the silver trickster

anonymous asked:

Lokane, ‘ Are you an angel? Has the time come? I’ve been waiting so long. ‘

A/N: I give you a Post-Apocalyptic AU. I hope you like it! :)


The last thing Jane remembers is the searing flash of light before fire erupted in her stomach, shooting out to her limbs in a burst of agony. She welcomed the murky oblivion that followed, grateful to find rest after so many years of conflict. No more losing friends on the frontlines in this endless battle between worlds. No more lurking in the shadows until the rare opportunity to strike at their would-be oppressors—as hollow as those efforts have been.

It was over. Finally.

But as she opens bleary eyes, blinking at the acute brightness that permeates her field of vision, she’s not so sure. Where is she? It’s a room colored a brilliant, impossible white. The ceiling is painted with a gold filigree pattern that bleeds down, fading into the shining, bleached stonework of the walls that she can see better now. She’s in a bed with linens unlike any she’s experienced in her short life. Adjectives like soft and silky come close to describing them, but not quite.

Is this the afterlife? Is there an afterlife? As a scientist and a soldier, she’s never believed in the supernal. After all, would a benevolent deity allow the devastation that she’s known for the past five years? She can’t bring herself to believe in an absentee creator, or worse, a malevolent one. There’s been comfort in putting her faith in an accidental existence born from a cosmic bang. Humans were on their own; they’d always been.

And yet, she can’t explain this. Her hand tentatively goes to where she’d been struck down by the alien weapon—to where there should be a charred, yawning wound in her belly as she’d witnessed too many times in fallen comrades. She finds nothing, though. Her abdomen is smooth, untouched, and covered by some gown she’s wearing made of fabric similar to the bed linens. She can’t make these variables fit logically with what she knows, what she understands.

She pushes up on her elbows, wincing instinctively against the pain she expects that never comes. Her breath catches when she finds another standing at the foot of her bed. He’s tall, long raven hair falling past his shoulders that contrasts his pale eyes and even paler skin. His angular features are inscrutable as he studies her. His garb is foreign, ethereal with a filmy deep green tunic, leather trousers and a dark, sleeveless robe. He’s inhuman. Beautiful.

“Are you an angel?” The question leaves her before she can think better of it, and her face burns at the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth, at the laugh he breathes through his nose.

“I am called many things,” he answers cryptically. The baritone of his voice is dry, rasping—nothing like the lilting tenor she imagined as a child of the mythical, holy beings. “Never an angel,” he continues, tilting his head as his gaze travels to take all of her in. “But always a god.”

“Am I dead?” she asks as she turns his words over in her mind. A god, implying that there is more than a single deity, unlike the “One True Creator” traditions that fell out of favor in her world when the invasion began. Were any of them true—the religions of her people? Not that she’d given credence to any of them, but she tries to recall the belief systems that had multiple divinities.

“Yes,” he says, “and no.” He saves her from asking for clarification by adding, “You have been made anew.”

Her brows pull together in confusion. “Why?”

The smile that hinted on his features before blossoms fully now, drawing lines in his cheeks, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The look is less pleased and more predatory, and her heart stutters briefly in response. “Because, Jane Foster,” he replies, inching closer to her, “clever leader of the futile resistance on Midgard, you are meant to be a part of a greater battle.”

The notion churns her stomach, fills her with dread. Midgard? She’s heard that unusual name for her world before, but she can’t place it. “I’m done fighting.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” His knees brush against the edge of her mattress. “This conflict is unavoidable, dear Jane. Both sides are recruiting across the nine realms and soon combat will begin.”

Again, she tastes the familiarity at the edge of his strange statement, but whatever she knows is locked away in the recesses of memory. “And you’re recruiting me?” At his tacit nod, she asks, “What if I don’t want to be recruited for your little war.” She’s done enough, fought enough. She’d rather be lost to eternal night than play warrior again.

My war?” He laughs at the idea. “You misunderstand. This is the war. The great and final clash to end all things. I speak of Ragnarök.”

Ragnarök. She knows this word; it’s from ancient Scandinavia. She combs through her knowledge of their mythos, what little she has. The battle he’s referencing is between the giants and the Æsir, isn’t it? Which side has he recruited her to? Which god is he supposed to be? She poses the questions aloud.

“I am Loki,” he says. “Better known to your kind as the God of Mischief.”

The trickster. The silver-tongued deceiver according to the bit of lore she knows. “No.” She shakes her head. “I won’t fight for you.”

“But you will,” he says smiling as though amused by her defiance. “The safety of your realm depends on it.”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean? You’ll wipe us all out if I don’t?”

His tongue presses briefly against his bottom lip, turning his grin feral. “On the contrary,” he replies, “I’ll save your paltry realm from the Chitauri if you join my ranks. A very generous gift on my part. Now, can you say no to that?”

She closes her eyes. She shouldn’t trust him. She can’t. And yet no one else has come to her people’s aid. “How do I know you’ll keep your end of the deal?”

He laughs, low and soft. “Fight at my side, and find out. What’s it to be, Jane?”

