#laufaes

      she isn’t aware of who leaned inward first, her or loki, but it doesn’t matter now. they were leaning on each other, a mixture of green and black and gold and tan. it seems like they’ve made a HOME out of the alcove in the room in between where her room is adjoined, all because they found each other awake too many times to be coincidence. or maybe it was, and they timed themselves around each other.  SHE PRAYS THEY TRUST EACH OTHER ENOUGH NOW.  she's grown used to the way his thumb rubs over her knuckles by accident, or how she knows the little indents in his fingers, some from holding his staff over the years, but there’s a story behind each.               & there’s an growing pile of books by the window, like a beanstalk. on the table is a pot of tea and two cups, and she glances to how she can see cassiopeia and then ursa minor & major to the northwest, and pegasus to the northeast, and she thinks about how she would have never noticed if it hadn’t been for loki pointing it out days prior. and she can’t help but think how the stars remind her of him, ETHEREAL and otherworldly, and she can’t help but wonder if this was what all the stories talked about and was she a fool for ( hoping. )

       when she looks away from the window, she hears the softness of loki’s breathing, at least at first. and she doesn’t want to bother him, considering she knows how rare it comes. her fingers push his hair gently off his face, her gaze softened as she lets her fingers rest on his cheek, but not too long. she thinks of Michelangelo and Caravaggio and wonders if they had thought of anything as BEAUTIFUL as the god sleeping next to her, leaning back in the cushioned chair.  things no longer seem simple or silly, not when it comes to loki.  it isn’t until she hears the familiar noises in his sleep, the ones of distress and pain, that she HATES he suffers from. she’s gotten familiar with them, so much so that she’s gotten better at waking him, even if she hates to. so her thumb brushes along his jaw, fingers in dark tendrils of hair, and brushing them away from his face.  she doesn’t realize she’s begun to hum lowly, eyes glowing a soft gold like morning suns. 

her fingers cup his face tenderly, his silly girl comment long beyond the depths of her mind. forgotten. all she can focus on is making sure that HE is okay.  her lips part before she can stop it, as if her INSTINCTS HAVE TAKEN CONTROL.      ❝ i have a meadow, green and big. i have a meadow, full of flowers where you can rest your head. and when the fog lightens, it will be a meadow with trees and green leaves, shelter wherever you please. i have a meadow where you can rest. i have a meadow, and while you are there, who shall you fear ? i’ll protect you and keep you safe, dear. sacred is the peace you’ll find there, deep in the meadow. ❞   where my heart keeps you near.    the last six words fall as a soft murmur from her lips,  and she presses her lips together as her teeth set into her bottom lip.  the sudden wave of vulnerability is foreign, but not unwarranted. FOR ONCE, she isn’t afraid.   ❝ where my heart keeps you near.  loki, gods, please rest. be at peace. please. ❞  even though she knows a simple wish can’t be enough. but she needs him to be okay.

Unarmed, Louise edged a pace away from the man, not yet willing to break her firm focus on him despite his question prompting a short laugh. Naturally cautious of strangers, she could have bristled and rebuffed his suggestion of fear - had it not been for the nervous flutter in her chest that his gaze alone provoked. Besides, there was an edge to his tone that told her he already had an answer and, pinned down by his encroaching form, a lie or a snide retort seemed a tad foolish.

              it isn’t the first time she’s disagreed with someone. it isn’t the first time she’s said no or refused altogether. it certainly won’t be the last.  and it isn’t the first time someone’s raised their hand to her. she knows that will NEVER end.  if her own mother couldn’t resist the urge to do it, then what right, no, obligation, did anyone else in stark tower have to not do it themselves ?  her fingers go to grab for her jacket. her and loki weren’t exactly close. they were the result of TIRED and half-hearted kitchen conversations, an occasional glance or two. were they friends?  she didn’t know.  were they one in the same? copies of each other? two peas in a pod ?   she was sure the sheer concept would scare a normal person, but she wasn’t normal. she never had been. she never would be. she was the construction of a paper woman held together by godly ichor and the prayers of her nanny, Suzanne. if prayers meant anything anymore, that is.  all she knew was that loki had seen her at her worse, somewhere lost in between threads of holding onto her humanity and being pulled by godliness that didn’t solely belong to her. not yet anyway. they had a mutual understanding at the most, one that had allowed her to previously offer a branch of kindness.

