it's about the burden you choose.

an independent loki rp. selective interactions and aggressively character-driven. thrives on slow burns, poor coping mechanisms, and consequences.

[monarcha]

𝖎 𝐤𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝐤𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖔𝖉 𝖎 𝖓𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊.

an indie rp ft. multiple canon distinct lokis. thrives on slow burns, poor coping mechanisms, and consequences. multi-ship, multi-verse, and crossover friendly. established 2012. based in est. penned and beloved by cam (30+). blog is 18+. rules ⚜ lokis (mobile vers.)

[monarcha]

-

[monarcha]

fate + drabble

prompt

It’s best not to know your fate beforehand; you’ll live happier if you don’t.

Alone in his study, low-lit save for a smattering of dripping, green-flamed candles, Loki sat at his desk, Codex Regius spread open before him. Its vellum pages were illuminated little by the moonlight that filtered through the study’s large, open windows, but it mattered not; he had memorized its contents long ago.

Mostly, he had opened the volume so that he’d have something to stare at while he thought.

Ignoring fate never made it any less inevitable. Perhaps he would’ve lived a happier life if he hadn’t known the horrors that would befall him. He’d surely have slept better if he hadn’t known that he’d cause innumerable tragedies — the death of his brother, children cursed to be nightmares, the ever-looming threat of Ragnarök. No, rather than ignore fate, he’d done something else: try to avoid it.

This was a trap, and he had always known it. Each attempt to sidestep what would be only ever drew him closer to it. Fate would allow him to feel as if he had some agency along the way — he could have his kingdoms and realms, could collect as many enemies as he wished to battle and as many lovers as his gluttonous appetites would allow. Glory could adorn his courts and awe follow his reputation. He could be mighty, fearsome, inevitable in his own right…and yet, it would always be there: Fate, observing quietly from the shadows, weaving on its loom, incessantly.

With fate, he knew it was never a question of if, but when. The fates were as certain as death itself. He’d understood from boyhood that some things were simply set, chosen, decided, and while one did not have to like it, some things just were.

One of those things was that he, Loki, would forever be the bringer of chaos — something he’d eventually understood to be a necessity, if a painful one. The simple truth was that someone, somewhere had to be the one to give the universe the occasional restart.

He also knew well enough to understand that this was why his life had always swung on such a violent pendulum, the highest highs made to match the lowest of lows. In order to offer the universe new life, he would in some ways have to give up pieces of his own. He would be stripped from his children; he would sit as poison drip-drip-dripped onto his forehead, his wife unable to always protect him from the pain. He would be blamed, usually rightfully but not always; he would be outcast, ostracized, yet thanked for the same reasons he’d been hated.

Closing his eyes, he turned his thoughts to Lilé — ethereal, lovely Lilé, whom he adored and had killed for. His Lilé, the one creature in the entire Nine Realms that could cause his calloused hands to loosen their grip on his kingdoms long enough to caress hers.

He would give her everything, if she wanted it. His heart, yes, what little there was left of it. If it was children she wanted, then they would have them. Another realm, a man’s head on a pike, all of the glittering, shimmery things in the Nine — he would lay them at her feet if she simply suggested that she might be interested in them.

Poor Lilé.

With a wave of his hand, Loki snuffed out each green-flamed candle, his mood having sufficiently darkened. The study grew colder, frost creeping up the glass windows despite the temperate air outside.

Grimacing, he shut the manuscript. Surely she understood this Fated thing about him. Surely, she understood that loving him meant, in many ways, accepting that she would one day lose him — whether to his ever-growing ambition and lust for power or to Ragnarök. Surely she knew that his nature, his fate, meant that her realms of Fae were a tantalizing lure. Surely she knew that the same force within him that loved with such devotion was the same that could conquer worlds.

She knew. And, he mused, perhaps the Eddas were right — one would live happier not knowing one’s fate.

Surely, she would.

