17|18|19|20|21|22|23|24|25|26|27|28|29|30|31|32|33|34|35

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Part II – Chapter 36

Loki

Helheim

She was just as I remembered, and more; darkness beneath her black eyes set in a bone white mask, tinged now with that eerie grey-blue worn by all the dead, and framed in a wild mane of fiery red hair. She smiled, revealing pointed teeth, and a jolt went through me.

“Loki,” Angrboda said, and her voice—dark and alluring, deadly and promising—stirred something deep within me. Potent memories long buried even when I had been alive, clawing their way back to the surface, tearing through this wall of fog still permeating my mind.

My lips parted, but I did not utter her name, could not tear my eyes from hers. I could not believe she was here, standing so real before me.

Her smile widened.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she remarked cynically, coming closer.

My gaze drifted down as she raised her hand and reached out to gently touch my chest. I stiffened, felt it through my entire body as the memories came flooding painfully back, the heat that bloomed like fire inside me. I stumbled backwards, astonished by the sudden surge of feeling, and Angrboda’s hand lingered in the air for only a moment before falling back down to her side.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hel slowly circling around, encompassing us in that rotting stench that seemed to envelop her like a cloud.

“How did he die?” Angrboda inquired, addressing Hel—our daughter, I recalled with a pang—without looking.

“A Van shoved a blade through his chest.”

Angrboda quirked a slim red eyebrow, as if she was amused I had gone in such a way.

“I imagine there was a lot of blood…”

I glimpsed her smiling mouth—those sharp teeth behind pallid lips—and distinctly remembered kissing them, biting them, drawing blood from them as red as her hair. I could almost feel them upon my body again, the ghosting of her fingers across my skin, nails digging, teeth scraping their way lower and lower.

When my gaze flickered back up to Angrboda’s, the look in her eyes almost made me believe she knew exactly what I was thinking.

Hel stood still now, scrutinizing us, but I had had enough.

I turned my head towards my daughter, lips pressed tightly together.

“I will be in my chambers if you need me.”

And I glanced disdainfully once more at Angrboda, only fleetingly, before turning on my heel to leave.

Back in my chambers, I sat on the edge of my bed, hands hanging between my legs, eyes trained despairingly on the floor.

Inside me was absolute chaos—seeing Angrboda had brought it all back, despite the issues I had been having regarding seemingly everything else before I had simply appeared out there in that barren wasteland. I had no problem abruptly recalling every individual, painful, pleasurable detail of the night we had shared in Utgard when I was just a boy, something even in life I had attempted to quash, and now made all the more vivid by her sudden appearance. Feelings resurfacing I thought I had long ago tamped down, anger and bitter resentment, and something else I did not care to acknowledge.

Questions raced through my strained mind, about her, about afterwards when I had gone from Utgard, and the children that had only recently been revealed to me. Though part of me was repelled, there was a smaller, more treacherous part that wished desperately to speak with her, to be close to her despite my aversion. I could not deny what it was I had felt when she had touched me—not entirely disgust, tainted instead with something else, something dark and visceral.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, knowing not whether to be more bewildered or disgusted. I did not understand how I could be affected this strongly upon just seeing her—merely hearing her voice—though I certainly was no stranger to the conflicting emotions churning biliously inside me.

Finally, though, my thoughts were interrupted by a dull, prolonged knocking. I got up, grimacing for my splitting headache, and went into my main room and threw open the door.

It was that woman I had seen before, one of Hel’s servants—Ganglot.

“My lord, dinner is prepared. The queen requests your company.”

“Yes, I will be there,” I snapped, slamming the door in her face, though judging by her deadened expression I doubt she minded one way or the other.

__

Dinner was a bleak affair, but at least it helped to distract from the tumult raging inside me.

The great hall of Eljudnir was huge, with a towering ceiling and mottled stone walls hung with tattered black banners. The room was lined with long tables, filled with those of Hel’s court, and at the front upon a dais sat the high table, where Hel sat with her mother and a handful of well-dressed dead. I could feel their eyes on me—especially the penetrating gaze of one with fiery red hair—while a slow-moving servant directed me to the empty seat on Hel’s right.

I silently sat down, ignoring the stares from those sitting across the table. Hel did not say anything as more servants came out and began serving the food. I examined our meal as it was laid out, surprised it seemed no different from something I may have eaten in my past life.

Steaming meats—though I could not determine what animal they might have come from, and was not sure I wished to know—with soups and breads.

As the servants finished setting everything out, Hel introduced me to those at the table.

“My lords,” she announced. “I am pleased to introduce my father, Loki of Jötunheim.”

The nine men at the table inclined their heads.

“Jötunheim, eh?” one with a long, tangled beard grunted, and he squinted curiously at Angrboda, who was thankfully seated on Hel’s other side. “You don’t look like the queen’s mother, nor one of those red-eyed brutes they share the realm with.”

“A spell was cast over me when I was but a child,” I answered after a pause, somewhat coolly. “Therefore I do not take the appearance of my race.”

He nodded and Hel smirked.

“Father, this is Atganga.”

I gave a slight incline of my head. I already did not like him.

“These are the nine ambassadors of my realm, and my advisors. They are the voice of my people.”

Hel introduced them one by one and informed me I would soon be getting to know them better. After a time, she began speaking with a particularly ancient-looking one called Svarforn, leaving me to my own thoughts.

I stared down at the food as they conversed, still had not eaten anything—only drank some wine, which tasted surprisingly good, if not slightly musty—when one loudly commented on the fact.

“Is the queen’s father not famished?”

I glanced up. They were all studying me.

“Er…”

“He wonders how we eat,” one called Stokkr observed laughingly, stuffing a large chunk of meat past his thin lips and paying no heed to the juice running in rivulets down into his beard.

“It did cross my mind,” I replied.

“I told you that death is simply the other side of life,” Hel said in that gritty voice of hers. “The dead eat and drink and carouse just as they did in life.”

“It is like your breath,” one of the representatives added. “Your heart does not beat, yet you breathe. An annoying habit left over from life that none of us seem to want to give up. It is a comforting illusion, even after all this time.”

“How long is that?” I wondered.

None of them responded, strangely, and I regarded Hel.

“Time does not pass here as it did when you were alive,” she remarked nonchalantly, taking a draught of wine. “It is of no importance and you need not concern yourself with it.”

Sensing it was not a subject widely spoken of here, I dropped the matter, though it did not lessen my curiosity. Dinner continued and I listened to the talk going on around me, absorbing what was said, picking up on what was normal here. In truth, everything seemed similar to how it had been in Asgard, in terms of realm business and issues—only that everybody was dead.

When the feast ended, Hel leaned over and asked quietly if I would see her in her chambers later, for there were matters she wished to discuss with me. She departed after being bowed to by everybody in the room and then the hall began to gradually empty. I made sure to avoid Angrboda and as I was going to leave, a couple of the advisors caught me and wished to speak with me, mostly about what I thought so far of their realm and assuring me how I would soon become used to everything.

Afterwards, I inquired of a servant how to get to Hel’s chambers from the great hall and made it there without much trouble.

The doors to Hel’s quarters were huge and secured by two hulking, expressionless guards, both holding massive, rust-tipped spears. Before I could explain my arrival, one silently opened the door but did not announce me as I entered.

Hel’s receiving chamber was at least three times the size of mine, bathed in a warm light from an impressively large fireplace, and it was obvious at first glance that she liked the color red. Her chambers, surprisingly, exuded comfort, with cushioned chairs and thick fur rugs. Her mantelpiece was adorned with grisly ornaments, however—including a begrimed skull with a spike driven through its forehead—and the tapestries that hung from her walls were even more gruesome in nature. My daughter clearly had an affinity for the macabre.

Hel was seated at a desk against the far wall, studying some papers. A thick candle burned by her gloved hand, illuminating the hollows of her cheeks and emphasizing the gauntness of her sallow face. I could already smell her and wondered if I should ever become used to it.

She turned to look when the door was shut behind me, but before she could speak, a sudden movement caught my eye and I exclaimed when a great force slammed brutally into me, knocking the breath from my lungs, and throwing me violently onto my back and pinning me to the floor.

I blinked, not quite believing my eyes: a great dog loomed ominously over me, massive head lowered so its snout was merely inches from my face. Its quivering lips, crusted with what appeared to be dried, blackened blood, were pulled back in a savage snarl, revealing rows of evil, yellow teeth. Its eyes were dull black orbs and the reflecting firelight seemed to ignite within them a hellish red glow.

It growled at me, a sick, gurgling rumbling from deep within its throat, and its hot breath reeked of putrefaction and I almost choked.

“Garm!” Hel snapped, jumping to her feet.

The dog ducked its head and peeked almost guiltily at her. She glared at it, hands on her hips, and I closed my eyes and stiffened when it turned back to me, opened its foul-smelling maw, and with its long, flat tongue, licked up the entirety of my face, and then trotted away.

I sat up and gagged, felt the rancid saliva burning my skin, and quickly wiped my face with my sleeve. When I opened my eyes, breaths coming rapidly in my shock, Hel giggled.

