New Website!!!

It's finally done, I have a fresh website, with official pictures and a blog posting plan!

Here is a link:

https://marlenesimonette.wixsite.com/outofmywritemind

I'm going to keep this site up for a bit while I see what I can salvage from it. Once I take what I need/want, I'm probably going to mark it as a private site. That way I can always come back and look through it. Or I'll keep this one just for reblogs. I haven't yet decided.

Also, I've started a book review site with the Treehouse of Writers:

https://treehousetales.godaddysites.com/

Right now, Robyn and I are the most active reviewers; she posts on Mondays, I post on Fridays. She takes amazing book photos, and has inspired me to give it a shot. So far I've only taken a photo of one book (I'm happy with how it turned out!), but I'm trying to set aside some time on the weekends so I can do it with all of my reviews.

If anyone has fairy tale retelling recommendations, let me know! It could be featured in the future, or one of our team members can review it!

That's all for now,

~Marlene

Be Wary of Strangers, Part 13

Guess what?! I finally wrote a thing. It’s been done for almost a month. But let’s say I waited until Fall weather made an appearance, and just ignore my terrible life-juggling skills, ‘kay? (Crud I just now realized I still have my winter theme from last year.)

I am also working on designing and monetizing a website for fairy tale retelling, so keep an eye out for that. (See? More specific than “I’m working on another blog”, so I’m making progress. :P) And writing for a Deadzone group, I might be doing that soon. Totally unrelated to the aforementioned website, but my brain is melting and I feel the need to jam everything I’m doing/going to be doing in one section.

Hurry, read the thing before I start rambling about my knitting projects!

————————

Part Thirteen

A day and a half later, Loki is well enough to attempt cleaning the house. Painstakingly, he goes through the rooms, one by one. He doesn’t leave, to try and find the woman or his brother. One reason was that, despite his rapid healing, and even with the aid of a few spells, he was still weak. He shudders to think of what would have happened had Thor not still retained a modicum of control. The other was that the woman had left her jacket. It had an inter dimensional pocket, and should she survive her encounter, she would likely return for it.

Stopping to rest every few hours, he manages to clean the house. Out of habit, he heads down into the basement. With a torch in hand [check previous parts, can’t recall if they use electricity or fire], he navigates the maze. At first, he goes along with his head lowered, eyes half closed.

As he nears the room, his head jerks up.

Is that...breathing?

He whispers a spell to enhance his hearing, lowers to a half-crouch, and readies a dagger. Both Thor and the woman Delilah are in the room; Delilah lay sprawled on the bed face-down, Thor is on the floor at the foot of the bed in a heap.

Loki scowls at the woman. While Thor undoubtedly gave her trouble, there was no need for her to toss him aside like that. He holds his fingers together and aims a spell at the air above the woman’s head.

An explosion sounds, and a few lights flicker about the room. Thor makes no move, though Delilah stirs.

She blearily looks around, then stalks over to Loki’s side, ignoring the illusion that he placed in the doorway.

In an instant, she’s at his side, hissing into his ear: “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“You’ll have to be specific.”

Delilah’s fingers close around his throat. “That you’re from another @!#*& world.”

“Does that change anything?”

“Everything.” She winces and lowers herself to the floor—without relinquishing her hold on Loki’s neck. He awkwardly lowers himself to sit beside her. “Oh.” She releases her hold and runs her hands through her hair. “The rules of your world, the rules of this world—they’re fighting. I can neither cleanse nor kill your brother. Your magic won’t work much longer if you stay. I could help—provided you choose to remain here. Permanently. If you relinquish whatever—”

“Done.”

Delilah raises her brows.

A rueful smile tugs at his mouth. “Our family is dead, our home destroyed, and the universe is on track to be obliterated.”

“And you tried to drag that bedlam here.” She shakes her head. “I don’t like you.”

“Get in line.”

With a sigh, she leans back. “I need to rest. Maybe eat.”

“What blood do you require?” Loki stands and rubs his neck briefly.

She eyes him with disgust. “None. Do you have coconut water?”

“I could acquire some.” Before he leaves, he asks, “What artifacts are needed for the ritual?”

“What ritual?”

“Do you not need to perform a ritual to sever ties from my previous home?”

Delilah snorts. “I’m a vampire, not a Fae.” She yawns and uses the unconscious Thor as a pillow. Before he can object, Delilah raises a hand and points towards the ceiling. “My friend is upstairs. Go check on her.”

Know the Novel: Renewal of Spirit

Check out the other entries here!

Alright, we're doing this.