[christophernolan]

ACADEMY AWARD WINNER Cillian Murphy returns as TOMMY SHELBY

Peaky Blinders: THE IMMORTAL MAN | March 2026

[catchameme]

Send me a word or theme and " + drabble " and I will write a dabble / one-shot surrounding the given word.

Bonus: if you include " ft. " and a character or muse name, it will center around an interaction between the two or a group.

[xwxtchbxtchx]

[monarcha]

much like loki i too disappear for random and unexplained periods of time but always return

[divinityrisen]

@monarcha liked this for a starter ( from sif )

Sif blamed herself for the state of the world she fought for. Once, it’d been wildflowers, beautiful and colourful, now awash in the blood. Gardens trampled underfoot, trees a blaze from alien war machines, and a horizon of pastel colours drowned in muck and crimson. Trenches snaked through the fields, mechanical horrors strewn in craters, and across the battlefield, the howls of the dying, and those losing themselves to bloodlust of battle cut through gunfire equal measure.

         It was a war with no end in sight; it’d raged for so long no one knew why they were fighting beyond saving the lives of their kin. The people had called to Sif when their opponents began unleashing true horrors upon them, and when she answered, she’d recouped the losses and fought the enemy to a standstill. 

         There was a lull in the battle which permitted Sif a moment to herself. She mulled over war plans in her tent, the hearth scarcely alive. The embers seethed red, but the heat they gave felt pale. She spared it a glance, knowing she’d have to tend to it soon, but couldn’t pull herself away from her thoughts. She knew of a way to win, but that would be asking the men to commit similar atrocities as those they fought against. Asking them to do so, would be asking them to give up what remained of their souls. 

           “Lady Sif,” a soldier stepped inside. His skin was orange, eyes a bright blue, and he lacked a nose. He gave her a quick salute, “you have a visitor.”

         Her gaze returned to the plans on the desk, “if it’s any of the commanders…”

         “It’s not, My Lady,” he assured her.

         “Send them in, then.” she sighed.

         She heard the soldier step outside, and then the footfalls of another entering. Sif didn’t look over right away.

         “If you’re not a soldier, you have no business being on the frontlines—” she fell silent, eyes wide as she stared at a familiar face. “Loki?”

         Sif rose, bewildered. Thor told her that his brother was dead, he’d perished at the hands of Mad Titan. He’d been so certain Loki’s death hadn’t been a lie or trick, yet here the prince was, alive.

         She spoke without thought, “do you ever tire of lying to your brother?”

[monarcha]

The stench of blood and burning metal filled Loki's nose as he wove his way through the battlefield. Floating above it was something else, so easy to miss for how gently it wafted: the scent of wildflowers, a memory of what had been and no longer was.

Since his escape from the Mad Titan, Loki had encountered more planets like this one than he cared to count. It seemed as if the entire universe had fallen into chaos, and that he found it bothersome was remarkable, given his reputation.

He firstly responded to Sif with a smirk of the unreadable sort, something tinged with melancholy and mischief. Then, the god moved towards the hearth, and knelt before it with his palms facing the dying embers. Moments later, a fire stirred within the hearth once more -- though this time, with green-tipped flames.

"It's nice to see you too, Sif," he said with a dry chuckle. "Seems as if things are going swimmingly for you here."

[monarcha]

Would there ever be a time in which Loki gives up his power and thrones? Would he become tired of it?

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. The answer is different for each Loki.

