#!sleep meme

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Zzz

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    It wasn't strange for Loki to pass out in weird places. Once he'd fallen asleep in his library, another time he was found curled up on his study's desk, and another time he was even found half naked in the snow outside, zonked out cold (pun not intended). Today he was sprawled out on his tummy in the middle of his hallway, Evelyn curled up beside him and snoozin' away. Not once did either of them stir, not even as the God began to mutter in his sleep.

    "Dammit, Lily, I bought ya a new vibrator fo' Christmas," he grumbled, his nose twitching. "Ya don' want tha one I took from ya. 'S icky. 'S covered in Lokeh germs. Ew."

    With his face pressed as it was against the wood floor beneath, one would think he was uncomfortable, and perhaps he normally would have been had he been awake, but there was no sign of discomfort on his form or even on his squished little face as he lay there. "'M diseased, Lily. 'M a monster. Rrrrr."

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“zzz...”

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    "Who even are ya? Get outta mah house." Loki was growling in his sleep, which was as menacing as a puppy, to be completely honest. "How'd'ya get past the wards anyhow, tha's impossible. Shoo... Away wit' ya."

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Zzz (I couldn't resist)

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    "Can y'not? Bloody 'ell." If it wasn't painfully evident by the way his words were slurred that he was definitely dreaming then it certainly was upon looking at him passed out at his desk in his study on a sunny afternoon. "Yer annoyin', get outta mah house. I ward ya off. Shoo." There was a crease between Loki's brow, one that indicated he was either angry or irritated by someone or something within his dream, though who it was honestly remained a mystery. "Juss leave me 'lone. Norns..."

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Zzz

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    "Why d'ya keep followin' me? Yer weird." Loki was ungracefully sleeping on his bedroom floor and how he'd ended up there remained a mystery, especially as there were many possibilities as to why. "Leave m'alone. Bug 'nother Loki. Don' steal mah shirts 'nymore. Thank'ya."

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Zzz

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    "D'ya think they sell Head 'N Shoulders in hell?" He grumbled, burrowing his face further into his pillow as he slept on, his breathing heavy and slow. "Why's yer realm called Hell, didja steal it from m'daughter?" A grunt followed suit and Loki shifted in his sleep to a more comfortable position. After several long moments of silence, filled only by his breathing, he finally spoke once more, "Yer a stealer."

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Zzz - luv quinn. i love all the ask memes

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    To be completely honest, the heat did strange things to Loki, not just physically. If he was exposed to it for too long he was at risk of passing out, even dying if conditions were extreme, and even if he was not outside for that long did not mean he was effected somehow. All day he’d been in and out of their inn room, popping from shade to shade as best as he could and struggling when there was no shade nearby to hide beneath. Even if he was beneath the protective cover of a tree’s leaves the air around him was still stuffy and hot, making his entire outdoor experience miserable no matter where he went.

    While he certainly did not pass out, he did manage to get a headache and went to bed that night with his temples pounding and a thin sheen of sweat still slicked on his forehead. Thankfully, the nights were much cooler than the days, but still he yearned for freezing temperatures to relieve him of this pain.

    His dreams that night were weird. Normally, Loki didn’t dream and he certainly never talked in his sleep, but had he been awake during the duration of this he would’ve blamed it on the heat, which was partially true. The heat did weird things to him and this was just one of the many. “Quinn, stop,” he grumbled into his pillow, swatting his hand as if he were swatting someone in his dream. “We’re in public, ya can’t do tha’. Stop it.”

    Another swat followed by Loki’s wriggling body. “Quinn, I said quit it. We’re bein’ watched. People’ll see. Shush. Don’t touch me there.”

    Once awake in the morning, Loki wouldn’t remember his dream nor would his headache be gone. He’d sit up in bed, rub his eyes, and wince at the bright light shining through the window and making his head throb.

    Maybe the dream was spurred on by the headache or maybe it truly was the heat. Who was to know?

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'Zzz'.

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    "Sinner," he began, giving a little giggle as he wiggled a bit in his sleep. "Stop it. Not there, tha' tickles." Another giggle, more wiggling, and his innocent little sleepy face contorted into something resembling glee. "Nnn, tha' feels nice. Do it again. Yes... Yes. There."

    For anyone looking on, it would have likely been a rather uncomfortable experience. While Loki was, indeed, dreaming--for once--it certainly was not an innocent one and if that wasn't evident by his words than it certainly was by his wriggling form. Honestly, had anyone seen and told him about it upon waking, he would have been too embarrassed to leave his room for the rest of the day and definitely too embarrassed to talk to Sinner at all, much less about his dream.

    Upon waking, though, the God would trudge to the shower almost immediately and there he'd remain for a little longer than usual, probably taking care of what had arisen beneath the covers.

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Zzz.

My character mumbling something about yours in their sleep

    It was the wee hours of the morning when the sun had not yet kissed the horizon in greeting, but its nearing approach painted the sky in the faintest of pinks and oranges. Loki lay sprawled atop his bed—rather ungracefully—on his stomach, arms spread about, face smashed into his pillow, and sleep heavy on his relaxed form. He would not wake for a few hours yet and in the meantime he slept on, dreaming of things he would not remember when he pulled from the depths of sleep.

    Talking in his sleep was not a rare thing. He’d been doing it since he was a child, since he’d learned to speak coherent sentences. His mother had always wondered what things he dreamt of, especially as his sleep-filled words were so vague and by the morning he rarely remembered if he’d even dreamt at all. So now, despite her not being around to witness the event, it was no surprise at all that he spoke so vaguely, “Why d’ya have more hair than me?” He muttered into his pillow, his face twitching into a faint expression of confusion and displeasure. “Can I make’a braid? Juss’ a lil’ big one.” A pause. “Elrond, please—” Yet another, far lengthier pause in which his face contorted further. “Thank’ya. I make it pretty like you.”