Because I need to up my word count. XD

THE QUESTIONS

1. How’s the writing going overall?

Better than I expected. Not as well as I would like (I had 2 days of writing zilch), but better than expected. 

2. What’s been the most fun aspect about writing this novel so far?

Editing/making my scenes readable. The initial writing is torture, essentially vomiting words out so that Karen (who is currently level 28) doesn't die. But, if I didn't have Not-A-Block to motivate me this time around, I would probably still be tweaking plot/structure things rather than getting any actual writing done.

3. What do you think of your characters at this point? Who’s your favorite to write about?

They've all come a long ways from draft 1, for certes.
Notah's POV scenes are fun, because I get to channel my inner grump. Plus, I enjoy having my little brother be a part of the process (he's gotten into grandiloquent words lately, and quite frankly he can recall words/definitions off the top of his head faster than I do.)

4. Has your novel surprised you in any way?

Mmm...kind of? There have been a few realizations ("oh she's not really like that, she's more like she was in this earlier draft"), but no big surprises. *hastily adds* SO FAR. I see y'all convening over there. Git! Back to your scenes!

5. Have you come across any problem areas?

Corinna. For whatever reason, her motives and theme have been hard to nail down.
I thought I had all of her stuff nailed down to the bone. Then I talked with a writing mentor, who asked, "So what does she want? Like, really want? Outside of the plot?"
I had no answer, I'm ashamed to say.
Now I do (autonomy), but it still needs some tweaking before it's solid enough to guide her.

6. What’s been your biggest victory with writing this novel at this point?

To get colloquial: I ain't counting my chicks/dragons before they hatch. The fact that I'm doing actual writing is enough of a victory for me right now.

7. If you were transported into your novel and became any one of the characters, which one do you think you’d be? Would you take any different actions than they have?

Probably...uh, Notah, to be honest. :P
Nope! I'd totally be the selfish, story-obsessed hermit that he is. Because I would be him, and I wouldn't be me in his body. If I were me in his body, on the other hand, yes, I most certainly would make different choices. Because I would be me, and would have less fear of bodily harm because of all of his abilities. Getting out and doing crazy things would also be easier since I would be wearing someone else's face. Plus, I would be operating under the most likely misguided notion that even if I die, I would be fine, because I still have my own body to return to. Sorry, Notah.

8. Give us the first sentence or paragraph then 2 (or 3!) more favorite snippets!

I've shared the entire opening already, so instead here's the beginning to some backstory/possible prequel. Or something in the second chapter, depending on whether or not I rearrange it; I have tremendous trouble in getting stories from start to finish without altering something in the structure.
----
From her vantage point on the thatch roof, Corinna looked at the town that twined through the striated mountain slopes. Men, women, and children wandered among the mostly uniform houses—daub, thatch, some with wooden beams. The houses went down to the base of the valley.

The walls that bordered each section of the town, tall though they were, wouldn’t last long against the beasts. Sabotaged from within, the notes that pulled solid stone from the earth had been mixed with notes of clay and sand by those within the pay of the Witch Aranka. These walls would be easy for the elephants to break down. Even easier for the bandersnatches to break through, to tear up the mountain in their ascent to Music Hall at the peak.
----
I don't know why I like this description so much. Maybe it's because it's contrasted by the stone behind it (slate grays/blacks)?
----
Grass sodden with dew despite the noon heat bent beneath her steps. Honeysuckle, lavender, mandrake, and Lady’s Mantle bent closer towards the path she hadn’t even realized she’d been following. The air above her shimmered.
----
I just like the vibe of this paragraph. 
----

“If you say so.” He turned to see how the finches were doing. Two of them were tangled in a messy braid. The other three had gone off further into the room, chirping in the dark. Trying not to laugh, he stood and began untangling the two from his hair. “You’re obviously no help here, little devils, so go find me someone who believes that riches will fill the tombs of their hearts, want a spouse that was never meant to be theirs, or…” He paused. “…or a plant from a Witch’s garden.”

Fingering his hair, he watched the finches flit away. His hair shimmered. Voices that belonged to faces he’d never seen echoed in his head.

9. Share an interesting tidbit about the writing process so far! (For example: Have you made any hilarious typos? Derailed from your outline? Killed off a character? Changed projects entirely? Anything you want to share!)

Uh, for one or three days I procrastinated and drew up a world map. It's a small world, with only one continent (so far) a smidgen bigger than Australia. But, it goes through every latitude, so it has everything from desert to jungle.
One thing that surprised me in the making of it: there are no mountains. A volcano or two, plus a small collection of hills, but no mountains. The way I arranged the plates made it so that there's one ginormous canyon that splits the continent nearly in two, and a fault line near the bottom.
I've never written a fantasy setting without mountains before, and will have to alter some description because of this odd discovery.