“Be glad he likes you.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“That is Garm,” Hel answered as the dog, which stood nearly up to my chest, and whose thick body rippled imposingly with muscle, padded over to her and settled lithely next to her feet, setting his heavy head on the hem of her skirts. “A gift from Grandfather, to make my banishment here easier.”

I thought it odd she referred to Odin as her grandfather, even though she nor I were related to him by blood.

Hel bent down to pat the dog’s bulky head.

“Garm’s caught some of them trying to leave.”

“What?”

“The dead,” Hel clarified, grinning when Garm yawned. “Sometimes they try to go back across the river Gjöll. If they get past Módgud, which rarely happens, Garm brings them back, though never in one piece.”

“People try to leave?”

“Yes,” she sighed, sitting back up. “They yearn to be alive again.”

Her comment about Garm bringing them back in multiple pieces puzzled me. Surely they could not continue on in such an unfortunate state.

“Can you die here?”

Hel was silent for a moment, carefully thinking over her reply.

“Yes,” she finally admitted, motioning for me to sit in a chair next to her desk. “While what exists here is a manifestation of your soul, it is still very physical. You can still be injured, and you can still die, but unlike when you were alive, there is nothing after your second death.”

“So why do they cross the river again?” I asked, sitting down and glancing warily at Garm. “It is not as if they can be brought back to life.”

Hel’s expression faltered and I sensed a change in her.

“Can they?” I insisted, leaning forward, but she pressed her lips together.

“I did not call you here to discuss life and death,” she stated firmly. “I wished to inquire something of you.”

I glared at her, frustrated, but there was no use in pressing the matter. If she was as stubborn as her mother and I put together, there was no hope.

“What is it?” I asked, though not politely.

Now, astonishingly, Hel appeared slightly nervous.

“I was hoping, now that you’re here, you might play a considerable role in my court. If it pleases you, of course.”

I shifted in my seat. “Why?”

“It would please me greatly,” she responded. “And… I do feel that I would be able to trust you above the others.”

That genuinely surprised me, since I’m sure she was more than aware of my proclivity for dishonesty in my previous life. I was still attempting to become accustomed to what was going on around me, however, and neglected to give her a definitive answer.

“Why would you trust me above the others?” I inquired suspiciously.

“Because you are my father and there is no one here you are loyal to.”

Hearing her say it—that I was her father—unnerved me for some reason. Even now, I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I had children, and that one of them ruled the realm of the dead.

“I must confess, Father, I was pleased when you finally died.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, were you?”

She giggled, though it sounded more like a deep, hacking cough.

“Yes. I really have only heard small details from Grandfather and Mother, but long wished to meet you myself.”

A coldness spread through me.

“What did she tell you?”

“Only what you looked like. How arrogant you are, though I have not yet seen it.”

I pressed my lips together. “I hope that’s all she told you.”

Hel laughed—a rough, guttural sound, causing the hairs to stand up on the back of my neck—and rose from her chair, stirring the putrescent air around her.

“You may think on my offer,” she said. “I do hope you will accept.”

“I will consider it.”

She grinned. “Thank you, Father. You may go.”

I nodded and also rose, feeling odd.

I walked unhurriedly back to my own chambers, ruminating on Hel’s offer and wondering sullenly what Angrboda had told our daughter about me. I only vaguely remembered the way to my chambers and meandered along, distracted by my own thoughts.

Halfway there, I passed a large open doorway connecting to the corridor. I backtracked, curious, and found that it led out to what appeared to be a garden, which astounded me. I wondered how anything could grow here without a sun, but quickly deemed it not an ordinary garden.

The sky was not entirely dark, but still casting an eerie, wan light, and I could easily see. Hel would later explain to me that her realm was not open to any sky, save for a small patch where Niflheim, the frozen realm above this one, ended, and it was by her own magical will that one could discern the day from the night.

I wandered leisurely around. The plants did not appear healthy and the air smelled of sickly sweet rot; many were shriveled or blackened or covered in some sort of mold or oily film. Broken stone statues dotted the garden, strangled by roaming tendrils. There were many trees laden with dark fruit, and waning flowers adorning the leaf-laden walls.

Feeling a sense of unease, partially because it was so disconcertingly quiet, I turned to leave, but stopped suddenly.

Across the garden, half hidden by a drooping bundle of leaves, stood Angrboda.

She was facing mostly away from me and cradling a wilted rose in her hand, hanging precariously on the wall. She appeared to be studying it, running her thumb lightly across its withered petals.

I stood still, only watching her, and eventually moved a little closer, for some inexplicable reason wanting to see more of her.

Angrboda was dressed differently from earlier, more simply now, in a plain brown dress cinched at the waist with a leather belt. Her coarse red hair was pulled back with a leather thong, but still cascaded wildly down past her waist, and without wanting to, I could unexpectedly remember fisting it in my hands, a fiery red halo glowing in the dark above me.

My eyes traveled slowly down her body, lingering on the curves of her hips prominent through the thick fabric. Without even closing my eyes I could recall exactly what her body looked like under her dress, and a flush crept through me and I knew it was desire coiling in my gut, but I could not fathom why I was even standing here, thinking of this at all.

“I can feel you watching me.”

I blinked, drawn abruptly out of my libidinous thoughts. Angrboda was still facing away from me, but gradually turned her head, a smile playing on the edge of her pale lips.

“What are you doing?” she inquired, and I thought her voice almost sweet after the grating rasp of Hel’s.

“I…”

Angrboda’s smile grew as she picked the rose and gently stuffed it into a leather pouch hanging on her belt. She turned and came towards me, but paused at another growth.

“This is my garden,” she remarked. “Do you like it?”

“Everything seems to be dead.”

Why was I speaking to her? Why wasn’t I leaving?

“Some are, some are not. They all serve me a purpose nonetheless.”

Angrboda picked another bloom and put it into the bag at her waist. She came gradually closer, stopping every so often to pick a flower or a leaf, to rub it between her fingers or run it beneath her nose. All the while I was still standing there like an idiot, strangely mesmerized by every little movement—the way her fingers so gracefully cradled a wilting blossom, or when her lips parted as she felt its texture.

“Many of them are quite poisonous,” Angrboda commented suddenly, continuing to pick some of the plants, caressing their leaves or stems almost tenderly as I stared in silent entrancement.

“Odin told me how you died,” I finally said, eyes flickering to the pale of her neck when a breeze ruffled her hair.

“Did he?” she murmured vaguely, not regarding me.

I took a step forward, and though I told myself it was so I could hear her responses better, deep down I knew it was because I wanted to be closer to her, despite the resentment I had felt towards her only minutes ago coming from Hel’s.

“Yes,” I responded. “He sent soldiers to Utgard.”

Angrboda’s expression remained unmoved.

“They came at night,” she muttered. “They tried to take my children, but I fought them.”

“And they killed you.”

She glanced at me, almost appeared pleased at how close I had come.

“Well, I was not going to stand by and let the soldiers take them, was I? Worry not, Loki, I was able to take a few of them with me.”

Her dark eyes lingered on me, and I took another step forward and then stopped when she looked away.

“Our daughter found me soon after, when your insufferable guardian sent her here to rule over the mindless hordes.”

Another step closer, so I was standing right next to her. She was gently picking at a twisting vine, gathering something in her palm, and then she turned to me and held her hand out. There were half a dozen small berries in her palm, with glistening, bumpy skins.

“Eat one,” she said.

When I hesitated, she smirked.

“They’re not going to kill you, I promise.”

And she took one between her fingers and put it into her mouth. I watched her chew it before hesitantly taking one, in that moment no longer bothering to wonder why I was doing this, and tentatively took it into my mouth. I positioned the little round fruit between my teeth and bit down, bursting it. The sourness of its juice flooded my mouth, but it actually tasted good.

She was staring at me, and I was staring at her, falling deeper into that black of her eyes; my gaze fell down to her parted lips, the insides stained dark purple from the berry, and then I was leaning forward, hardly realizing it until my lips met with hers.

Angrboda was slightly taller than me, and I reached up and put one hand on the side of her neck, the other on her hip, and her back hit the wall as I deepened the kiss—no hesitation now. The sharp edges of her teeth scraped painfully and deliciously across my tongue as I ran it fervently through her mouth, desperate to taste her.

I pushed my body insistently against hers, not close enough, not yet—her breasts pressed flat against my chest, body conforming to mine as I practically crushed her against the wall in my eagerness to be as close to her as possible, but she was not fragile, oh, I knew that so well…

Dragging one hand down over the curve of her hip, I pushed my leg between hers and fisted her skirts in my hand. I was already hard, aching to feel what I could only remember, burning to satisfy this perfidious hunger in me.

“Loki,” she panted, breaking the kiss, and I gasped, feeling as if all the breath had been sucked from my lungs. I exhaled sharply, pulled her body closer and lowered my head to press a lusty, openmouthed kiss to her chest. She sighed my name and slipped her hands beneath my tunic, causing a shiver to run through me when she scraped her nails over my bare skin.

