BURDENED .

literate, semi - selective & independent LOKI LAUFEYSON roleplay blog. loosely & roughly based in the mcu, with influences from various comics, media, & headcanons. canon divergences abound. timelines are whatever makes the bit work. very crossover, oc, & au friendly. 18+ only !

WRITTEN by parker. he / him. 26. sporadic activity. EST.

CARRD. PROMO. MEME TAG. PERMANENT INTEREST CHECKER.

by liking this post, you are letting a nervous writer who chronically overthinks know that it is okay to send you random starters, various memes, & unprompted ideas into your inbox. this does not mean, however, that you ever have to reply to any / all of the things that might get sent your way. it just means that if something springs to my mind, i can send it to your muse(s) without worrying that i am sending too much or that its unwanted.

loki's fork scrapes against the ceramic of the plate as he chews thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. he had sweets on asgard -- nuts & berries, as he'd said -- & the delicacies on the more decadent side were flavored with raw sugars & honey, mostly. natural, with a lot of the fruits' sweetness also cut with their own tart bite. loki had found some unexpected joy in the creams & milks & sugars he could use to decorate the flavor profile of his coffee ( & the tva always had plenty of coffee ), but the pies that mobius so often enjoyed were sweet to the point of shock. it stuck to loki's tongue & settled in the back of his teeth. he didnt mind a few bites ; there was a freshness there, & a zing he could fancy, but this particular slice was doing little to intrigue him.

that was alright, though. he wasnt here for the food. not really.

mobius sits in front of him, & something about the way his eyes crinkle in the corners makes loki kind of just want to stare at him. the feeling is so strong that he goes back to looking at his largely untouched slice of dessert. "you know," he starts as he smooths a spread of whipped cream along the crust, "i am still not fully convinced you actually enjoy these as much as you claim." the lilt to his voice is light & teasing. a touch vulnerable, even, if someone were to look too close. "how you still have any teeth left in your head that have yet to rot is completely beyond me. do you even have a favorite? or do you just decide to pick whichever has the most garish color on any particular day?"

@nobodyssoldixr ; “you okay?” ( from jane foster )

prompt. || accepting!

the open, nighttime air provides a comfortable chill to settle and nest inside the marrow of loki’s bones. autumn seemed to be slowly but steadily pushing away the summer heat, & loki allowed himself to turn his face towards the breeze. the cold had always relaxed him. where it brought others a tremble to their spines & an ache to their joints, it eased something in the space between his shoulders. it’s almost laughable that he’d never questioned his true origins until returning to jotunheim that day with his brother. funny, he thinks, though devoid of all humor, thor most likely met jane soon after. how the consequences of the passage of time changes us all.

the roof is comfortable enough. he thought it would be secluded. he doubted most people snuck onto the tops of buildings in the hope of company. her question almost has him scoff, but something makes him bite the inside of his cheek.

“excellent,” he says without looking back at her. his voice is flat even to his own ears. “i am doing just fine. extraordinarily, marvelously fine.” his old tva badge burns against his thigh, resting inside his pocket & nearly searing his skin with its presence alone. mobius had taken that picture of him. his shoulders tighten.

“and to what do i owe the pleasure of your sudden appearance?” if his voice cuts through the air, sharp & swift, he ignores it. “you don’t have to pretend to be concerned for my benefit, you know. or my brothers, for that matter.”

@suredid ; you look like hell, you know that?

prompt. || accepting!

his gaze swivels on darcy so fast it nearly makes his eyes cross with the speed of it. there’s heat in his expression, most certainly, but there is a tiredness there, too ; something bone tired & so deep a fatigue that no amount of sleep was likely to fix. he levels as much strength into his glare as he’s able. he thinks distantly of the teachings he used to receive, many years ago. shoulders back. chin up. spine straight. command authority, & if you cannot pull out their respect, you will act as confident as you would had you made them bow.

“and you look like a mortal who should mind her tongue.” his threat is largely empty. he used to be able to really mean his insults, to call upon his feelings of lonesomeness & abandonment & neglect & turn them into vitriol that he could spit like poison. friendship has made him weak. the tva has made him weak. mobius has made him weak. he shakes his head & breaks their eye contact to instead study a particularly interesting spot on the ground.

“not that it is any of your business,” he fidgets with his hands, nimble fingers making mindless shapes along his palm. a nervous pattern he’d learned from his mother. norns, how he missed her. “but i believe ive been through my share of hell. thank you. what is your excuse?”