10. Take us on a tour of what a normal writing day for this novel looks like. Where do you write? What time of day? Alone or with others? Is a lot of coffee (or some other drink) consumed? Do you light candles? Play music? Get distracted by social media (*cough, cough*)? Tell all!

Wake up. Eat. Work. Return home. Pound out as many words as I can (I've found it's easier to write 200-600 words at a time, rather than 1K+ all at once.) Sleep. Repeat.
On my days off, I wrote sporadically throughout the day: while I have my breakfast shake, after lunch, after chores, etc.
When I'm reluctant to write a scene, Fighter's Block helps keep me from being distracted and perusing Pinterest or trying to design an aesthetic/find that *one* bit of scenery that would totally fit this current location.
I have two types of music that I listen to: lyrical, and instrumental. Lyrical is primarily for editing, instrumental is for writing. Check out the Music for the Muse tab above!
Also, apologies for the funky fonts, I'm trying to figure out why Blogger is doing this...

Renewal of Spirit: Progress Update!

I think I've finally gotten enough brainstorming and worldbuilding done to launch into an honest-to-goodness overhaul of this thing.
So, today I have for you a mock cover that I made to inspire myself a little while ago, the last version of the opening, and the reworked opening.
The previous version of the opening was drastically different. There was a prologue, told in a more omniscient/fairy-tale style POV (which is why it's in italics), and then the opening chapter was from the POV of the male MC.
The reworked opening jumps straight into the story, shows a bit of the worldbuilding that got me excited about this story in the first place, and starts from the POV of the female MC!

Enjoy!

Opening 1:

There once was a Wind Child who coveted nearly everything she set her eyes on. From seed to blossom, if it belonged to another, Loredanna wished it for herself.
Her husband Lando had long since learned that absolutely no one could talk her out of something. So it was when she wished for tea made from the leaves of a Witch’s laburnum tree, and refused to give him any peace, that her husband snuck into the Witch’s garden. Carefully, he pinched off the glimmering ocher flowers and placed them in his pocket.
Three nights in a row he did this. Three nights in a row he brewed tea for his lovely Loredana. On the fourth, he came face to face with the resident Witch—Kamille.
The crooked woman glowered at him with her crooked face. She demanded to know what he was doing.
Knowing he had no excuse for the theft other than his own weakness towards his wife, he dropped to his knees and pleaded for mercy.
The Witch agreed, provided he allow her one thing: to be godmother to his child.
Having no child at the time, he confusedly agreed. In time, his wife had a child. She named him Notah, and bestowed many blessings upon him in the hopes that he would be able to ward off any attempts the Witch made to claim him.
The blessings did little to prevent the Witch from taking him. They did, however, give him some degree of power over the Witch. And so, she was unable to use him as she had originally wished: as a source of power to augment her own magic.
In an effort to weaken his blessings, she forced him to use them constantly. If anything, her efforts seemed to embolden him. He accomplished each task she set to him, from planting magic seeds to slaying monstrous, seven-headed Beasts.
Finally, she decided to send him to the abode of another Witch.
“Bring me a casket from my sister in the Valley of Scions,” she told him.
“I shall fetch the sandapile most festinately,” he jauntily replied. “So festinately shall I fetch it, your cebocephalic head will ache.”
With a flurry of angry notes from her flute, Kamille sent him on his way.

Opening 2:

Staccato drumbeats laced through the darkness. They cut through the groan of settling earth, called forth the beasts that slumbered beneath the surface.
In the midst of the music, Corinna ran. The darkness of the Settling was the best time to escape. When the broken earth reformed and healed, when the Witch Aranka busied herself with renewing her stronghold and corralling the monsters that were attracted to her corrupted Taide.
A hideous moan rumbled through the beat of the drums. The first of the monsters clawed upwards.
Corinna couldn’t see it, but she could feel it; close, not even a body’s length away, with dank breath and claws that scraped against the earth like iron against iron.
She kept running. She had to make it, before—
The music that had called up the monster caught her. The curse twined through her.
Swiping away her tears, she pulled against it. Her bones ached. The further she went, the worse it became: a scar wound down her arm; her leg bent; her arm shriveled.
Unable to continue, she collapsed. The curse pulled her back as surely as a chain about her neck.
From the darkness, Aranka’s fingers curled against her cheek. Her voice flat, she said, “How did you expect to leave without a means to fight me?”
A square box that Corinna had come to know well was pressed against her chest. Her kalimba. Her tuneless kalimba, for her rhythmless fingers.
She had thought that leaving it behind would finally give her the opportunity she needed; that leaving it would give Aranka one less thing to tie her curse to.
Corinna settled into the darkness and awaited the dawn, to see what new horrors Aranka would be harboring for the new world.