I wanted her, I knew I wanted her, but didn’t understand because at the same time I hated her, and even as I rose to capture her lips in another heady kiss, I could so vividly recall the last time we had been together, could remember the pain and the pleasure, the blood and the darkness and the humiliation.

Sickness now, churning nauseatingly with this black lust.

I broke the kiss, breathing hard, and glanced away, filled suddenly with uncertainty. Angrboda, sensing my abrupt reluctance, breathily whispered my name. She dug her nails into my back, attempted to kiss me again, but before her lips could touch mine, my hand was wrapped around her throat and she was pinned against the wall. She stiffened, wisely uttering not a word, as her hands slowly slid down from beneath my shirt.

Not just this aching want anymore, but streaked with hatred, and she knew it.

I glowered venomously at her, the silence hanging heavy in the air between us; desire still coursing through me, coiling in my gut, urging me forward into the blackness of her eyes. I gritted my teeth and  increased my grip on her neck, wanting to hurt her, wanting to hear her cry out, even as I swallowed that cry with a kiss, wanting to see her body contort in pain while I filled her with my desire, over and over and over…

And still she was staring at me, tempting me, encouraging me.

I growled in frustration, roughly released her, and turned away. I stormed angrily from the garden, perceived her black gaze on me all the way out. I returned immediately to my chambers and once there, drew the curtains so it was nearly pitch black, stripped down, and crawled into bed.

I lay there on my back, hands gripping the blankets, but I could not drive her from my mind. Angrboda filled every depraved corner and I cursed her because despite the deep loathing I felt for her, beneath the covers I was still hard.

It was as they had said earlier: only an annoying habit the dead wished to carry over from life.

I could not help it, though, could not hold back—I closed my eyes, envisioned my giantess as I slid my hand beneath the covers and wrapped my fingers around my rigid cock. Imagined her on top of me, supine beneath me as I began a leisurely rhythm, crying out as I drove into her, and I could almost feel her around me again, teeth and nails and heat and rushing blood…

Faster now, breaths coming in quick, short pants as I approached my end. I did not last long and groaned, mouth falling open as I came; Angrboda consuming my mind, spilling out the cracks, flooding my consciousness as I gratefully descended into this roiling darkness.

When the blackness receded, and left me there gasping for air, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, I slowly withdrew my hand from between my legs and settled it on my stomach, the sticky remnants of my unslaked desire serving merely as a bitter reminder of my weakness.

I hated myself because I could not resist the creeping thought of her and didn’t know why. Angrboda was not beautiful, her personality just as dreadful. So why did I lust so for her?

After a few despairing minutes, I turned onto my side and stared into the darkness, realizing resentfully that it was simply a matter of time before I submitted completely to this insane longing, and to my red-haired witch.

And there, floating unseen, somewhere in the back of my mind, swathed in shadow and sorrow, was a woman with long blonde hair and sad, grey eyes.

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It felt as if only a couple of weeks had passed, but Hel told me time did not pass here as it did for the living. Sometimes I asked her how long I had been here, since I began to so quickly forget more and more details of my past life, but she never would say and so I learned to stop asking.

Ultimately, I decided to play some part in Hel’s court because it kept me occupied and less likely to run into Angrboda. Hel was thrilled with my decision and had me sit with her when she met with her advisors, or when she held court and the dead brought to her their problems, and even allowed me to pass judgment or solve some dilemma.

I observed Hel’s interactions with her people and came to the conclusion that she was a firm, but compassionate, queen. Some days she left Eljudnir and would walk among the dead in the valley and the people would flock to see her. Though in some aspects Hel repulsed me, in other ways she impressed me, and I daresay I felt some spark of pride in knowing that she was mine.

However, even Hel grew weary, and one day wished to take a break from her queenly duties and walk with me around the palace grounds. She never said it, but I could tell she enjoyed spending time with me. I suppose I could not fault her, since she had been the past thousand years without a father, though I knew not the first thing about being one, and still occasionally grew nauseous at the thought.

We strolled through Angrboda’s garden, though Hel did not mention it belonged to her mother, and eventually came to the only open courtyard in Eljudnir. It was not as filled with plants and dead things like Angrboda’s garden, but grotesque statues, a few lone gnarled trees, and some small trickling fountains. The ground was paved with stone, though many were broken to reveal the dry, dusty ground beneath, and weeds sprouted up between the cracks.

I sat on a stone bench while Hel stood by the edge of one of the fountains. The water was murky and dribbled thickly out of the statue’s mouth, which took the form of a woman seized in agony, clawing at her own face.

A strong breeze blew, lifting Hel’s loose hair off her thin shoulders and ruffling her long black skirts. I sat away from the direction of the wind so I did not have to smell her.

I was watching her, finally asked something that had been nagging at me.

“Hel, are you dead?”

“No,” she answered, brushing her hair out of her face. “Unlike the rest of you, I must actually eat.”

“Are there no others in Helheim that are alive?”

“None.”

And then another question that had been plaguing me.

“Where are those I knew?”

“What are you talking about?”

I paused, unsure if I really wanted to know.

“Is Frigga here?”

Hel remained silent for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell me, then replied without looking at me.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the valley.”

I let out a breath, knowing she was so close.

“Is she happy there?”

“Yes, she is with Grandfather,” Hel divulged, turning to come and sit next to me on the bench.

“Hmm.”

“They visit sometimes,” Hel added.

“Do they?”

“Yes.”

“Why do they not live here with you?”

“Because it matters not what you were in your past life. All are equal here.”

I pressed my lips together, wondering grudgingly why Angrboda was here and not moldering in the valley. I remembered her saying Hel had found her when she had come to rule as queen here, but thought Hel would have been better off leaving Angrboda out there with the rest of them to stagnate for eternity.

Much to my consternation, I had been unable to keep Angrboda at bay. Always she was there, lurking, waiting for any opportunity to distract me from whatever it was I was doing. It did not help that I saw her every morning when Hel insisted we all eat together, and then at night in the great hall.

I could not understand it, why the very thought of her gnawed at me, why I had to fight to fall asleep every night because all I wanted to do was think about her. And always when she saw me she would smile, as if she knew what she was doing to me without even saying a word. It made me hate her all the more, and yet simultaneously only increased my longing for her.

I was doing my best to avoid her, however, and some days later found myself in Eljudnir’s library, seeking solace from Hel and her advisors and whatever duties I may have been assigned that day. The library was not an impressive room by any means, but I had pleasantly discovered that many of the books had come from Asgard.

It was a small comfort to run my fingers over the pages, to imagine that I might have read this very book centuries ago. Hel told me through the years that Odin had occasionally come to see her on his steed Sleipnir, often bearing gifts—mostly books, for Hel loved to read—which disgusted me because I did not like thinking of him as the caring type.

I was leaning against a towering bookshelf, leafing casually through a book which had been scribed here in Helheim about Helheim, when I heard the door to the library open and shut. I turned, thinking it would be a servant come to find me for Hel, but it was not.

Angrboda stood there, head tilted slightly to the side.

“I thought I might find you here,” she said.

I scoffed and glanced back down at the book.

“Get out.”

“I don’t think I should,” she answered, slowly coming closer, running her fingertips over the edges of the tabletops as she approached. “You have been acting oddly.”

I grunted some unintelligible response, irritated because she was completely right. Angrboda laughed softly—not a pretty laugh, though certainly prettier than Hel’s.

“I hope you do not think me so unperceptive,” she remarked. “You know better than that.”

She came to stand before me and I eyed her circumspectly.

“And what exactly is it you are so perceptive about?” I snapped.

She grinned, revealing the points of her teeth.

“You think I do not remember?”

I gritted my teeth. Her very presence was incensing me, frustrating me.

“Remember what?” I ground out.

“That night,” she replied in a sensuous whisper, coming even closer, and I stiffened when she took the book from my hand and set it on the shelf.

My eyes were fixed on hers, and I could almost see it all again playing out in those black eyes—we were in Skrýmir’s great hall, shouting and revelry all around, and she was standing before me, bathed in warm light, urging me—and I felt it again, like a boy who didn’t know anything and didn’t know what was about to happen or why.

“I have missed you, Loki,” she admitted, placing both hands lightly on my chest, never tearing her eyes from mine.

“We spent one night together,” I countered, though my voice was not as strong as before.

“Did it mean so little to you?” she wondered, tilting her head.

I let out a breath, almost felt suffocated.

“I would hardly call it a worthy remembrance,” I said, hating her touching me, but for some reason electing to remain in that spot.

She snickered, I was not fooling her.

“You think I do not notice?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I feel your eyes follow me when I walk across the room. I know you think of me, you can do little else. I feel it, Loki.”

Her words were soft, alluring almost, and I remained still when she leaned forward and kissed me. Though her lips were cool against mine, the sensation sent a bolt of pleasure skittering through me, igniting the embers that had been smoldering in the pit of my stomach. Just as my lips parted to almost thoughtlessly deepen the kiss, she pulled away and smirked as I languidly opened my eyes.