𝑴𝑪𝑼 𝑳𝒐𝒌𝒊 would likely train a successor (be it his child or chosen protégé), but remain in the background as a sort of counselor or advisor. The truth is that he's worked too hard to simply "give up" his power and thrones, but this more enlightened Loki would know that there comes a point when the wise ruler must part from his titles. 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑳𝒐𝒌𝒊 is hanging onto his power and thrones until the day he dies, but the last thing he would want is for his legacy to die with him. So he too would train a successor of sorts who would sit by his side and observe his rule, but wouldn't ascend until after Loki actually dies.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR PRE ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS AND CREATING HISTORY BETWEEN CHARACTERS *  assorted dialogue for giving your characters a history and giving them past things or events to talk about, adjust as necessary

do you remember what i told you last time?

have you been doing well since i saw you?

that's not what you told me back then.

when was the last time i saw you?

you were shorter then.

i'm picking the restaurant this time.

we've known each other since we were children.

always knew i could count on you.

that time was different. this is worse.

you're not going to let me live that down, are you?

i seem to remember a conversation we had back then.

so you changed your mind about it?

do you remember our encounter in paris?

you should know me by now.

am i the only one that knows the truth?

we had a lot of help back then.

your mom told me to look out for you.

you just love bringing that back up to annoy me.

maybe don't mention my past indescretions?

this was never going to work out between us.

i told you not to get attached.

i know more about you than you think.

i was there, remember?

i'm not about to forget all the shit you put me through.

you told me you were going to try and make this work.

remember what i said to you?

the last time i saw you, things were good between us.

you never mentioned this before.

that was the longest flight of my life, and you made it worse.

can i still trust you after all that?

at least we tried to make something work.

we never discussed what happened between us.

okay, but i'm driving the car this time.

i haven't forgotten what you said last week.

i'm still thinking about your comment.

i didn't realize it was you when i first saw you.

you seem to make a lot of enemies around here.

there's not much for us to talk about.

we worked it out last time.

i know you far better than you know yourself.

we have a long history.

is that the shirt you were wearing last time?

what don't i know about you?

i haven't told them about us.

you were the only person i could go to.

you know me.

this is bigger than both of us.

i can't stand your driving.

are you taking me to the place we had dinner last time?

that's not at all what you said.

didn't we agree on that?

i thought i made it very clear where i stand.

are these the same people that came after you last time?

are you still going on about it?

can we talk about it?

staying silent about it won't help.

you're the only person who knows the real me.

this is a bad time to talk about your problems.

[bullseyebishop]

She should have foreseen the teasing words that slipped so easily from his lips, the eye roll of her own that followed without even thinking about it, and the curve of her lips that she couldn’t hold baxk afterward. “Maybe.” Kate offered to appease him and the ego that came with being Loki, and she hated that the more time she spent with him, the more endearing that ego became. “But if you think about it, we might be doing something slightly illegal, but it’s for good reason right? So it’s heroic… ish. Very Robin Hood.”

If Robin Hood’s secret talent was counting cards with a magical wizard god, obviously.

Kate bit her bottom lip, blue hues watching his hopefully as she could see him considering her offer in his mind. She knew that maybe Cassie or Kamala could brainstorm some fundraising too, but she really wanted to do this without anyone knowing, without them worrying — maybe that all was on Kate’s ego, feeling the need to care for the group and not wanting to fail her team.

“Wait, really!?” Her lips parted, a toothy grin splintering her expression, gaze brightening almost immediately. Hand reached out, excitedly grasping Loki’s knee. “Oh my god, okay, uh…” Kate realized she’d touched him and pulled back, a flush on her cheeks as she muttered a quiet sorry before continuing. “Is tomorrow too soon? I know a guy who knows a guy, I can get us a room by tomorrow afternoon. I know it’s short notice, it’s just… y’know, you like to disappear sometimes so it’s probably best to just get it over with and rent’s due soon so… yeah. Tomorrow? We’ll spend the weekend and hopefully get lucky doing something?”

[monarcha]

Gods help him, he wanted to put her hand on his knee again, if only just to have it rest there, to feel the warmth of her palm. Somehow it was anchoring -- she was real, she was here, and she was asking him to perform an absolute act of mischief. How could he have possibly refused?