Camp Nano Wrimo, July

Alright, on to another Camp Nano session!

Since I've been slack on "Renewal of Spirit" rewrites, that's going to be my main focus. My other focus: a Western/Drama/possible Horror version either of or simply featuring some characters from "Trouble in Bookland."

Why? Because I was messing with some random generators one day, and came across a plot/blurb generator. It basically ripped off the opening paragraph of "The Hobbit," but it gave me some ideas. Plus, I want to try writing in a genre I don't normally write in. I'm hoping that working on "Renewal of Spirit" at the same time will curb the urge to make this new project a Fantasy endeavor. Though, I am going to try and work dragons into it somehow. Dragons must invade all genres. They're too wondrous not to.

Here's the blurb, with its horrid misuse of my lackadaisical adjectives:

----
In a house there lived a Fresh, icy Dragon named Linda S. Not a Fantastic Friendly, Devastating house, filled with Stones and a Rueful smell, nor yet an Illustrious, Mysterious, Reluctant house with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a Dragon-house, and that means housing.
One day, after a troubling visit from the Goblin Ethan Miles, Linda leaves her house and sets out in search of three Sylvan scrolls. A quest undertaken in the company of Elves, Bobcats and crumpled Humans.
In the search for the Goblin-guarded scrolls, Linda S surprises even herself with her Friendliness and skill as a Writer.
During her travels, Linda rescues a Pen, an heirloom belonging to Ethan. But when Ethan refuses to try Receiving, their friendship is over.
However, Ethan is wounded at the Battle of Five Armies and the two reconcile just before Linda engages in some serious Receiving.
Linda accepts one of the three Sylvan scrolls and returns home to her house a very wealthy Dragon.
----

I don't know why I chuckled about "crumpled humans" for more than five minutes, but I did. I don't know whether or not I'm going to try and make it a full-length novel story, or several short stories. Also, a vampire hobo may or may not make an appearance. He's been glowering at me for weeks, I'm just not sure how to fit him in.

So...onward, to a month of pantsing!

What are you working on this Nano? Editing/revising, writing a new story? I'd love to chat about your project!

Be Wary of Strangers, Part 12

It has been brought to my attention that the “/” in the title “Loki/Thor…” typically means a ship. I was unaware of this when I first started writing, so I apologize to any who may have been confused by this. I’m not a Thorki shipper, and this fanfic has none of that. I had been using the “/” to indicate that I’d be doing parts from both Loki’s and Thor’s POV.

On the plus side, I learned this shortly after I decided I wanted to make a banner for this mini-series. So I’ll be working on going back and changing the title/adding the banner/whatnot, and fixing any POV mistakes (I’ve noticed myself slipping into past tense a few times). The new title for this series is “Be Wary of Strangers.”

Also, the font I used for previous posts is not available on the version of Scrivener I’m using, so that’s going to change as well. :P

——————

Part Twelve

Sharp, icy air drives the breath from his lungs, clings to him like a blanket. Thor struggles into a sitting position. He’s on a mountain range, surrounded by rocks and blocky trees laden in frost. Not snow; frost. Stars glint faintly overhead, covered in a thin haze. He sees no moon.

He laughs. “Did you trap us on Jotunheim, brother?”

A sharp wind, whisking away his laughter, is the only answer.

“Where am I?” He mutters to a pile of rocks vaguely reminiscent of a biped, trying to recall. “I remember doing this before. Waking, finding it hard to remember. Loki. He’s normally here. But where…is here? Not Asgard. Not after Hela…” Memories begin flitting back into his mind, as difficult to grasp as an adolescent bilgesnipe. “Oh. Odin’s beard, I died.”

He stares numbly into the sky.  “Father? Heim…Heimdal? Can you hear me?”

“Who’s Heimdal?”

Thor bolts to his feet. Someone stands behind him. Someone female. “I’m sorry, but I don’t quite recall…”

And then he did. Loki’s hirelings. The deaths. Feeding.

His eye widens. Before he can thunder out an apology—he hated not being in control of himself—the girl laughs. “Don’t apologize; it might get annoying if you keep doing it.”