“Did you ever think of me, Loki?” she breathed.

I let out a heavy breath, could not tear my eyes away. I did not care to confess how often I had thought of her, how many sleepless nights I had lay awake thinking of her, hungering for her, needing again everything she had done to me and I to her.

And I wanted to. The opportunity was standing here, so close; I wanted to play out every dark, dissolute lust I had ever imagined on her, to relive that night in Utgard, and yet there was something in the back of my mind screaming against it…

“You can be sure that I thought of you, princeling—”

That word set something off, deep in my mind, and without thinking I grabbed her roughly by the throat and turned around and slammed her up against the shelving—she was not delicate, after all—and she gasped, more in surprise than anything, and grabbed my wrist.

But then, she smiled.

“You’re not as pitiful as I remember,” she chuckled quietly, rolling her head to the side.

“You’re right,” I growled.

I was no longer the unknowing, inexperienced boy I had been when she had lured me into her bed. I had endured much since then and was angry at her, furious for her memory plaguing me my whole life, and now her memory taken form here even in death to torment me, to drive me insane with this wretched desire.

I was beyond desperate to hurt her, dying to be inside her again, to possess her and hear her screaming in pain as she had done to me so long ago. It would not be enough to score her body, to darken its paleness with bruises and bites. I wanted to break it beneath me, taking all she had to give until there was nothing left.

“You hate me,” she murmured, black eyes fixed on mine.

“Yes,” I bit out, tightening my grip around her neck. “I hate you.”

Her smile widened, revealing just the points of her teeth.

“Then show me, Loki,” she breathed, relaxing slightly against the shelves. “Show me how much you hate me…”

My lips parted in surprise at her offer. Opening herself up to let me take what I had only dreamt of, granting me permission to sate these licentious desires.

I tentatively moved my hand to the side of her neck and gently ran my thumb down the column of her pale throat. I could faintly discern the veins beneath her skin, followed the delicate black webs with my eyes as her words echoed inside my mind, winding their way down to curl hotly in the pit of my stomach.

Gods, I wanted to hurt her, in more ways than one—wanted to quench this fire she had ignited in me a thousand years ago—and here she was asking me to do it, begging me to do it.

I could not stop myself.

I moved my hand to the back of her neck, jerked her forward, and crashed my lips to hers. Her back hit the shelving as I thrust my tongue insistently past her lips, groaning in pleasure as I deepened the kiss. I eagerly explored her mouth with my tongue, wincing when her sharp teeth scraped against me.

Angrboda could feel me hardening against her already, because she splayed her hands on my hips and pulled me tight against her, encouraging me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew this was wrong, but in that instant could not remember why, nor could truly be bothered to care—my body was burning, it was almost painful, and I could only anticipate being inside her again, feeling her as I had so debauchedly envisioned these past centuries.

I pushed my leg between Angrboda’s and reached down to grab a fistful of her skirts. She went to tug at the laces of my pants, but I caught her hand, wrapped my fingers around her wrist, and forcibly pinned it to the shelf above her head.

Everything suddenly stopped, just our heavy breathing to be heard.

I closed the distance between us, lightly nipped at her bottom lip.

“Do not touch me,” I growled.

“Yes, Prince,” she laughed, tilting her head back as I yanked her dress up. I kicked her legs apart, exhaled sharply when I slipped my fingers between her thighs and felt her wet. Her eyes fluttered closed as I touched her, noting the way her mouth fell open, and despite the carnal depravity surging through me, I could not help but to take pleasure in her expression as I trailed my middle finger languorously through her folds.

Angrboda did as I said and did not touch me, but gripped the shelf above her head with one hand and the one behind her hips with the other as she wantonly pressed them forward into my touch. Her breath caught in her throat and she rolled her head back when I easily slid my finger inside her, and I leaned forward and pressed a lusty, openmouthed kiss to the front of her throat.

“Loki,” she gasped, breath hitching when I pressed the heel of my palm hard against the bud at the top of her sex. “Fuck me…”

Her libidinous plea inflamed me, and I dragged my lips to the side of her throat, grazing my teeth across her skin, before quickly withdrawing my hand from between her legs. I reached between us and began almost frantically tugging at the laces of my pants. As soon as they were loose and pushed down, I grabbed her hip and wrenched her towards me, desperate to make real these obscene desires that had plagued me for so long.

She was smiling, still smiling, but I was too far gone now to care—the yearning was too strong, blazing inside me. I reached down, hooked my hand under her knee, and lifted her leg up against my hip. I was practically shaking in anticipation, could feel her wet and smell the faint headiness of her desire lingering enticingly in the air, driving me mad.

Angrboda gasped when I pushed roughly forward, burying myself to the hilt inside her. She panted my name and arched her back, grip tightening on the shelf above her head. My mouth fell open at the sensation, pleasure coursing like fire through my veins, burning me up from the inside. I tilted forward, exhaled sharply as I pressed another openmouthed kiss to the side of her neck and ground my hips against hers.

I lifted my head and kissed her on the mouth, despite having told her only moments ago not to touch me, and she responded just as fervidly. It was a sloppy kiss—no thought, just desperation—and I bit her bottom lip so hard I tasted blood, musty and metallic. She returned the favor, biting and then almost playfully licking my bloodied lips as I pulled away.

Still clutching Angrboda’s leg to my hip, I braced my other hand on the shelf behind her and began thrusting into her. I was not gentle, did not whisper sweet nothings into her ear or caress her skin. I dug my nails into her flesh, surely creating marks, bared my teeth and bit down on her neck and shoulder, wanting to draw blood, wanting to hear her moan in pain.

Each starved movement educed a labored gasp from her parted lips, music to my ears; no hesitation now, just heat and pleasure coiling in my gut, pulsing and tightening with each hard thrust.

And she liked it and I knew she did and it drove me even deeper into this debauched haze. Harder so the only sounds were our mingling pants, the sharp snap of my hips against hers, slamming into the shelving over and over until she could barely breathe; only my driving into her body, encouraging me to give all I had.

My own body was screaming for relief, I could feel it rising up in me, threatening to explode—faster, harder—until the tightness coiled in the pit of my stomach finally split open.

I groaned loudly and leaned forward, sinking my teeth into the top of Angrboda’s shoulder and drawing yet more blood. I stiffened against her, body frozen in my ecstasy, the edges of my consciousness faded to black as mind-numbing pleasure surged through me, out of me and deep into her body.

Too soon, I sank back down to reality, the taste of her foul blood filling my mouth. But there was a dull warmth tingling in my limbs, lingering pleasantly in my body like a warm cloud, and I groaned as I uncurled my stiff fingers from around the edge of the shelf.

Angrboda had moved her hands to my back without me realizing, but in that instant I did not care. I liked her arms around me, found a treacherous comfort in her sporadic breaths warm against my skin. I listlessly kissed the top of her shoulder, in the same spot I had just viciously bitten, and then turned my head to affectionately kiss the side of her neck, up to under her ear.

She sighed—almost wistfully—and rested her head against mine, relaxing slightly against the shelves. Not anger anymore, nothing left now but ashes. I unfurled my fingers from within her tangled hair, weakly pushed on the shelf behind her head. Angrboda languidly opened her eyes, but I did not meet her gaze—did not think I could bear to see the triumph there—as I pulled out and away from her.

I gently released Angrboda’s leg and her skirts fell back down to her ankles. I turned away, hardly realizing what I had done—not wanting to even acknowledge it—despite the slickness of her desire still sticky on my fingers, the stinging of my lips where she had bitten me, the taste of blood.

I adjusted myself and laced my pants back up. The room was unbearably silent.

Then, she laughed softly.

I warily regarded her; she was still leaning limply against the shelves, head tilted back, exposing her throat now wrapped with bruises, an amused smile playing on her pale, grey-blue lips.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d always belong to me?” she murmured, fisting her skirts in her hands.

And I could remember, through the murkiness shrouding that fateful night, words whispered faintly in the darkness, etched forever into my mind.

I walked back up to her, stood so close we were only inches apart—resentment flaring hotly inside me, wanting to smack that ridiculous smirk off her face. I did not strike her, however; did not refute her, did not correct her. Instead, I reached up, cupped her face in my hands, and kissed her.

It was not a hard kiss, filled with animosity, but indolent and tender, as if I had not just bitterly fucked her against a bookcase.

A voiceless admission, a wordless surrender.

I moved to tangle my fingers in Angrboda’s hair, brought her closer so our bodies were pressed together. She breathed my name against my lips, sighed again in what I assumed to be contentment when I broke the kiss and rested my forehead against hers.

Angrboda had gotten what she wanted and I knew I would no longer be able to keep from her—she was mine as much as I was hers.

I had waited so long for this, but there was no rush, was there?

I had all of eternity now to drown in her body and all of eternity to hate myself for it.

Title: Stjarnavetr

Chapter: Part II – Chapter 35

Author:renlem

Character: Loki

Genre: Angst, Erotica, Drama, Romance, Tragedy

Overall Rating: Mature (for strong language, strong sexual content, and strong graphic violence)

Summary of Part II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.