And worse, she noticed that he had a habit of disappearing. Loki was unsure why that thought carried with it a dusting of shame. He was unused to being seen, noticed, wanted. He'd seen what that sort of neglect had done to him in his past lives, the kind of god it'd turned him into. He was beginning to understand that some of it had been his fault; he'd been missed, but he made efforts to keep it that way. Something about it made him clench his jaw. Why did he care if Kate noticed that he wasn't around?

"Tomorrow," he agreed, and yet he knew as he said it that Kate had no reason to believe he wasn't going to disappear. Braving a slap in the face -- or worse, rejection -- he reached out and squeezed her hand. "I promise. And we'll get filthy fucking rich, yeah?"

[jamjjamm]

Loki

[ofgunsandlipstick]

She was much more observant than most people suspected; it served her well. Peggy is quick to register the flash of pain he hides, making her own suspicions about his departure even more concrete. There was more to the story than it had first seemed and she resolved to get to the bottom of it.

Michael was doing nothing but his job, ensuring no damage might come to her reputation, but she couldn't help the flash of annoyance as she realized yet another barrier in communicating freely. Not for the first time, she yearned for the days of climbing trees and picking berries without a care for the rules of society.

Her lips quirked into a flash of a smile as she realized he'd managed a way around it. No one would bat an eye at a dance--at least not in a way that might cause harm to their own prospects. And she was more than capable than handling the scrutinizing gaze of curious onlookers. "Wouldn't you know, my dance card is woefully empty," she replied, meeting his gaze with a conspiratorial lift of her brow. "I'd like nothing quite so much."

[monarcha]

"Delightful," he offered, and it wasn't long before he'd swept Peggy from the protective presence of her brother. He led her to the dancefloor, performed the customary pre-dance rituals -- a kneel, a bow, whatever it was done carelessly so that he could get on with it -- and pulled her close, so that his words could not be heard by anyone but their intended listener.

One of his hands settled on her waist, and the other cradled one of her own. Peggy was more than just his oldest friend; she had been his confidant, and in many cases, she had offered perspective even the most clever, grown, educated men among their society simply didn't possess. He'd thought her brilliant as well as beautiful, and too good for any of the potential suitors that surely glared at the pair of them now.

He began with an apology. "Peggy," he began, almost a plea. "Please forgive me. I never intended to hurt you."

[bobrvynolds]

@monarcha continued from here --

In another life, one not so long ago, Loki's immediate reaction to someone else touching him, or even simply reaching into his personal space, would have produced a reaction not unlike that of a cat: hissing (of the metaphorical sort), smacking of hands, and a look that would kill, if looks could do that sort of thing. But the years have softened him. He was still Loki -- still a trickster, still himself -- but he had removed the chip from his shoulder. So, while physical touch was still not something he would actively seek out, he no longer immediately flinched away from touches which proved to be non-threatening. They were touches as this one: someone reaching out to straighten the lapel of Loki's jacket, which had been flipped by the wind and rain outside. The small smile which he gave the man in return was soft, but genuine. "I thank you for appealing to my vanity," he said. "Can't stand to have even a hair out of place." He dipped his head in a small nod. And then, somewhat theatrically, because he had changed but not totally, he asked: "Your name, kind sir...?"

He couldn't help it. Standing right beside him, in all his Norse glory; was the god of mischief himself. These galas keep getting crazier and Bob has to contain himself from absolutely freaking out, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

Maybe the booze is actually starting to affect him (not possible), or the energy of the room giving him confidence-- but his arm moves on his own and very gently picks a stray chip off of the god's shoulder. Bob meets his eyes, soft and a little intimidating, given how much taller Loki was-- and manages a lopsided smile.

"Bob. My name's-- yeah. Bob. S-sorry, it was bothering me for some reason.." Nervous, as he usually was; even more so when he tries to mimic a small bow of the head. "Some gala, huh.. h.. how exactly did uh.. how'd you get your invitation? Like up in the sky or something?"