Despite wearing nothing except Midgardian pajamas, she doesn’t seem cold. She skips through the snow to his side and hugs his arm. “I don’t want to get annoyed with you.”

She giggles oddly. Thor chuckles nervously. “Yes. Well.”

He’d been fighting someone. The realization came as suddenly as his memories. He glances down at his torn shirt, at the dried blood on his hands. But that’s old; crusting off, and not indicative of the fight he felt aching in his bones. “Would you happen to know who I fought?”

“Your brother.” She frowns. “You said you saved me.”

“Ah.” As he struggles to recall, Thor’s eye flicks every which way. Then he finds it. As surely as if the thing were standing in front of him, he finds it.

“Get inside. Please,” he says to the girl. She obeys without a word, heading inside the cave hidden among the rocks.

Thors fists clench. He begins striding down the mountain. To the empty air he shouts, “I know you’re there!”

The darkness in his mind coalesces. His senses sharpen to an unbearable degree.

From behind, a wry-sounding female voice says, “I can help, you know.”

Thor whirls on the newcomer. An outrageously tall woman, with dark green eyes and the bearing of a Valkyrie stands before him. He shakes his head. “I could swear that isn’t how you looked during our last encounter.”

She shrugs. “Accept my help, and things will go smoother.” She takes one step, another. The snow makes no sound beneath her feet. Her feet make no imprint upon it.

Thor backs away. “No! You drive me to madness—”

“As does your brother.”

“—and force me to do that which I have no wish to do!”

The woman tilts her head back, lips parted in a dry laugh. “Ah, you flatter me. But I have no power which you do not grant.”

“Then begone, foul creature of darkness!”

“But if you let me help, you’ll have time to mourn.” Her tone turns placating. “Don’t you want that?”

Wary, Thor’s eye narrows. “Mourn?”

“Yes. Everything. The loss of your home. Your friends.”

Pain tears through Thor’s skull. He screams, falls to his knees.

My people…

Thor grits his teeth. The view of trees and rock blur before him. His vision tunnels until all he can see is a village. A village of giants, and beings made of fire.
Murderers. Demons.

Without realizing it, his voice and the voice of the woman speak in harmony. “And what better way to mourn than to destroy races responsible for death and destruction?”

With a yowl, Thor leaps. Lightning crackles through him. Like a demon himself, he flies through the air, heading towards the village.

Rapunzel Retelling: Renewal of Spirit

Just a quick update on the status of this story:

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get it done in time for the Arista Challenge. February was way busier than I thought it would be.
Thankfully, I’m almost done now. I’m still planning on publishing it, and I’d like to try out a GiraffeCraft critique, but I’ll probably wait to submit it until Kendra’s a little less busy. Don’t want to overwhelm her, what with her likely being in the middle of arranging things for said Arista Challenge. 💗

The story has gone through a couple of drafts plot-wise (and organization-wise), but I’m still not happy with it prose-wise. I wanted to focus more on describing the music, and the effects it has in this world (it’s basically the way magic works). However, I’m having a hard time deciding where to put these descriptions in (sometimes it’s obvious, and I’ve put that in). So I’m going to leave it somewhat bare, and ask my betas where they think it should go/would like a little more description.

Currently, I’m working on the last quarter-ish of the story. Progress is slightly stalled, as some changes I made in the last few scenes wrecked my plans for this section. I think I have them worked out; here’s hoping I can sit down at the computer tomorrow and hammer them out. :D

Rapunzel Retelling: Renewal of Spirit!

