THE PRINCE OF LIES

♚ "To be fated to lose. To know destiny itself the architect of my torment. Can it be true? Is to be Loki to be without hope? And if so... to whom can a god appeal for mercy?" + loki, independent rp, mix of 616, 1610 (ultimates) and mcu., multiple verses and storylines. not spoiler free, potentially nsfw. est. april 2013. PLEASE SEE "VERSES" AND "START" FIRST.

[architectofmytorment]

      Looking for people to follow - mostly myth blogs or really well characterized MCU canon? I am AU and OC friendly, mostly para/novella, and I have a verse where Loki works for SHIELD under a different identity. Been away for ages and need to follow more than four people. Rec me or like this???? I'll come check you out????

[beyrilliant]

important find of the day

[architectofmytorment]

     Meanwhile, I have updating to do if I am going to consider coming back since I haven’t been here in like, two years and I am literally following two people – don’t mind the mess.

[naivesansa]

i sat alone, in bed ‘til the morning i’m crying, “they’re coming for me” and i tried to hold these secrets inside me my mind’s like a deadly disease

[architectofmytorment]

If you, or someone you know, was once afixedfigure PLEASE SEND ME A MESSAGE. I am madly seeking an old partner of mine and would pay real money to get back in contact with her.

[architectofmytorment]

      Missing Loki so much???? Nostalgia. Too bad I lost track of my Sigyn u.u

[medicalstate]

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.

Nelson Mandela, 1918-2013. (via medicalstate)

[hugewineglass-blog]

if i wanted to fuck you i would wake up buried in your collarbones i would sit on the edge of my bed spine ridges arched pointing directly into my closet of skeletons if i wanted to fuck you i would make home in your lap undress you like your mother did kissing your rib cage wishing i could sink into every inch of you if i wanted to fuck you i would bite holes through your neck into your throat i would unbury you like a corpse i would give you reason to breathe if i wanted to fuck you i would glide myself like sound waves bouncing off of you make you memorize my name like i was born for you to whimper it if i wanted to fuck you there would be miles of shredded skin there would be scars on your back where for once in my life i wanted someone to be that close but if i wanted to make love to you i would buy you a train ticket i would sound proof my room i would border up my windows if i wanted to make love to you you should be nothing less than terrified

(via well-become-silhouettes)

[fivebyfivelove]

"You’re scared of me because you can’t control me. That doesn’t make me your enemy. It makes me a risk to everything you are and it makes you question if you’re willing to brave the unpredictable."

(via xoxoladyloki)

[becausehiddles]

Thor 2: The Dark World: Behind the Scenes with Tom Hiddleston [x]

[ryzephoenix]

Loki is dead, Odin is dead, and Asgard has fallen. Thor, Balder and a few remain to pick up the pieces of what is left. What does Thor want to do? Bring his brother back from Death, so he can have someone to share the pain of loss with, and make things easier. 

Can you say, “bad idea?”

[laserdeadpool]

[afixedfigure]

This, at least, she could manage. 

A bath.

This she could master, this she could aid. To wash the filth of waring immune systems, the sick sweat of ragging fevers. To grant a moment’s respite, the embrace of faultless waters soothing even the most strained of nerves. 

What a pathetic offering. The limitations of her abilities caused an unseen brow to furrow, the fissures of pale flesh but symptoms of a greater contortion. 

Failing.

She was failing. 

Soft ripples fell against the silence, tightened breaths punctuating the muted waves. An unconsciously imprisoned breath escaped as she turned, fingers slipping from the edge of the sink’s basin. 

To say it was strange, the sight of this god, this formidable, untouchable god, resting hollowed and frail against the edge of her bath, mirky water slowing round long legs bent at the knees - the confines of her home comically small for such a towering creature. Just how the course of her life had resulted in this, in her vague muse settled ruined in the shards of a scrapped existence, Sigyn knew naught. 

Collecting a fresh cloth steps advanced, each breath breeding a strange contrast. The clinical side of her mind, the attendant, she assessed with a calculative eye. Wounds here, bruises there. Sallow skin that begged aid. And yet the woman, the goddess, she felt stirrings of compassion that had, though present, never surged with such intensity. 