Table of Contents

Part I: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17|18|19|20|21|22|23|24|25|26|27|28|29|30|31|32|33|34|35|36|37|38|39|40|41|42|43|44|45|46|47|48|49|50|Epilogue

Part II: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17|18|19|20|21|22|23|24|25|26|27|28|29|30|31|32|33|34

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Part II – Chapter 35

Stjarnavetr

Vanaheim

The suns were setting and the sky was a beautiful dusky orange, fringed with splashes of pink and red. Blue crept gradually in from the east, heralding the night and casting darkness over the snow-capped mountains in the far distance.

I had always thought the mountains beautiful, and many times before stood and gazed wistfully at them, wishing I was there instead of here. The last time such a notion had crossed my mind had been centuries ago, before I had fallen so low and been exiled to Asgard. Those days seemed remote now, almost a dream; faded or purposely forgotten memories, replaced by newer and more dreadful remembrances.

Though I had been born and raised here, no longer did it feel like home. The air tasted different, felt different on my skin—thinner, cooler. But perhaps it was the changing of the seasons, or that rain was in the air, presaged by the dark, low-hanging clouds lingering ominously close.

I glanced down to the nearest village, situated along one of the large, winding roads that branched out from the palace grounds—my old hometown. I could not see through the trees that bordered its edge, though knew that somewhere within them sat a familiar little house, where once I had lived with my mother and father for but a fleeting eighteen years. I suspected the house was derelict now, and though so close, doubted I should ever see it again.

I slowly looked down at my hands, resting on the stone railing of my balcony, and closed my eyes.

Less than a month ago I had been in Asgard, planning to run away to Midgard with Loki. How quickly, and unforgivably, things changed. I recalled with such clarity Thor’s sorrow, his regret, in revealing to me Valdrlund’s ultimatum. How my old lover had threatened war unless recompense was paid for Freyja’s death, and that recompense was me. Thor had not wanted to let me go, but he had no choice, and I knew it.

I had not been here one day yet and Valdrlund had already given me chambers, three times larger than those I had possessed in Asgard, a new wardrobe, and anything else I might desire—or so his page had told me. Despite this, I had not officially met with Valdrlund yet. That would be tonight, when we would dine privately in his own rooms.

In truth, I was not sure my feelings. Not fear, not apprehension churning in the pit of my stomach—only a sort of lethargic apathy, perhaps, hanging heavy inside me. After the events of a few weeks ago, there was little to move me, torn suddenly from all I had come to know, and little left inside now to let out.

I stood there on my balcony for a while longer, thinking woefully of Loki and Asgard, and just when the dark clouds finally rolled in and the first raindrops began to fall, and the landscape was shrouded in a fine, misty grey, there came a knocking on my door. I turned to answer, drawn abruptly out of my melancholy thoughts.

A young boy stood there when I opened the door—Valdrlund’s page.

“Good evening, Lady Stjarnavetr,” he chirped, bowing deeply. “Dinner is prepared and the king awaits.”

Wordlessly I exited my chambers, gently closing the door behind me. I followed the page, though even after all this time I knew the way.

Despite my outward passivity, I must admit as we neared Valdrlund’s chambers I felt a small twinge of trepidation. Tonight would be my first time seeing him in centuries—to hear his voice again and no doubt to feel his touch.

The guards silently allowed me admittance, and the page announced me before shutting the door behind him.

I stood there, gaze traveling carefully around the room as the rain began to thunder down outside.

Valdrlund’s chambers were grand: richly colored tapestries and thick fur rugs decorated the walls and floor; beautiful and expertly carved furniture inhabited every corner, along with a wide assortment of swords, shields, and spears. A fire snapped in the large brazier centered in the room, casting a warm glow and highlighting the rich ornaments that adorned every polished surface.

And there he sat at the table, kicked back, a brimming cup of wine in his hand. The apprehension I had felt earlier was completely gone and replaced now by a roiling bitterness.

He was clad not in the fashion of the court—brightly colored robes with intricate, metallic embroidery—but rather how I had often remembered him to be dressed. A loose, dark blue tunic, unlaced at the top to reveal his tanned chest, beneath a worn, open leather vest, with leather pants and tall boots, crusted with sand so I knew he had been in the training yard earlier in the day.

He stood up, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Stjarnavetr.”

In five hundred years, he had not changed in appearance at all: pale blond hair down to his shoulders, close-cropped beard that I could still feel the rough graze of across my skin if I tried hard enough, and cold, cold blue eyes masked in a warmth as false as his voice.

Valdrlund walked up to me, cup of wine still in his hand.

“I cannot describe to you how delighted I am that you are here,” he murmured, curling his fingers under my chin and lifting my face. He was so much taller than me and my eyes locked onto his, unflinching, even when he lowered his head, almost haltingly, and pressed a seemingly chaste kiss to my cheek.

Valdrlund stroked his thumb gently over my skin, making it crawl, but I did not strike his hand or push him away, and after a moment he dropped his arm. I could tell he wished to say something more, but ultimately decided against it.

“Please,” he said, walking back towards his table, laid out with a sumptuous feast. “Sit.”

I stared at him, unmoving, but finally took a step forward when he pulled out a chair. I sat down, still unspeaking, as he rounded the table to sit across from me, never taking his eyes off me. He grinned—apparently could think of nothing else to do but smile at me—and though I did not return the sentiment, he did not seem to mind.

“It’s been a while since you’ve had proper food,” he observed, somewhat jokingly. “I had the kitchens prepare some Asgardian dishes, so as not to shock you too much, and some of your favorites that I remember.”

I glimpsed a plate of honey cakes not an arm’s length away, but my appetite was nonexistent.

“I hope you are pleased with your accommodations,” he remarked, setting his cup on the table.

I gave a small nod, eyes still downcast.

“I had your chambers specially prepared for you,” he continued, oblivious as always to my aversion. “I told them to make sure the drapes were your favorite color, and had them bring some books from the royal library. I noticed the shelves were a bit empty and I know how much you like to read…”

When still I did not respond, Valdrlund audibly sighed.

“Stjarnavetr…”

Slowly I looked up. He did not appear angry at my lack of conversation, however—penitent, almost.

“Will you speak with me?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I answered, my first words to him in five centuries.

He hesitated, as if he knew not what to say—a rare occurrence for him.

“I want you to talk to me,” he finally replied.

I stared at him, but could not hold his gaze for very long, and once again lowered my head.

“I do realize this is difficult for you,” he expressed gently. “Your return here—”

“My return here?” I interrupted sharply. I raised my head, could feel my cheeks flush as anger rose suddenly and uninhibitedly inside me. “You speak of it as if I had a choice.”

Though I spoke tersely, I was stunned when Valdrlund did not jump to his feet, or slam his fist on the table.

“Asgard is in turmoil,” he stated calmly, though not threateningly. “Their king was murdered by his own son, and the new Allfather flounders in his role. There was no reason for you to remain.”

“My family is there,” I mentioned, unintentionally a little weaker now.

At that, surprisingly, Valdrlund had nothing to say. He glanced down at his plate and I could tell he was thinking on what next to say. I figured he would insult them, or claim they were of no consequence, but to my astonishment, it was quite the opposite.

“I am sorry, Stjarnavetr,” he sighed, and I shifted uneasily in my seat. “I am sorry things happened the way they did.”

What did he mean? Was he sorry that he had forced me to come here against my will, or sorry about everything that had led up to it, including Loki’s death? But surely not… Valdrlund had detested Loki, and probably had clapped his hands together in joy when he found out my lover’s bloody demise. But I would not ask for clarification, I was not sure I wanted to hear.

“I must admit something to you,” Valdrlund said, voice quieter now. “In truth, it is the reason I wished to meet with you tonight, and I do not wish to dance around the subject, so I will just say it.”  

A sense of unease came over me, unsure of what next would come out of his mouth.

“I wish to begin anew with you.”

My lips parted in surprise.

“There is much history between us, hardly any of it pleasant,” he explained soberly, running his thumb absently around the rim of his cup. “I do not expect your forgiveness for anything I have done to you in the past, nor any of the grief I have caused you now, and I know I will never be able to make any of it up to you, but I wish to try, and I want you to know that I am trying.”

I looked away, my first instinct disbelief. Oh, but of course he was lying, he was such a talented liar. I had heard this all before, it was all I had ever known from him. Anger and degradation, followed always by his professions of love and regret. It was impossible that he might have changed, it was all just an act to soften me.

“I realize you will be disinclined to believe me,” he added, drawing my dubious gaze once again. “But I wish to build again the trust that once existed between us.”

I scoffed, incredulous, and stood up.

“What trust was that, Valdrlund?” I cried, almost in despair. “There never existed between us any semblance of trust.”

“There did, once,” he insisted, and he stood up and came slowly around the table. “In the beginning, I remember—”

“The beginning? What, when you first brought me to the palace?”

“Yes,” he replied, taking a step towards me, but I took a step back.