I've reworked my Rapunzel retelling for the Arista Challenge several times. Something just didn't feel right, but I think it's fixed now. Here are the first thousand-ish words! Let me know what you think. :D
Also, the Loki/Thor x Reader (along with all my other misc. projects) is going to be on hold. The deadline for this and my Tales of a Modern Bard entry are rapidly approaching. So these take priority. Here's hoping I can get them both done in time... 😓
---
Loredana tilted her head back, eyeing the laden boughs above her head. very day, since they’d settled in this new land, the laden boughs of the fruit trees taunted her. They seemed to call, Can’t reach us! Just try!
Every day she passed by, the thought of how delicious and juicy the fruit would be played in her mind.
“If it were any closer to the Turning,” she growled to the ripe fruit, “I would shake you from your tree right now.”
Her husband Lando came up the path and toyed with her pale hair. “If it were any closer to Turning, you would be playing the zephyr and not caring for fruit.”
Loredana huffed and pulled away. “I will taste those plums, you’ll see.”
Lando sighed. He wondered what scheme his wife would devise to get what she wanted. “I hope she finds something else,” he muttered to himself. “With my luck, her plan would involve me getting it for her.”
“Oh! My love, look!” Loredana’s feet beat against the ground excitedly, as if she were standing in place. “Will you get this for me?”
Eyebrows drawn in a long-suffering frown, Lando continued up the path and rounded the bend. “What is—” He stopped short, breath taken away by what he saw.
The first thing he noticed was a large, golden tree. Its pale leaves and ocher flowers hung down to the ground on thin, wavering branches. Though there was no wind, the willow fluttered as if being toyed with. The very air around it seemed to sparkle.
The second thing Lando noticed was the fence. It was odd, to find any sort of boundary or border; the only people who did so were the enchanters.
“Darling,” he whispered. He wanted to say, “we should leave,” but he glanced down at her before he did so. A familiar glint was in her light gray eyes. His sentence turned into a stutter, then a sigh. “Why do you want it so badly?”
“I simply must have it!” She clutched at the lapels of his earthen-colored jacket. Her gray-cast face was drawn in longing. “Please.”
Feeling annoyed that the expression was almost the same as the one she’d met him with on their wedding night, Lando frowned. “But…it’s an enchanter’s garden!”
Loredana whirled away in a huff. Her dark red skirt flared out in an enticing spin. She crossed her arms and refused to say another word. She didn’t even say anything when the village gossip—a close friend of hers—tried to engage her in conversation.
The day passed by with the usual village activities; gathering flowers and plants for dyes, tending the wild gardens, working at the tannery. Loredana’s silence hung heavy on Lando, until they turned in to their cottage for the night.
When he was about to fall asleep, she laid her head on his neck. In a pained whisper, she said, “I will simply die if I can’t have it.”
Lando cursed himself for a fool. A sleepy fool, but a fool nonetheless. “Then I will simply have to get it for you,” he replied.

Lando stole along the path, wondering why he’d gotten up before dawn to do this. Weren’t enchanter’s powers stronger at night? Weren’t they more protective of their property?
He shivered and tucked his black undershirt into his loose breeches. “Why didn’t I change?” he asked himself. The memory of his wife’s desperate, nagging pleading played in his mind. “Still…”
The tree looked even more magnificent in the moonlight than it had during the day. Its petals and leaves glowed softly, still swaying. Still glittering as if thousands of stars had come to rest on them.
Holding his breath in fear and anticipation, he clambered over the dark wooden fence. His blond hair fell over his eyes in an untidy mop. Sputtering and trying to catch his breath—he wasn’t a very athletic man—Lando waited a few moments.
There was no alarm. No shouts. No flashes of magic. No yowling of hounds. He was safe.
Quietly, he side-stepped into the soft glow of the willow. With an expert hand, he pinched and twisted off a few blossoms. Carefully, and trying not to be overwhelmed by the wonderful scent, he tucked the blossoms and leaves into a pouch at his side.
That night, he escaped safely. He brewed a tea for his Loredana, hoping it would ease her longing. To his dismay, the next night, she declared that her longing had grown threefold!
He went back to the garden once, twice. The third time, he came face to face with the witch Kamille.
A beautiful outfit with many folds and waves, dyed purple and black, could not make the hunched, one-eyed figure pretty. The witch’s lank gray hair formed a weak curtain over the crooked hazel eye on the left side of her face. Her back was bent nearly double, her head coming to Lando’s stomach.
She glared up at him. “What are you doing with my laburnum?” Her voice matched her face; old, tired, and terribly cranky.
Lando fell to his knees. “Please, forgive me! My wife…” He trailed off, knowing he should have been more firm with her. “Please, forgive me. I have no excuse,” he said softly.
The witch was silent a while. When she spoke, her voice was flat. “I will forgive you your theft, provided you give me something in return.”
“Yes!” Lando kept his head down, awaiting the witch’s demand.
“I will be the godmother of your child.”
Lando glanced up in surprise. “But…we have no children! We were told…well…” He trailed off again.
“You will,” Kamille said with a twisted grin. “You will.”