loki had never done anything to hurt her, not personally. and the man and god she had seen was nothing like the archival footage of the one who wished to reign over new york with a cold fist. the one who saw humanity as nothing less than pawns           he was not that man. but the words that left his mouth both confirmed her thoughts, denied previous claims, and tried to salvage something of the woman who laid behind him, her cheek aching from the sting of the now disarmed s.h.i.e.l.d agent’s hand. the snarl that had come as a reply to defend herself laid in her throat, her eyes glowing gold as her claws curled towards her palms. when they’re alone, and loki is looking back at her as she gets back to her feet, she softens, unsure what she could POSSIBLY offer to explain her gratitude. ❝  why would you do that ?  ❞ the last two words, for me, goes unspoken.  why would he defend her? why would he raise his staff to protect her? she feels weak before him and rightfully so, maybe.  she can’t remember the last person who was kind to her. the last person who was kind to her without wanting something or getting her killed.  she can’t remember any ounce of kindness. or grace, or mercy. and it reads into her eyes and all over her face.  ❝  why ? ❞

        she feels helpless as she swings her legs over, and an apology falls from her lips as she grips loki’s hand tightly, just for a second. she knows the helplessness is due to both the injury of her sprained ( for once, slowly healing ) ankle, and the bruise on her ego it left. she winces as the weight of what’s left of her armor is unbuckled from around her chest and falls to the floor. ( she’s been bedbound for a week, only to find out that she had been left behind with the fullest intentions of letting her heal. ) but she wasn’t prepared for how much lighter she feels, and she rocks forward, fingers curling into loki’s jacket, trying to stop herself from burying her face in his chest. ❝ sorry, ❞ she utters for what seems like the millionth time, and if she knew it wouldn’t have been unwarranted, she would probably acknowledge the tears that sting her eyes. not from the pain, but for the fact that she feels like she’s consuming all of loki’s time. she doesn’t know what else the god of mischief could be doing, but she’s CERTAIN it is better than being with her. 

she leans back and presses her foot to the floor, sucking in a sharp breath as she manages to finally add her weight to it, adjusting her gown. ( it nearly comes to her ankles and she feels strange, considering it’s not what she would usually wear for the day. )  the ache sends a shock up her leg, but she bites into her lips to try and hide it from the other as she slowly pulls herself away from him, wanting to return his space back to him. after a second, the pain is gone, and she can manage what little of it remains.  the green of his clothes reminding her of the forest. her other hand settles in his, and she practically tip-toes forward to keep up with him as he guides her along. his words fall on her ears and she reminds herself to slow down as her eyes glance to his face, blue eyes meeting her gold ones. he speaks so softly, so kindly, that it sends a warmth through her chest like morning sunrise. HOW COULD HE BE SO KIND TO SOMEONE AS MEANINGLESS AS HER? she can’t understand or fathom why he bothers with her. she knows she’s a lot to handle, she’s TOO much, and she wouldn't blame him for leaving. ❝ where are we going ? ❞ she asks curiously after she squeezes his hand, this time to acknowledge that she completely trusts him enough to follow him. ❝ i’m sure you have better things to do. ❞

and yet, her fingers latch gently to his, like sunflowers leaning in towards the sun. she wonders if her mother would scold her knowing beau’s found idol worship in the god at her side, but that thought disappears as quickly as it came. she’s never been one for caring what her mother thought, or quite frankly, what anyone has ever thought.  even healing from an injury, she’s content here at loki’s side, because it reminds her that, perhaps, even with pity, he’s chosen to be here. and he owns her piety because of the reminder that he chooses her. EVEN THOUGH SHE’S YET TO FATHOM A REASON WHY. 

@laufaes​    --->  🛏️ : our muses are forced by circumstance to share a bed for the night .

a situation like this was far from ideal. he hardly wanted to get himself up close and personal with loki but there wasn’t anywhere else to sleep asides from the cold hard floor. tony wasn’t going to do that and clearly loki wasn’t about to offer up the one good spot to him. why would he? he had zero reason to and tony felt the same. they were enemies or something close to that, perhaps enemies was too strong a word after all that had happened.

‘    i guess we’re sharing the bed.  not ideal, you better not to be a snorer or a hugger, things might get weird. ’

he could just lay awake all night which he’d done in the past, but he was already exhausted. still he could try, who was to say loki wasn’t intending to stab him in his sleep. whether they liked it or not they were stuck here together and neither one of them was going to get home without the other. 

@laufaes​  --  “The stars are the only thing that makes sense.”

                                                             late nights

          ❝ Three times they tried to burn her, and three times she was reborn from the ashes. ❞ this is a story he knows from their mother . whether it be true or not , that fact is still in the air . oh how he loves it though . the tale of the very first war . aesir versus vanir .  this young boy though dreams of the days when he can join in on the first battles of his own  .  ❝  Because of this, the Aesir and Vanir came to hate and fear one another, and these hostilities erupted into war. ❞ here is where he trails off into his own version . 

one where HE IS THE HERO of the entire tale .  loki knows this to be true , tries to correct him but thor is having none of it  .  the older brother stands tall on the mattress they both have been laying in for this impromptu story time and begins to jump up and down  . 

             ❝  AND THE MIGHTY THOR SWOOPS IN TO SAVE THE DAY  !! ❞

the young prince’s voice is loud enough to echo throughout the corridors but he cares not .  this much is true .  some day he will be very MIGHTY and then he’ll be able to win his own wars . ❝  you’ll see , brother , one day we will fight side by side .  YOU AND ME  .  ❞

@laufaes​​ said : [read]  your  muse  reads  to  my  muse. assorted word starters