“I was eighteen, Valdrlund!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know anything when I came here!”

“I know you didn’t…”

The anger and the resentment fulminating inside me bloomed even hotter, and I could not tell if it was long-buried rage unearthed now by Valdrlund’s mere presence, or the simmering remnants of my grief and fury left over from Asgard. But whatever it was, it was not tinged with timidity, nor fear—after what I had endured this past month, I doubted Valdrlund should ever be able to instill in me those feelings again.

“You took advantage of me,” I bit out. “You call that trust?”

“No,” he confessed, and his answer took me completely off guard. “You were young. I did take advantage of you.”

I could not believe my ears, that he was actually admitting it to me, no excuses—agreeing that he had hurt me and done me wrong. I stared dumbfounded at him, struck into silence by his own admission.

“When thinking back, I can only really remember a handful of times when you were happy,” he said, and I stood still as he unhurriedly closed the distance between us, furious gaze trained on his face. “In the beginning, when everything was still new…”

And he attempted to gently take my hand in his, but I yanked away.

“And when you were with child.”

Immediately, unwillingly, my anger deflated somewhat. I glanced away, hated him being so close to me, but at the same time—some treacherous little part of me—remembered.

Our relationship, if one could call it that, had not been a happy one.

In the beginning, perhaps for a brief time, I had enjoyed being Valdrlund’s mistress. I was young and liked the attention he lavished on me, but things quickly turned sour when the thrill of the newness wore off and Valdrlund became disinterested in keeping me so happy.

He had still required me in his bed, still made it known to all at court that I was his and his alone, and taught me that any minor displeasure I caused him, any suspicion I might arouse in him, would be punished swiftly and unforgivingly. And so our relationship had been thus for nearly a century, until I accidentally became with child.

Even now, standing here, I recalled how quickly Valdrlund had changed. He had not been so short-tempered, nor distrustful of me. He had doted on me, adulated me, and told me how fortunate, how loved, our child would be. For the short time that I carried his son, I had trusted him and believed everything would be alright.

But he had lied.

I shook my head and took another step back, disgusted he should even bring it up, that he should dare to think me so ignorant as to believe anything he said. I turned around—did not even want to look at him—and wiped furiously at a tear that rolled down my cheek.

I had purposely not thought of it in so long, that night when Valdrlund had given me wine laced with poison to rid me of his own child—to destroy my ability to ever have a family with anyone else—mere moments after making sweet love to me, and whispering into my ear that he loved me more than anything.

Did he truly think I would fall for his tricks again, especially after what had happened in Asgard when he had visited centuries ago?

“Stjarnavetr…”

Oh, how I detested Valdrlund. I hated him for having chosen me in the first place, for taking me from my home and father, for forcing me to endure his suffocating, treacherous affections, for so brutally stealing from me the only thing that would have ensured my happiness and ruining my chance of ever again possessing it, and now for dragging me back to it all just weeks after I had lost everything again.

“There is nothing you can ever do that will fix it, Valdrlund,” I muttered bitterly. “I have lived with it my entire life and I will remember what you did until the day I die, and there is nothing… there is nothing…”

And then he was standing beside me, and his closeness disgusted me. I did not want to be here. I wanted to be in Asgard with Loki, lying in bed together, wanted to feel his arms around me, hear him telling me everything would be alright. But it was not Loki’s voice I heard, not his touch I felt.

Valdrlund turned me towards him, saw the angry tears swimming in my eyes.

“I am sorry, Stjarnavetr,” he breathed, and he released me and took a step back. “You may return to your rooms. I am… sorry to have disturbed you this night.”

I stared up at him in teary astonishment, watching as he turned and disappeared into his bedchamber. I stood there for only an instant longer before also turning to leave, wishing to obey before he changed his mind and came back out in a much less sympathetic mood.

I returned to my chambers, and despite my attempted fortitude, within seconds broke down into weeping. Not for Valdrlund, not even for having been torn from my home for these past five centuries, but for Loki and whatever might have been that now was gone.

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As in Asgard, so long ago, and Vanaheim even longer before that, I was appointed the queen’s newest handmaiden.

Valdrlund’s wife and queen was of the Ljósálfar, the fair race of Alfheim. She was called Veleta, and very beautiful, and mother to his young son and daughter. I knew right away, however, that she did not like me, and suspected it was because her husband had brought me specifically here from Asgard, and had before kept me as his mistress.

I cared not, however; I would not try to be friends with her or any in her retinue. I recognized nobody from centuries before, and yet still quickly fell back into the routine I had kept before my exile. When the queen and her ladies took daily excursions into the gardens, I walked well behind them; during the afternoon feasts, I sat at the end of the table, speaking to no one for nobody spoke to me; and when the queen dismissed her ladies early, or for the day, I returned to my rooms and did not elect to mingle with the others.

Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. No longer was this the court of Aldregimildr and his docile queen Akkerivif. No longer was Valdrlund the impetuous and golden prince, but king now for over five and a half centuries, and wed with two young children.

I also had changed since Valdrlund had last seen me, and been through much. I had seen my lover tortured, watched him bleed to death in my arms. There was little Valdrlund could do to hurt me now, but it quickly became evident that was not his wish, for despite my overwhelming aversion that first night, he began to court me.

At least three times a week, I would return to my chambers to find a small trinket lying upon my bed. Often it was jewelry—once he gifted me a pair of delicate gold earrings, and another time a necklace of intricately woven silver metal strands—but occasionally it was a new scent or oil for my skin or hair, and always it went straight into the trash.

I suppose Valdrlund was taking the small first steps in trying to soften me, but so far was failing miserably. As I had told him, I did not see what he could ever do to make anything up to me, or make me feel less animosity for him than I already did, and had felt for almost my entire life.

And yet he tried, and he was king so I could very well not completely ignore him.

Eventually came another summons, requesting my presence at a private supper once again.

Much like my first night here, Valdrlund’s page escorted me to his rooms. The feast laid out tonight was much smaller, and I wondered if Valdrlund had planned accordingly, should I walk out suddenly or once again not eat a single bite.

Valdrlund smiled when I entered, as if our previous conversation had never taken place, and once the door was shut he approached me. I stiffened, uncertain as to what he was about to do, and let out a little breath when he took my hand, lifted it, and gently kissed my knuckles. His beard was rough against my skin and a shiver ran through me, winding its way down my spine. When he released me, I quickly drew my hand back, but he pretended not to notice.

“You look lovely tonight,” he observed affectionately, gaze traveling up and down my body, but not in a lecherous manner—surprisingly. “I am pleased to see you looking like a Vana again.”

I lowered my eyes and silently went to the table to sit. Once Valdrlund was seated across from me, he smiled again.

“I pray you are faring well, Stjarnavetr. I know it’s been a while since you served under a queen, and am sure returning has been somewhat of a transition for you…”

“It is hardly any different from when I was under Queen Akkerivif.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. “How so?”

I looked down, hesitant, but then decided if he would make me eat with him, if he would force these inane conversations, then I would let him know what I really thought.

“They do not speak to me and I do not speak to any of them,” I replied bluntly, glancing back up at him.

He furrowed his brows. “You do not?”

“No, and I never did. I hardly spoke to anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was your mistress, and I knew what would happen if I accumulated too many friends, or spoke to anybody you did not want me to.”

He stared at me for a long moment, and I stared unflinchingly back, as if challenging him to dispute me on the matter.

“I think you should try to get to know some of the queen’s ladies,” he finally said. “They are not all as discourteous as you seem to think.”

“I’m sure you would know quite a few of them very well,” I retorted petulantly.

The corner of his lips twitched.

“I know what you’re doing, Stjarnavetr,” he remarked coolly, taking a sip of wine. “But you are speaking with me, at least.”

I pressed my lips together in irritation and glanced down at my hands.

“If you would like to take a break from goading me, there is a whole table full of food here. You have not been eating well, I can tell.”

Grudgingly, I put some food on my plate. I caught sight of Valdrlund’s small smile when I took a bite of bread and it angered me.

“Does the queen know I am here?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, not looking at me as he cut the meat on his plate into chunks.

“She does not mind?”

“She minds,” he responded flatly, “but she has no choice.”

I lowered my eyes, could hardly believe my next words.

“Do you beat her, as well?”

Valdrlund was silent, and despite my determination only a few minutes before to let him know my mind, a terrible dread filled me. What stupidity had possessed me to say such an impulsive thing?

He exhaled sharply and set his cutlery down, and I almost expected him to shout at me to get out, or to stand up and come angrily around the table, but he did not, and my insides twisted in trepidation.

“I want you to meet my children,” he finally said, taking me entirely by surprise, and I glanced up at him in astonishment.

It was in that moment when I realized Valdrlund’s words that first night perhaps had held some little bit of truth, that perhaps he truly did wish to begin anew. The Valdrlund I had known would have leapt across the table and grabbed me by the hair or struck me for such impudence, but the man sitting in front of me seemed to brush off my comment like it was nothing.

I slowly looked down at my lap, unsure of what to say.