She searches his face for deception, but he’s unreadable. If she agrees to this, subjects herself to more carnage, more death and destruction, he may still leave Earth to die at the hands of those terrible aliens. But then, if she rejects his offer, it’s certain that humans will become extinct. She lets out a heavy sigh.



Can we just talk about how fucking flawless that fight scene in the finale was?

Lucifer fights like a trickster, silver-tongued in war as he is everywhere else. He’s smooth and fluent and he plays games, he toys with his enemies, he treats a fight as though it’s as much a chessboard as it is a fray.  It’s a game. 

Amenadiel? He exults in his power–perhaps too much so. He takes more pleasure in Wrath than he should. We see in his straightforward moves that he delights in being warrior, the iron gauntlet of the Heavenly Host. He’s so different from Lucifer’s playful style–Amenadiel will mow you down. 

anonymous asked:

Of all the characters you sorted from the Avengers, Loki was left out. Will you sort him any time soon? I'm interested to see what opinions you have.

slytherin slytherin slytherin slytherin slytherin ravenclaw slytherin slytherin slytherin slytherin slytherin 

Nah, but like actually. 

Note: the way we play this sorting game, “primary” means WHY you do things, and “secondary” means HOW. 

MCU Loki has a Slytherin Primary the size of Heimdall’s awesomeness and a Slytherin Secondary that's even bigger. He’s got the Slytherin Primary’s selfish valuing of himself and his ambitions, and it’s driving personal loyalties; and the Secondary’s cunning, illusion play, and tricks. 

When you put a Slytherin Secondary/Ravenclaw model or a Ravenclaw Secondary/Slytherin Model together you often get the “mwuahaha” evil mastermind, or subtler variations of it at least. Loki’s got a Ravenclaw Model (to briefly define model: Loki can fully imagine and use the logic and long-term strategic planning of Ravenclaw, even if his quick-thinking, manipulative, adaptable Slytherin Secondary is easier to hand).

On top of all that, Loki has strewn a Slytherin performance of the silver tongued illusionist and trickster. The way Loki plays at being trickster actually distracts from all the ways he’s truly tricking his adversaries. 

Loki “petrifies” his Slytherin Primary (somewhat) over the course of the movies, going from doing everything in order to win his adopted family’s love and respect, to happily stabbing Thor in Avengers and presumably killing Odin. 

The “somewhat” is because of the exception – Loki’s mother, Frigga. Even in Thor 2, Loki cares for and values his mother; enough that Odin’s punishes him by trying to keep Frigga from him, and enough that her death drives Loki into a destructive rage and vengeance spiral that helps drive the middle of the movie. Loki and his Slytherin Secondary still play other games and quietly take the day and the throne, but his grief and rage are honest and real – it’s a particularly Slytherin Secondary trait to lie with the truth. 

saintlyguy  asked:

Hey I'm new and would like to make a request: Fallout 4 companions meet a 1st generation super mutant from the west coast. Extra point if the 1st gen is my boi Marcus from Fallout 2.

Certainly! Sorry for the long wait, I am finally back in business. In all honesty, I’ve never played Fallout 2, but at least I know who Marcus is thanks to New Vegas. I hope I did a decent enough job with this. 


The automatic reaction would be to defend herself, initiating some sort of physical fight. Living around the Commonwealth and having to deal with the Super Mutants that lived there, Cait was well aware that they were not the most friendly of species. Marcus, on the other hand, had to choose between fighting back or actually continuing his attempts to persuade her that he was not interested in attacking her. Eventually, she would come around, give the 1st gen. mutant a chance to explain himself, or else Sole would have to step in and end the quarrel.


He had come across few Super Mutants during his travels with Sole, and found it rather interesting that there were not only different generations, but different species of mutants. As long as Marcus kept a respectable demeanor around his Sir/Mum, there would be no need to resort to violence. Sole kept the conversation, Codsworth added in his opinion or a question every now and then, mainly concerning what they’d both like to drink or eat. He was their servant after all, and was proud to help any sort of guest that the survivor invited into their company.


This was a remarkable experience in her mind. She had finally found a mutant that didn’t attack her or her companion on sight. Like Codsworth, she didn’t attack unless provoked to do so and she found this nothing short of a large medical advancement for the Wasteland. Asking countless questions, Marcus had to deal with an assault on his history, how he became a Super Mutant, what abilities he was given after being dipped, so on and so forth. Knowing him, he’d probably be annoyed if worse comes to worse, but would appreciate the attempts to find some sort of cure to reverse the FEV virus.


Danse was not comfortable with this situation at all. The moment he spotted Sole in some sort of conversation with the mutant, he approached with caution, finger locked on the trigger. It had been a tense event for all three of them, Marcus was not one to be trusted, in the Paladin’s eyes. The Brotherhood hated these sort of creatures, and he had been brought up to think so. He stayed by Sole’s side as they talked and soon came to find out that Marcus had an old friend known as Jacob, whom was a Paladin, like Danse. The synthetic man found this strangely endearing, somehow trusting something he was supposed to hate a bit more than when they first met. Maybe Super Mutants had a difference in their ranks, like ghouls against feral ghouls, and not all of them would attack anything and everything on sight.


