#themindcanbite

[silvertonguedgod-archived]

Blood Family Loki AU (Daine's Son)

5+ Headcanons

Loki is not Daine’s son. Loki is not Daine’s daughter. Loki is Daine’s child and heir. Someday they will be King, but in the language Loki knows, that word is as genderless as they are.

They are the child of a dragon and an elf. As such, they look humanoid ------ and not remotely human ;   their eyes have slitted pupils like their mother’s, their skin deep blue and their long hair black like their father’s, and they have inherited their mother’s stripes that remain on their skin even when they are not in the shape of a dragon. Their ears are tapered to a subtle point, and their fangs are visible when they smile ------ which is often. And unnerving. 

Their smile is more often genuine than not. They are still a skilled deceiver, but this is a result of competitiveness in court and international politics, and not a necessity for survival.

They deigned to cede the position of Archmage to Chalenna ------ but only because being Archmage and King would have been too much responsibility even for them.

They are still polyamorous, pansexual, and panromantic. And as Arcadian society has no restrictions or taboos regarding romance, sex, and sexuality they would be completely unapologetic about experimenting. They still would have only one or two ------ maybe three ------ long-term, consistent romantic partners, because they would still be very highly emotional and prone to getting deeply attached to people. But they would also use some of their leisure time to make a little extra cash as a very, very expensive prostitute ------ sex work being a highly regulated and perfectly well-respected   ( even expected )   job for young people on Arcadia. Like working at a coffee shop during college, except with more respect from clientele.

They were completely spoiled by their mother as a child ;   they had the best tutors in all academic subjects, as well as magic and combat ;   complete affection and support from their parents ;   a communal upbringing with trusted members of Daine’s inner circle ;   an ability to choose their path career-wise and no value judgments placed on their choices ;   and when they came of age their birthday gift was a small lordship to govern, complete with advisers and support from the Capital ------ practice for ruling an entire kingdom.

As a result of their upbringing and their lack of real tribulation, they do not have ptsd. They do still have clinical depression, but that was diagnosed when they were very young, and they are well cared-for.

[mirisintergalactictransport-blog]

@themindcanbite

Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk.

“Oh staaars... ‘ave you seen ‘er? Majesty was made to describe ‘er. Ha! Per’aps it was made for ‘er. ‘ow long do dragons live, do you know? Am told she’s worshipped as a goddess an’ I... ah can believe it, you know? Daeshatu’alin. Alemadone’eta. ‘s in oo she is, ‘s well ‘s ‘er looks. ‘an what looks! Magnificent. Not just ‘er, ah, drake, is it? Drake form. Zat. Also as ‘uman-like. ‘s a model, ver’ famous, ver’ ver’ beautiful. Ahh... But! ‘s been so small, sooo small, leettle leezard. Inna cup! Magic! Not seen ‘er as fuuull size dragon, I ‘ear ‘s bigger ‘n Burnin’ Star. ‘s m’ ship. ‘s a good ship. Love m’ ship.”

The rest of her drunken ramble becomes all about how wonderful her ship is. She really loves that ship.

[infernalinquiries]

Moments Between - On Siblings

The tavern is quiet, and then it explodes. A conversation that was foreign murmurs erupts into hissing and snarls and alien shouting, Mike and Rachel rounding on one another, predators squaring off for a fight, keeping enough space between them to be out of reach for the worst that either can do. He prowls, a movement that is new but instinctive, eyes white and without pupil as his teeth bare and his face contorts with rage - he shouts over his sister and gestures wildly, tail cracking like a whip that scores the ground and keeps people at bay, away from the limb that lifts others effortlessly. She inflates, wings unfolding like hackles, looming and imperious and pacing in a way that clicks, barbs swaying threateningly and daring him closer, growing more and more bold the more often she is kept from speaking, the more often her volume has to rise. They're speaking infernal, but not the kind they're teaching other people; sentences begin but do not seem to finish, the tongue echoes, it does not hit. It is their cousin who barks something that quiets them, eyes turning to her, a giant and imperious woman framed by growing wings and flame. Mikhail shrinks, and lunges for the rafters instead of his sister. Rachel deflates, clears her throat, and creeps back behind the bar. They don't speak for the rest of the evening.

[silvertonguedgod-archived]

[Kingship AU] “When was the last time you left the house? Or opened the curtains for that matter.”

WORRIED STARTERS

"Tell me, my Lady,” he does not lift his chin, but tilts his head and observes his guest from the upturned corner of his eye. 

“What purpose could it serve me to let the sky intrude upon my work?”

He is trying so very hard to be diplomatic -- but the strain of several hard days of negotiations with Alfheim and fussing over the minutiae of contracts and treaties have clearly begun to take their toll.

“The sun fills it too earnestly and the stars are too distant to be of any use. The last thing I need is the constant reminder that Asgard could tilt and the entire Realm ‘Eternal’ crumble into the damned void.”

He may or may not be speaking facetiously.

It’s better, at least, than revealing aught of his own insecurities. 

[byzantinedreams]

Meddle Not

Kaisar moved his desk to a place in his office he felt more suited his turn in attitude. Out of the dark corner, over to a wall-height window, where natural sunlight could stream in, and he would have always a view of the world outside when he worked. The world that mattered. There, at that desk, he sat, elbows on the edge of the table, and his hands folded over each other, and held high, to his chin, as he slouched forward.

Beneath his hands, his cellphone, glowing up with a number already displayed and ready, at the press of a green button, to dial. Daine’s number. It was a call he wanted to make for some time, but not a call he was sure he should make. Wasn’t sure if, really, even now, he had it in him. He bites on his lips as he lifts his gaze up and out, to the city skyline, glowing and glittering with the heat rising into the cool air, making window lights twinkle like stars. It was fairly late, he told himself, he should just wait until tomorrow.

But the sound of excuses like that flowing through his head only further served as proof that if it didn’t happen now, he’d find an excuse every time, every day to not just go through with it. He was not the same man he was a year ago, two years ago, five years ago. He was strong enough for this. Even just hitting the button was a step forward enough, even if she doesn’t pick up, right?

And so, he tapped that green button, and a dial tone rang through the speaker. He closes his eyes, and waits.

[silvertonguedgod-archived]

☂:Shove them into a body of water. (As per Skype)

Hurt my muse

☂:Shove them into a body of water.

He yelps in surprise as the willowy aristocrat hip-checks him off the bank and into a torrent of glacial runoff. He comes up spluttering and drags himself onto an outcrop in the river’s center, swipes his sodden hair out of his eyes (and inadvertently plasters it to his neck), and glares indignantly up at Daine. 

His expression remains unchanging as he gives his arms a jerk and sends a portion of the frigid river hurtling toward where she stands.

[drunkenspacewolf]

A question to the self - Drabble

Tiran leans back in his chair, the back of his head resting against a table and both palms covering his face. He had never been one to sit and idly think to himself since that just invited unwanted thoughts and fears right in.

But ever since that strange ghost visited, he hasn’t been able to focus at all.

“Forgive...what exactly am I carrying? What do I need to drop? How would I even start to forgive myself to move forward?” Tiran spoke aloud yet no answer came from outward or within. So much for that helping.

“Wish I could ask Ink on these things. He’d probably have an answer wrapped up like a present. Wrapped in riddles.” He grins imagining Ink handing him a box of question marks wrapped with a bow.  “He’s probably super busy anyways. Maybe...I could talk with Daine...or Saku.”

Both hands went up along his face to trace fingers through fiery orange hair while sitting up. “Where’d I put my phone again?” He idly spoke while looking around.