“Járnvándr and Etjameida are their names,” he added.

“Why do you want me to meet them?”

“Because I am proud of them and think you would like them.”

I could not for the life of me fathom this. I racked my brain, searching for any sinister trace I might have missed, anything I had not listened closely enough to, but came up with nothing. And yet, after all we had been through, I still was hesitant to trust anything he told me.

But I knew he would have his way eventually, and gave a small nod, acquiescing to his request.

When we had finished eating—more him than me, since I had really only eaten about a fourth of a plate—he came around the table and pulled the chair out for me. I stood up and he silently escorted me to the door, since I was sure he could tell I was more than ready to leave.

“Thank you for dining with me tonight,” Valdrlund said, and I noticed he did not move to kiss my hand or cheek. “I appreciate it.”

He took a step back, almost as if careful to my regard, and I wordlessly turned and left.

__

Valdrlund was good on his word and a few days later invited me to his chambers for the midday meal. Queen Veleta eyed me suspiciously as I followed the page out of her chambers, and I ignored the curious whispers that followed me out from the other women.

Upon entering Valdrlund’s chambers, I saw that the large double doors in the far wall were thrown open, revealing a sun-drenched terrace. I went to the open doorway and glanced outside. Valdrlund was sitting beneath a canopy at a table, skimming over some papers laid out before him.

He heard me and raised his head.

“Stjarnavetr! Come, sit.”

As I came around the table, a cool breeze blew, ruffling my hair, and Valdrlund smirked.

“I thought it might be nice to eat out here today, since it’s not freezing yet.”

I gave a small nod and seated myself on the other side of him, well within the shade. Birds were chirping, the wind rustling the nearby trees. In the distance, I could hear the faint clamor of the training yard, located on the other corner of the palace.

“I’ve requested the children join us for the midday meal,” Valdrlund said, setting his papers on the tabletop. “They should arrive shortly, along with the food.”

While we waited, Valdrlund proceeded to tell me about his son and daughter. Járnvándr, who went by Vándr, was the youngest, only eleven years old, and his daughter, Etjameida, was the oldest at fifteen years.

Vándr was just like him, Valdrlund explained, somewhat proudly; his favorite place to be was in the training yard, learning the sword, and he often helped to train Vándr himself.

Etjameida, however, was very different from her brother. She reminded him of me, Valdrlund admitted, for she loved to read. Sometimes she would disappear in the morning after breakfast, only to be later found curled up in a windowsill in the library, surrounded by a stack of dusty old books. She also excelled at seidr, even more so than her little brother, who struggled with it.

As soon as Valdrlund had finished pridefully relating to me his children’s accomplishments, we heard the door in his main room open.

“Ah, here they are,” Valdrlund grinned, and he and I stood as they came out onto the terrace, trailed by a few servants who had just arrived to lay out the meal. “Children, I want you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Lady Stjarnavetr.”

Járnvándr smiled widely and bowed deeply, while Etjameida inclined her head and politely curtsied.

I inconspicuously studied the children as they seated themselves at the table, and as the servants quickly arranged the food.

Vándr was decked in bright blue and gold, and looked just like his father—pale blue eyes, blond hair yellowed from being outside too much. He made quite a bit of noise sitting down, and I could tell he liked the attention—also just like his father.

Etjameida was a bit more subtle in her movements, and did not resemble her little brother at all, but more her mother. Tall for her age, delicate and slender. Her dark hair was long and straight and glossy, pulled back into a sensible braid; her face was angular but feminine, with large violet eyes situated beneath slim, dark eyebrows.

Once the servants were gone, and everybody settled, Valdrlund encouraged the children to speak of their education.

Valdrlund’s children were not him, and I did not feel resentment towards them, for they knew not what atrocities had passed between their father and I. Because of this I listened attentively as Etjameida described to me her rigorous lessons, ranging from seidr to history to mathematics, and then as Vándr proudly recounted to me his daily training. He grew quite excited in letting me know how talented of a warrior he was, and how one day he would be just as good as his father the king.

I felt odd as Vándr spoke, for at one point I could not help but to wonder if my and Valdrlund’s son would have looked like this, with pale hair and pretty blue eyes and flushed little cheeks. He would have been as big as Valdrlund now, and I grew heartsick.

I did my best to hide it, though, and conversed with the children. While speaking with Etjameida, I let slip that I had been a tutor of seidr once, and she expressed interest. Realizing I probably should not have mentioned it, I steered away from that topic, thinking it best to try not to provoke Valdrlund with his children here.

Finally, Valdrlund thanked his children and had them return to their lessons, leaving him and I terribly alone in silence. Once they were gone, I leaned back in my chair and for the first time, addressed Valdrlund first.

“Your children are very beautiful,” I murmured.

I felt a sort of melancholy I could not explain, and afterwards was quiet. Valdrlund spoke a little more of them, extolling their virtues, but was interrupted shortly after when a messenger appeared.

“Your Majesty, my apologies, but you are needed in the throne room.”

“Very well, I will be there shortly.”

Valdrlund seemed somewhat annoyed at being interrupted with me, but I stood up, relieved.

“Thank you for meeting them, Stjarnavetr,” he said, smiling almost gratefully at me. “Would you mind to dine with me again this night?”

I hesitated, but figured it would do no good to refuse. He would simply insist, or order me. I nodded and his smile grew.

“Good. I will see you tonight.”

__

I sat in my chambers later that night, perched upon the edge of my bed, waiting for Valdrlund’s page to come and fetch me.

I stared down at the stone floor, vacantly twisting a ring on my left middle finger. It had been a present from Loki, centuries ago. He had brought it back to me from Midgard, from one of his trips with Thor. It was a delicate gold band with a radiant green stone and pearls surrounding it. A couple of the pearls were flawed, and they formed a misshapen but pretty flower. Imperfect, but perfect to me for he who had gifted it.

Valdrlund had inquired about the ring during our second dinner together, but I replied it had been a gift from Queen Frigga many years ago. I was not sure if he believed me, but he had let it go, much to my relief.

Here in Vanaheim, this ring was the only thing I had of Loki’s. I found myself often gazing at it, thinking longingly of him. My thoughts were usually unhappy, and only fuel for that night when I would cry myself to sleep, muffling my sobs with my pillow. I missed Loki so much it hurt, and felt so alone here without him.

I was almost grateful when Valdrlund’s page came to fetch me, for I was on the verge of tears thinking once again of Loki.

When I arrived at Valdrlund’s rooms, dinner, as always, was laid out on the table already.

Valdrlund greeted me with warm enthusiasm, despite my obvious lack of it. I was not as silent as I had been that first night, but still, even a little over a month later, was guarded. His behavior confused me, for he had been nothing but kind and thoughtful—such a contrast to the Valdrlund I remembered.

“I am glad you finally met Vándr and Etjameida,” Valdrlund remarked, refreshing his cup of wine.

“They seem wonderful,” I replied softly, halfheartedly picking my spoon up.

“They are quite smart, as you saw,” Valdrlund said, grinning. “I’m afraid to say Etjameida’s a little ahead of her brother.”

I managed a small smile. “Is she?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’m more apt to leave her the throne than my son.”

“What would the queen say?”

Valdrlund’s smile fell slightly at that, and I realized he did not like speaking of her.

“It matters not what she thinks,” he dismissed.

Despite his aversion, I was curious.

“When did you wed?” I wondered, chancing it.

“About twenty years ago,” he answered stiffly. “It was a union of necessity.”  

I looked down at the bowl in front of me, quiet. He did not need to say it, it was obvious even unspoken—he did not love her.

“She knows it, as do all,” Valdrlund stated impassively, as if he had heard my thoughts.

I did not say anything, unsure of how to respond.

“She does not like that I’ve brought you here.”

“I cannot see why,” I murmured, absently stirring my soup.

“Can you not?” he inquired, and I heard the smile in his voice. “She is jealous.”

I shook my head, discomfited. Valdrlund sensed it immediately and, much to my shock, mindfully dropped the subject.

The rest of the dinner was spent either in silence or subdued, banal conversation. I was mostly reserved, as I had been the other times, and Valdrlund did not pry too much or begin speaking of terribly personal matters. He discussed with me Vanaheim, and things that had happened in my absence, which I admit I was interested in.

He appeared in a cheerful enough mood, which bewildered me. It was difficult for me to believe he had changed, despite his confession and outwardly improved attitude. I was expecting at any moment for the real Valdrlund to break through, for all his apologies and remorses to give way to anger and rage. But it did not, and my old lover practically seemed normal.

Eventually, when it began to grow late, I asked Valdrlund if I could retire.

He gracefully acquiesced and came around the table as I stood up to bid me farewell.

“Thank you again for dining with me, Stjarnavetr.”

I nodded, but just as I went to turn, Valdrlund lifted his arm, curled his fingers under my chin, and raised my head up. I froze, momentarily stunned, as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to my cheek. He lingered for an instant, and I felt his breath warm on my skin before he slowly pulled back.