Be Wary of Strangers, Part 11

Vampire: Loki/Thor x Reader
Part Eleven

Unbeknownst to you, a day and a half passes. Suddenly cold, you wake. You stare at the wall for a few seconds, not sure what you’re seeing. The wall isn’t that of the basement, or any other room in the house. It’s far more…natural. Stone, with small bits of dried moss clinging to it.
Still trying to pull yourself from the dizzying comfort of the dream you’d been having, you rub your eyes fiercely.
“Oh, good, you’re awake.”
You turn to the left, towards where the blast of cold had come from. Thor stands in the entryway, smiling. Snow flecks his shoulders and hair, and he’s carrying a rucksack. His shirt appears to have been torn in several places—by a dagger, or claws, you guess. A well-fed black wolf pokes its head into the room. Thor glances down and pats its head.
The wolf enters, curling up beside you, as tame as a dog.
You swallow hard, willing the butterflies in your stomach to calm. “Hi?”
“You must be hungry.” Thor sits next to you—you realize you’re on a low mattress, still in your pajamas, and clutching a wool blanket—and begins taking food out of the sack. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I took pizza, fried rice, and a sandwich.”
Uncomprehending, you just stare at him. This doesn’t help your nervousness, but you don’t mind. “W-what?”
“I saved you.” Thor grins and sidles closer. His arm goes around your shoulders.
For a moment, you consider shoving him away. That thought leaves your mind almost as soon as it enters. You lean against him, looking down at the food. “From what?”
“My brother.”
“Loki?”
Thor smirks. “Do I have another brother I don’t know about?”
For the life of you, you just can’t recall anything after going to bed. “What time is it?”
“Near midnight.” Thor leans his head against yours. “He tried to kill you, you know.”
“He did what?” For some reason, you’re not surprised. Just…curious.
“I called you to me, do you remember?”
You frown. You recall having a dream about walking through the house, and…
You blush and wrap your arms around your knees. “You fed from me?” That explains your lack of unease around the obviously predatory vampire, you suppose. There was a bit of lore—
“Yes.”
Thor’s voice derails your train of thought. Half-smiling, you wrap an arm around him. “Oh.” Forgetting the previous topic, you giggle as he nuzzles your ear. “I suppose that means I’m stuck with you.”
“Of course.” He runs his hand down your back. “So…are you hungry?”
“Are you?” You lay your head across his lap.
Thor laughs and fingers your neck, his dark eye glinting. “Not yet.” He leans down for a kiss.
You gladly reciprocate.

***

Loki comes to with a moan. His eyes are shut—whether swollen or bandaged, he can’t tell—and he feels like he’s sitting in a furnace.
“Hold still, you’re pretty tore up.”
Seeing no other recourse, he complies. When the pain passes enough for him to focus a bit, he asks, “Who are you?”
“A friend.” The female speaker scoffs. “At the moment, anyways. If you can explain a few things to me, things’ll stay that way.”
She presses something icy cold against his skin. It feels better than the heat, but the resulting pain makes him lurch up and shout. The shout is partly from pain, and partly from the instinctual fear of revealing his Jotun side.
“Oh hush.” Surprisingly large, firm hands shove him down. “You’re getting blood all over your living room.”
Loki strains his ears, trying to tell where he is. He hears the crackle of fire, the rustling movements of cloth and suture, and his own labored breathing. “What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me, mister grave digger.”
His thoughts flash back to a few days before, when he had disposed of the bodies of the hunters that Thor killed. I knew I should have burned them.
Warily, he asked, “What do you know?”
“Only that the sister of my best friend came to your house, hasn’t been seen since, and that said house looks like a heavily armed berserker went through it.” Her tone was flat, with only a hint of accusation. “Oh, and you had dealings with a vampire. That much is obvious from all the silver and herbs you have spread around your place.”
“Are you a hunter, as well?”
“Ha! No, no, no.”
Something cold pressed against his eyes. The speaker holds it there. Loki feels her face come close to his ear.
“So.” Her voice holds a slight hiss. “Where is —?” She names the girl that Loki hired.
“Gone. My brother took her.” He recalled the fight--fast, fierce, and bloody--surprised that the house was still standing.
“Oh, no. Tell me you didn’t turn someone.”
“Fine. I didn’t turn someone.”
“Of all the idiotic…” The pressure holding the ice pack moves away, and the sound of pacing—plus the shifting of glass and carpet—echoes in the room. “Endymion. He turned your brother?”
I see no point in hiding this information at this point… 
“Yes.”
She gives an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorely tempted to undo all of my stitching and let you bleed out. I won’t. Just know that I would love to.”
Loki sighs. “What folly have I committed this time?” He feels well enough to sit up. Holding the pack against his eyes, he does so.
“Do you know where they went?” she asks, ignoring his question.
Ignoring her question, he asks, “May I ask who I’m addressing?”
The cold pack is snatched away, and fingers press none too gently against his swollen lids. The familiar feel of healing magic seeps through his face, and he finds that he can open his eyes. Blinking, he can’t help but stare at the woman standing in his partly demolished living room.
She is toned, on the verge of being buff, and tall. Very tall. If he stood, he didn’t doubt that he would be forced to look up to meet her eyes. Her skin is pale, though perhaps that is the darkness and shadows of the fire, for the rest of her is dark as night; her eyes, lips, hair. She wears a simple, sturdy pair of jeans, and a fitted maroon colored v-neck. By the moonlight coming in through the broken doors, Loki spies a black jacket with an unfamiliar symbol hanging on the coat rack.
She crosses her arms. This accentuates the fullness of her breasts. “Are you through ogling me?” she snaps, shifting her stance to lean against a table.
Loki glances down. “My apologies. You are a vampire, as well?” He glances at the thick, decorative silver, cross-designed edging on the table. Her fingers press against it, and she is seemingly unaffected.
“Mmm-hmm. Name’s Delilah.” She taps the table rhythmically.
Loki clears his throat. “Would you mind telling me about Endymion?”
“Yes, I would mind very much. Even though he’s the sort that should meet a painful end, I’m not sure how much I can tell you without jeopardizing myself, and others like me.”
“Then how can you help?”
“By finding your brother.”
“What do you plan to do when you find him?”
Delilah’s firm expression softens into a half-frown. “I’m gong to have to, you know, end him. If he’s been turned by Endymion, he needs to be killed before he passes the fledgling stage.”
“Even if he still shows signs of his…humanity?” Loki resists the urge to chuckle at the last word.
“Hmm.” Delilah taps her chin. “That might be possible…” She glances over her shoulder. “I’ll do what I can. The only thing I need to borrow is a silver mirror. Do you have one pocket-sized?”
“I’m afraid not. The smallest one I have is about the size of a dinner plate.”
“That’ll work.” She grips his shoulder. “Do I have your word that you’ll stay here, and won’t interfere?”
Loki looks up at her, fully intending to lie. “Of cou—”
Her eyes—a shade of jade very close to black, he realizes—fill his vision. A hazy relaxation creeps over him. He blinks, then closes his eyes, trying to break eye contact. That is a mistake; the haze engulfs him, and he can still see her eyes. Just her eyes. His head lolls.
“Sorry.” She nudges his shoulder. Without a sound, he flops back onto the couch. “You’ll thank me later.”
Her voice fades as Loki loses consciousness.