[monarcha]

It didn't matter how old Loki became or how much wisdom he gained with each passing day -- he would never be able to resist the boost in ego that came with recognition. He could see it in Bob's eyes, and it certainly made the god's shoulders square with pride.

He neither flinched nor swatted at Bob when he removed some article of dust or debris off of one of those squared shoulders. He noted the mix of emotions in Bob's eyes and held his gaze, as if to say, you may continue. "Bob," he said in greeting, before offering his hand to shake. "Loki. Though I suspect that you knew this."

He waited a beat before answering Bob's question, which had made him chuckle. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a postmarked envelope. "A letter, same as most everyone else. It's helpful to maintain a residence Midgard-side." Another pause. "But I also received an email. Just in case, I suppose."

[ahawkeyesview]

@monarcha || Beneath

Being around Loki always made his skin crawl, but the manner in which it did changed as their relationship evolved. The mortal was still hesitant around the other but yet trusted he was in good hands, he had no reason to, but he did. Loki had earned that much.

His brows furrow with the name of the pendant, his fingers still brushing it a gingerly, Clint's gaze flicks up to meet Loki's and he tilts his head, "Say it again?"

[monarcha]

The air between them was thick, heavy with history. It had not been so long ago that Loki had subjected the man to the kinds of things that now made his own stomach turn. Clint had every right not to trust Loki, and the god wouldn't have blamed him if Clint had drawn him close just to stab him through the eye with an arrow.

But he had been trying to earn Clint's trust again, with genuine effort. It had initially been in his search for atonement. That kind of thing wasn't supposed to be for him -- fate was supposed to dig his grave for him and then shove him into it, but it was almost as if seeking to right his wrongs had shifted their designs for him.

Now, his gaze flickers from Clint's eyes to his mouth, and he dares to lean just a little closer, close the gap between them just a little more.

"The World Tree," he murmured. "Yggdrasil."

[monarcha]

i got sick again lol

[ofgunsandlipstick]

People gossiped, of course they did. She suspected people tried to keep from her, at least at first, given the closeness between their two families. But Peggy had found herself surprised--perhaps a bit hurt--by his sudden departure for the Continent. No word of warning, no sent letter to say goodbye and suddenly a friend was gone. The only friend she'd felt the kinship of a similar wrong footedness amongst the ton with. Maybe it was too much to ask or maybe it had happened right when propriety would have looked askance at a letter sent between the two. There was nothing to do but move forward, careening towards her debut in society at large.

Now he was apparently back, years later and with a similar lack of note. Maybe her memory was faulty. Maybe they'd never been so close as she thought.

But at the very least, she could see a genuine smile on his face as he greeted her and Michael, if nothing else. And it truly wasn't the time to interrogate the incident. She nodded in answer to his bowed head and smiled back. "The Carters all fare well," she responded. Then, a bit bolder than she should, quickly before her brother can chide her, "I'm particularly pleased to see your return, sir. Parties have been dreadfully dull. And I pray tell you might tell me of your time on the Continent!"

[monarcha]

Though he had resolved initially to remain stoic, already he was crumbling to the idea of being seen, of having a confidant -- but specifically in Peggy. They had been so close growing up; she had made him feel seen, not small.

And so he knew that she, of all people, would catch the falter in his expression at the mention of the Continent. It was true that he had been so wrapped up in his own turmoil that he had not immediately considered his friendship with Peggy when he'd left home -- though he'd had little time to consider much of anything beyond how little time he had left at home to begin with.

But how to tell her? His dear friend, whom his closeness to would already set tongues wagging. And he surely could not speak openly with her brother nearby, charming as he was.

When he held her gaze again, there as a glint of sadness in it. To Michael it might look like regret at how little time they had this evening. But he hoped she might see was was really there -- the conflict in his blue eyes, the pain of being sent away.

An idea struck.

"Perhaps a dance between two old friends, to celebrate his return?"