To fall so far only to be caught by one you considered to be little more than a pathetic servant, one you would as soon see lifeless than draw breath, surely the prince before her felt naught but scorn and alienation. 

Fingertips fell into the churning water, a sharp gasp pulled from naive lips at the burning which shot violent through placid nerves. Surely he was in pain, greater pain than those which plagued him in moments both waking and fitfully rested. Eyes shot to those emeralds housed above, hooded with sour lids and flat with exhaustion; the question of fleeting concern flashing in her own gaze before survival caused such concerns to fade from the public stage.

An intrepid sweep of cloth and palm, a shoulder bathed in the bite of flaming droplets. 

[architectofmytorment]

Gods, the tension was palpable and it drove him to irritability. She was afraid of him, of some offense she had yet to commit. Perhaps she thought him fragile, Loki who had killed plenty of beasts in the frozen wastes of the desolate place his ancestors called home. Loki, whose lips had been sewn shut by a foul dark thing (with silver wire whose only undeserving mercy had come from Frigga, who had enchanted the wire to spill no blood and for it to bear the sharpest of points so the piercing of his skin would be swift and smooth.

He wondered sometimes, though no scars remained on the face he showed the world, what such scars might look like across blue skin). Such things he had endured, the latter of his own fault, and here she was, delicate and careful. "Do you think I will raise violence against you for your every word and thought? What a monster you must think me, and all of my kind." Ah, the irony. It was not color of skin he meant though and she would know it. He lifted his head, the curve of his spine lessening some, as he sat straighter, though still with his arms around his legs. The skin was red from the water.

Alas, not even such things could melt away the beast within. "Did you fear the Allmother? Surely, a wicked and cruel woman she must have been painted in your stories. As all we were to you were hostage takers, war mongerers, I am sure you find peace in her passing." His tone mocked, but it lacked it's well practiced sharpness. His best weapons had grown dull since his trickery. Loki continued on, as if none of this offended him. "As you so resent, I was raised a prince. You are a lady. Had I wished to cause you harm, I might've done it by now." He did not look at her, would not look at her. She was careful, fingers hardly dipping into the water, and when she did it was to rinse. Loki spoke once more after a lengthy silence, dropping his shoulders and giving in a bit to the warmth and comfort.

One dripping hand brushed raven hair from where the steam and humidity of the room had plastered it against his forehead and Loki nodded towards some bottles. He would humor her, if only so she may stop acting like he might violently assault her at any moment. His eyes were shut, allowing her to move around him as she required. His wound did not ache, he was not sweating or in a state of panic. Why should he waste energy snarling at her when she never took the bait? He was good at baiting people.

Loki was cunning and cruel and sincerity and genuine kindness made him uncomfortable. But she seemed unwilling to play his game and she had ever since they met years ago. So matter the poison he spat at her, she did not seem inclined to react outwardly. And Gods, he was tired of being angry, tired of trying to make her fight back. She had more patience than he did. Loki remembered his prison cell, how Thor had known his grief despite his illusions. He wasn't sure he had ever really left that prison. What he had accomplished with Thor, how they had worked together as they had so long ago...he had felt alive. Thor had trusted him and he had desired to make Thor see such trust was not misplaced.

They had been brothers, bickering and laughing and fighting together. For a while, the war he held held inside his now fragile skeleton, had come to a pause. But he was Loki, and to be Loki was to be a coward, a trickster, a liar. It was worse to be reminded of what he had lost by reliving it for any length of time than it was to lose it all and pretend he bad never known it. Loki splashed water on his face, pushing his hair back, soaking it. When he let his arms return to the water, he froze. Impossibly still, his gaze was fixed on a streak of vile colbat blue curling from the tips of his fingers as if he had dipped his slender fingers in paint. Oh. Oh no. Why was this happening? He tried to force it back, head thudding with his own pulse. He couldn't move.