There was no need for unnecessary threats, he hadn’t made a move so the silver tongued trickster kept to himself as well. That didn’t stop him from inserting as many jokes as humanly possible into the conversation. He’d never met a living, breathing Super Mutant who had both brawns and brains to match, so this was a first in his scrapbook. Marcus wasn’t as smart as Virgil, who stowed away in the Glowing Sea, but he could hold up a decent talk, and actually appreciate some of Deacon’s humor. That was enough for this guy, and lucky for Sole, they didn’t have to end what would probably be a horribly outmatched fight.


He saw Marcus as a fellow brother, seeing as they both looked like they were beat with a stick of radiation and that humans hated both of their kind. They’d be the ones talking while Sole stood idly beside him, there was much to discuss, especially since this guy was from a different area of the Wasteland. Another similarity they shared was that they both were the governing mayors of the towns they had created. Marcus had Jacobstown and Hancock had Goodneighbor. This factor had gotten them both to warm up to each other pretty quickly, and the lot of their talk had been about the struggles of having power and the stress of others counting on them all the damned time.


Sole paid him to fire when told to, so that was why he spent more than a few hours posted up in the corner of their Sanctuary home while the man/woman invited in a rather interesting guest they had found. He was rather hostile towards the mutant, however, it had been words of hostility rather than actions. Growing up extremely close to a vault infested with kidnapping green giants, he worried that it might be a trap and that soon they’d all be hanging over vats of the FEV virus. He warned Marcus that if he laid a finger on his employer, he would not hesitate to take him down, and the mutant returned with his own sort of warning. The mutual agreement had brought more glares than what was necessary, but Sole made sure that the flames of war didn’t spark up in what remained of their pre-war household.


Holy mother of god, there were no words to describe how excited she was to get started on what would be one of her best articles yet. Marcus was one of the first super mutants to exist out of the current population, and she wanted to know everything. Similar to Curie, he’d have to deal with rather personal questions, but instead of medical history it would be about his life in general. How he turned, how people in his area treated him after the fact, if there was any hope of reversing the virus that ran through his body. She made sure not to pry into too sensitive of matters, thinking it to be best to avoid questions about the Master or the army he was trying to build.


Like Hancock, Preston had respect for Marcus since he took control of what others would presume a lost cause. Having known personal loss regarding friends, and even family, he found sympathy for the mutated human when told about Jacob. Having no particular ill-will against Super Mutants, except for the occasional raid on Minutemen settlements, he was more or less shocked that something usually so brutish was rather intelligent, able to communicate as if he were still human. It was a short lived conversation, but a meaningful one at best, proving Preston’s theory that the Commonwealth still had a lot to redeem about itself.


As another Super Mutant, they got along decently enough. Strong was a much newer generation, and had a hard time understanding Marcus on occasion, since he wasn’t exactly as coherent as his older counterpart. Marcus, on the other hand, saw this younger mutant as some form of a little brother. He knew how violent these sort could be, so while they talked, he made sure not to initiate any triggers that were blatantly visible. The entire quest to find the “milk of human kindness” striked Marcus as funny, nevertheless Sole prevented him from bringing their companion down in that sort of fashion.

Thranduil/Bard of Laketown Fanfic Masterpost

A list of Barduil stories that I have compiled. After seeing The Battle of the Five Armies, this ship hit me so hard. I’ll update it whenever I read a new story, or if someone requests to have their story added. This is mainly just a place for me to keep track of all the amazing Barduil stories I read, and I figured I’d share it, since there is a serious lack of Barduil stories. Everyone who ships this should really read these, since they are fantastic and give me all the feels. (Updated 3/24/2015)

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Chasing This Starlight, Ch. 3 -- Memory Loss prompt for the silver trickster

Summary: When Natasha loses her memories after being targeted by an unknown enemy, there’s only one person Thor knows who has the capability of bringing them back. A pity Loki asked Thor to never interfere in his life again after dropping to Earth half a year ago.

Rating: T

Also found at my AO3:

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i wish i was sharp, bladed and quick
with a tongue full of silver
like a trickster god of old

i would let it overflow daily
falling from my fingertips
and out into the unforgiving universe
with a cracked grin
because i remember what it feels like

my edges were not always so dull
nor my tongue so pink
once i was sharp, perhaps i still am
maybe i am merely sheathed
and not covered with impossible rust
i swear i can feel it though
weighing down my fingers
causing them to stutter and flail at my call
forcing me to become a lie
a trickster god of old

i paint my tongue silver
offer forth the illusion of an edge
overflow nothing until it takes shape
anything to win back my sharpness

this is my compromise
i do it willingly

—  writer’s block, a.d.

coolcephalopod  asked:

blackfrost prompt [otpprompts]: Imagine Person A playfully keeping Person B pinned down as they take B from behind. Person A lays their hands over B’s as they kiss and bite B’s neck and shoulder, whispering naughty/sweet things into their ear. Bonus: They’re doing it in front of a mirror. Person A takes pleasure from the look on B’s face as B whimpers beneath them. (i'd love you forever if you wrote this <3)

Yes.  Yes a thousand times yes.  

HNG.  I’m writing it as we speak.  Ish.