He gazed down at me, and there was something in his eyes—not lust, nor cunning—but still I did not like it, because it did not validate the animosity I was trying so hard to hold onto.

“I have missed you, Stjarnavetr,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across my chin.

His eyes fell down to my parted lips, but before he could try anything else, I pushed his arm away and took a cautionary step back. Not wanting to hear anything else he had to say, I turned to leave, but before I could even take two steps, he gently caught my arm.

“No!” I cried, more in alarm than anything, as panic shot through me and came to settle sickeningly in my stomach. I jerked my arm away and moved backwards until I hit his door.

“I am sorry,” Valdrlund expressed, appearing surprised at my reaction. “I only wanted to show you.”

“Show me what?” I asked harshly, cradling my arm as if his touch had burned me.

“How I have changed,” he answered, almost entreatingly.

I shook my head, had known at some point it would come to this. He was lying, he had to be lying…

“You will never change,” I said tremulously, but with conviction. “You told me that all the time and you never did.”

“That was five centuries ago,” he retorted, and I detected just the faintest hint of annoyance.

“It is only a matter of time before things go back to how they were—”

Abruptly I gasped and stiffened against the door when he closed the short distance between us and towered over me. He took me by my upper arms—not roughly—and I looked up at him, heart pounding in my chest.

“I have been saddled these past centuries with endless, tedious responsibility, and now a wife who somehow manages to get on every last one of my nerves… and I have thought of you all this time, Stjarnavetr.”

That, at least, I could believe; Valdrlund was the type to keep his mind fixed on something, especially if he could not have it. How he had lost me to Loki so long ago still burned him, I am sure, though he was doing a fantastic job so far of hiding it.

“I’ve had five hundred years to think on how I wronged you, everything I did…”

My lips parted in surprise to hear him once again admit it. He raised his arms, and I stiffened and almost whimpered his name when he placed his hands on the sides of my neck, gently cradling my head to tilt it up.

“I know I wronged you, Stjarnavetr. Sometimes I still cannot sleep for the thought of what I did to you.”

“You—you cannot possibly hope to ever make it up to me,” I whispered, slightly hunching my shoulders, recoiling from his touch as much as I could. “You hurt me, Valdrlund, it was all you ever did… you hurt me, you killed… you killed…”

And the thought of it—all that had transpired before my exile from Vanaheim, what Valdrlund had stolen from me—caused the tears to come, to well up in my throat, and I lowered my eyes, chin trembling. Despite my attempted fortitude, I simply could not pretend it did not affect me, even all this time later.

“I know,” he murmured, lightly stroking my skin with his thumb. “I could say it was Father who made me do it, or that it was not by my own doing, but I will not make excuses. I take full responsibility, and have lived with the guilt these past centuries.”

I shook my head, felt his body so close, too close.

“What are you doing?” I whimpered, putting my hands on his front, if only to keep him from inching closer.

He gazed down at me, did not explode as I thought he might.

“I just want you to know that I love you,” he breathed, and he affectionately caressed my cheek before releasing me and taking a step back.

The silence hung heavy between us, but I did not return his sentiment and glanced down at the floor, knowing not what to do.

“Thank you for coming tonight, Stjarnavetr,” he finally said. “I am sorry it ended so.”

I slowly raised my head, wondering anxiously where the Valdrlund I had used to know had gone? The Valdrlund I had been frightened of, who would have laughed at the idea of such deferential regard?

Unwilling to remain and find out, however, I turned, opened the door, and hastily left. Upon reaching my chambers, just like that first night, I broke down and cried. Not necessarily now for Loki, but for myself.

I wished I had never met Valdrlund, wished that I had never been taken from my father. What happiness might I have found if I had never been brought the palace, and left to grow up in the village? But then, I never would have gone to Asgard and met Loki, never would have spent five wonderful centuries with him, only for it all to culminate in bloody despair.

I hardly knew what to cry for anymore, it all just blended miserably together, and no matter how hard I wished, no matter how hard I wept, when I awoke in the morning I would still be in Vanaheim, and Loki would still be dead, and all would still be lost.

Comedy and Tragedy.

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Complete PDF of the Danny Phantom Fancomic, “Phantom in the Mirror” is up. The whole thing is 86 MB, so it’ll take a second to download looolll :P

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“Connection”

Through her eyes, I saw it. It. That which I lacked. What I was denied. The jigsaw piece. The clue. The key to repair. I finally saw the light, and felt the warmth. Knew others. A loving home. Coddling mother. Present father. Then she looked away.

Want More:https://evanthenerd83.tumblr.com/post/672378544397172736/2022-story-index-flash-fiction-a-divine

i don’t want to write about love anymore.
not after you.

i don’t want thousands of words
scribbled on paper
spitting on my face
mocking me.

i don’t want to be reminded
of the love
and of the hurt
and of the begging
that were only as fleeting
as you were.

our forever was supposed to be longer.

enough.

it hurts enough to physically manifest itself in the throbbing corners of my chest

enough to let gravity get a hold of my eyes

enough to force me out of a stable state of mind

enough to push me into the corners of the bed, shaking

enough to revive all the thoughts i have long fought to forget

enough to make me feel like i wasn’t, i was never, i will never be

enough.

sometimes when it rains, i think of you
how i used to wrap my arms around you
but also, because it reminds me
of every teardrop i have shed for you

sometimes when it’s dark, i think of you
how i used to love touching you
but also, because it reminds me
of our dark days that are now behind me

and every time i wake up, i think of you
how i used to wake up next to you
but also, because i’m reminded
that you defiled me on this very same bed.

i only spoke of you to the sun
i told him of your smile
the way they can get away with anything
it was like the glow of his rays, i suppose
beautiful, but blinding

sometimes i spoke to the ocean
i told her of your mind
the way your thoughts never cease to amaze me
just like the profundity of her waters, i guess
deep, but sometimes dark

and on rare occasions, i spoke to the stars
i told them of my desires
and they always remind me of the distance
of beautiful things only meant to be seen from so far away

and so i just don’t talk about you at all
not to the sun, not to the ocean, not to the goddamn stars
i just think. about you. a lot.
a whole fucking lot.

my skin used to melt at your touch.
you used to touch me all over
with the eyes of a lover
now you’re touching me with eyes wide open.
you touch me with detachment
you touch me with restraint
i used to shiver at the static running through our veins
now i shiver at the coldness of your fingertips
you touch me with death
you touch me with decay
now i’m left with all bones and no flesh.
my skin disintegrates at your touch.

i feed the hollow
inside my stomach
and in return
it leaves me alone
and empty
and aching;
shivering
at the edge of my bed
with my head on my knees
and a sting on my chest.

it’s not right for you to be just fallen in love with. i will take the whole damn gravity out of the equation if it means i can love you without ever falling out. without limits. without spaces. without ever reaching the ground.

it’s not right to just say i love you in words. i will spell it in constellations. i will carve it in gold. i will drip it in blood. i will sing it even if my lungs give out. and i will never tire of telling you the depth of my love for you, even if it’s the last of my breath. i promise.

it’s not right for you to settle less than what you deserve. i can’t give you the world but i can give you my life. i can give you other people’s lives. i will die in a heartbeat for you. i will kill for you. i’m a slave at your disposal. make me a criminal. make me yours. i will do everything and i will follow you to the edge of the earth or to the bottom of it; to hell, fuck it. i’ll follow you still. if you will have me.

it’s getting harder for me to only touch the tip of your fingers when all i want is to hold your hand and to pull you in closer to my skin. it’s harder especially when you’re this close, moving towards me, at a pace a little too fast for my breath to catch up on. my thoughts, that are forbidden to ever even reach the tip of my tongue, are getting harder to supress. especially when you speak first, about art and the future, with a gentleness in your voice that sounds a little too sweet for my ears to stifle.

you’re making it harder for me not to fall for you love, because how am i to do that when you’re this close? when i can see you this close, in macro lenses, in all of your imperfect glory. how am i to ever get enough of you when i could just reach you if i tried? and lord knows how much i’m clenching my fists to stop myself from ever even trying.

The early morning rises and my mind is still awake, my body is pumped, and my heart is still beating fast from the three cups of coffee it took me to keep my eyes open throughout the night. I waited just in case you wake up. It was just in case you call me in the middle of the night again; or maybe at the crack of dawn, when the world is still half asleep and the only two people conscious of everything that is real are you and I. It was just in case you needed a break from the truth. I was willing to be your refuge. I could rest among the darkness when I am with you, no matter if you’ll be gone when the sun comes up. 

he told me i was scarlet
royal, fierce, and shit
well i thought he was crimson
with the depth and profundity
of murky waters, but darker

in truth though we were both just red
in different hues and different shades
pretending to be eccentric
when all we both were was
red; plain pathetic old red.

red like my favorite worn out dress
red like the rotten apple i had thrown this morning
red like the freshly cut bruises on my knees
red like his favorite color.

there was nothing magical
nor special about red
like we made it to be

words are just fancy versions
of the truth.

Falling man on fire 2 - Watercolour on paper, 148x105mm, 2022.

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