Water sloshed, Sigyn moved. Sigyn. Sigyn would see him now, this monster beneath his skin. She would also see the most rare of expressions on the prince's face. Fear. Reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights. He blinked, before finding his voice which at first attempt, broke. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and laughed softly beneath his breath, a sad sound."You spoke of Asgard as if you were the only creature taken from their home, a prize of war."

[architectofmytorment]

[rumarou]

Everything I loved became everything I lost.

(via number1jedi)

[lost-explorations]

I destroy myself so you can’t.

Six Word Story #1 (via feastinganddancing)

[afixedfigure]

She had long since silenced her fears at the sight of such a gruesome wound as that which bloomed crimson across his chest. It perplexed the young healer to no end, confusing those senses that were bound to precedent and reality. 

It should have killed him,

The thought was cruel and harsh in her mind, one instantly rejected if only for fear of the idea. And yet as she unwound soiled bandages from the grim injury, movements measured to keep the suffering he undoubtedly battled to a minimum, she knew the truth of her convictions. The very fact that he stood here, greyed and sallow before her, was nothing short of a miracle. 

"Aye, my lord, I feel it." A quiet acknowledgement, for what good would it do to shield the truth of this situation from eyes that had already marked an apt assessment? Grim, perhaps overly dramatic, and yet correct at its base. 

Reaching behind his prone form the goddess wet a soft rag, wringing it to little more than dampness before carrying it to the source of his agony. Eyes flickered upwards to his sharp gaze in a soft, apologetic glance as gentle ministrations cleaned caked blood from a bitter wound. 

"Your flesh rebells against itself, against its nature. These ailments should fall to the side, healed of their own accord and yet they linger." A sigh then, fingers applying fresh dressing to a wound she did not trust to open water.

[architectofmytorment]

Loki hummed in agreement but said nothing else. In his time with Sigyn in this place so unlike their home, Loki had found himself the subject of her skilled fingers and which may have been smooth if not so calloused. Flesh on flesh, his skin oft bared for her ministrations, somehow more intimate than love making. What intimacy was to say, Thor, it was not to Loki. Intimacy was vulnerability, trust, closeness. Still, of course, this meant sharing parts of himself but the parts he shared were not of his body. He need not bare his form to another to show them who he was, what lingered in his heart. Such things, sacred and sweetly hidden, they were of his very soul.

Seidr, the essence of who he was. Magic, charms, illusions and trickery.

Not all were born of malice. Frigga had known such things. She had known that such gifts were treasures. Loki's voice and his thoughts- they were kept now in confidence, no longer offered. once long ago stolen from him for his deceit and trickery, the same words of which innocence was warned against, lest he mar their hearts with his lies. But Loki did not speak in only lies and riddles. He was wise, studious and sharp of mind.

He saw things others missed, knew secrets so old the only the stones could tell them. All these things were more intimate than any roll in the furs. His joy and his sincerity, his fear and his sorrow. So few knew Loki and many who did were now out of his reach. Who left could he claim to love as he once did? With whom would Loki ever deign to share himself, who would ever find themselves close to one who made himself so distant?

And yet, though he had not considered it, Sigyn had come in a short time to know parts of him. His fury and his loneliness, his vulnerability. She touched him, tended his wounds as his mother had once and he did not refuse her. There was no mockery in her tenderness. She never seemed to forget she was caring for a dragon, for a wounded animal in a cage of his own making. He hated her quietly, and sometimes not at all. In the bathroom, she finished redressing what she could.

Loki raised his eyes to hers in the mirror. "I suppose you must assist me. Help the cripple bathe lest he undo all your handy work." He moved and turned his back to her. The water began to fill the tub and he let it run scalding hot. Let it burn, melt away the disgusting thing that lived in him without his consent. He glanced over his shoulder when it was finely done, the basin full. "Avert your eyes, woman." He commanded, and a moment later the towel dropped. Into the scalding, steaming water his weakened and thinning frame descended.

He clenched his teeth against the feel of the water burning across his skin and leaned in on himself, keeping the bandage above the water as best he could, the ridges of his spine prominently displayed between the width of his shoulder blades. He was silent, knees drawn to his chest, water settling around him.