#silvertonguedgod

[Text: Laerke]: Where are you? I’m coming to get you. There is no way I’m letting you stay out like this. Not alone, at least.

[Text: Loooooki]: No no no no no no

[Text: Loooooki]: Once I achieve my ideal state of 85% wine I’ll be good to go

new year cheer. ll accepting always!

I would like to open this meme with some love for @silvertonguedgod​. Eloki has built me up from the word go, and I do not exaggerate when I say that this account would not exist without her support and help. She has been my strongest supporter in creating and fine-tuning Hel, and is always there for me both when it comes to writing and as a friend. We have come up with some amazing worlds and relationships, and I am always challenged to improve because of the quality that Eloki gives me to play off of. I am so blessed to have met her way back on my Julia blog, and I am so looking forward to more of our worldbuilding both here with Hel and with my Dream and Aria muses.

In addition to being a great friend and content creator, the writing. Oh my God. Eloki has such a fantastic grasp of her muse, no matter the verse or situation. This is a work of art in terms of characterization, and in just how willing Eloki is to have Loki grow beyond his bounds. There is a reason that her Loki is so near and dear to my heart -- and the hearts of many of my muses -- and it’s that wonderful, realistic depth that he displays with Eloki at the helm. This is a mun and a muse for all occasions, from self-indulgent crack to absolutely heart-rending emotional development and setting-shaking threads.

@silvertonguedgod continued from here

Merlin stared at him, feeling oddly like the floor had fallen out from under him, like the world was fading away into so much white noise, leaving only the tall, almost etherial form for the man before as the only real point in reality. 

He was not a compulsive man by nature, not given to trust or speak freely, even with people he knew well and certainly not with people he’d just met. And some nagging part of him, pressed to the back of his mind, was arguing that he should not trust this man, whose face he recognized from news footage from Germany and New York.

They were wrong. He wasn’t sure how he knew and questioning it felt like a sin. This man was a god, he was meant to be worshiped and served.

An unusually large black cat with a perfectly diamond-shaped white patch on their chest sashayed into the room, tail held high, strolling in that way that cats do when they are trying to look like they utterly belong exactly where they are and anyone who says otherwise is clearly off their rocker. It paused at the sight of the god, and if there was any indication that it knew it was in the presence of a deity, it was in the brief, barely-perceptible expanding of its pupils. 

They seemed to shake that notion right off, holding their nose high as if sniffing the air for something interesting, before finally padding, silent as a summer breeze, up to a half-filled mug of mead. The cat dipped their snout into it curiously, then leaned back and settled on their haunches, their fluffy, pitch black tail curling around their legs like a noble might pull their cape around their shoulders in distress.

Continued from ask

The man who hears the woman speak tilts his head, corvid in consideration. His eyes pale as they narrow, and he slowly peels his lips back from his teeth —— a grin of genuine amusement, and still a mask as true as any he wears. The magic of her creeps across his skin like static electricity, like his brother’s bolts striking near —— and here, at the place where two rivers meet, he leans back on the heels of his hands and curls his fingers into the deep moss, legs outstretched toward the rushing water.

“ I imagine you do know me, ”  he tells the Faerie outlined in black ink.  “ If merely by name, or by some sense of the thing that I am. ”

He looks away for a moment, and when he looks back, his flesh is ruddy and features round and fair, and his hair is as dying embers. Another look away, and his face and hair return to their original state, autumn fire melting from both and leaving them white and black as winter, dagger-sharp in countenance and shadowed.

“ Grant me a name of yours, my Lady of the Twilight Places, and you shall have one of mine in return. ”

Her answering smile full of too-small, needle-like teeth is filled with an odd sort of delight at his reply and she steps away from the darkness clinging to her like reaching tendrils. The shadows retreat to their rightful places among the branches of the trees and her feet, black and clawed and reminiscent of those of birds, touch the ground for the first time.

The change does not disturb her smile, but her hair seems to take on a life of its own, ruffling like feathers as her pupilless eyes watch him eagerly.

As she lowers herself to the ground, they are almost mirror images of each other, black and white, separated by the crystalline waters of the stream.

It has been almost a year since Laerke received her very first present. In many ways, not much has changed.

She still hides behind her mother’s skirts, or her father’s imposing form, or  whichever brother was near when she gets spooked, though there are now fewer such occasions. She still spends most of her nights staring up at the stars but now she knows more of their names and can discuss them as if they were old friends. She is still too small for the healer’s liking, though almost two years of Asgardian meals are finally beginning to soften her sharp edges

She still prefers to spend winter nights in the company of her brothers.

A nest of blankets and pillows has formed in Loki’s widow seat. Nestled in its core is Laerke with a book held tight between her tiny fingers. Every so often a low whisper disturbs the peaceful quiet to puzzle out a pronunciation. 

“Loki?” she speaks up but does not turn her gaze from the page. Her voice is casual, near disinterested in a tone she learned long before learning how to speak freely. It was a tone that suggested a big question was forthcoming. Very rarely did Laerke give away serious questions with appropriate emphasis. 

“Do you think someday someone will love me? Like in the stories?” She’s quick to add the clarification for she knows her brothers love her and would never question it. (There will come a time for her to wonder about Loki’s heart but not for a few hundred years). She also knows that love for a sibling is only one kind of love.