Know the Novel, Pt. 2: Reality of Devotion

I meant to get to this earlier in the month, but that didn't happen...
Time for another session of Know Your Novel!

1. How’s the writing going?

I’m behind. So very, very far behind.
Most of the words I’ve counted are rebellion projects (I’m including this post towards my word count cuz freaking flying snow gypsies am I behind). I had been planning on doing, like, one rebellion project a week. I’m doing one about every other day. There were some snags in plot/worldbuilding I thought I’d taken care of already. Hahhahaha, nope. But they’re taken care of now, so hopefully I’ll be able to finish the story before the year is over (I’ve given up hope of finishing before the end of November.)

2. What’s been the most fun aspect about writing this novel so far?

As grueling as it’s been, all of it? I love everything about writing in general: story, characters, development. This time is no different.
I love how the MC is acting differently than I thought he would (love-hate relationship, lol.) Michel’s a bit of a know-it-all with a penchant for shoving others around, and I have a really hard time writing characters like that without stereotyping them, but this seems to be something he does only semi-constantly, and only with people he cares about. He’s still annoying at times, but it’s more tolerable than I thought it would be.
I’m still in love with the world, even though I haven’t written anything terribly in-depth about it yet. Alas, I have yet to write a proper chimera encounter. :(

3. Has your novel surprised you in any way?

Yup; it’s way harder to write than I thought it would be. XD
I also came up with an explanation as to a particular, odd world-building snag. The nation that Michel is a part of (the Khorites) has a quirk: they love sleep, and view rising before the sun as a sin. But, they're sailors and pirates. These two things don't go well together. I decided that they're crazy adaptable at sea, but after a certain amount of time on land they're lazy and prefer to lounge rather than exert themselves. This ties in nicely with their sea-serpent chimera (hedammu). So I'm happy.

4. What do you think of your characters at this point? Who’s your favorite to write about?

Kallias’ head is the easiest to get into, so I enjoy writing scenes from his POV. Problem is, I don’t want to write from close POV for this story; I wanted to do distant POV/omniscient. But hey, I need words.
Kallias and Michel's interactions are fun to write, too. They get into all sorts of trouble (most of it their fault).

5. If you were transported into your novel and became any one of the characters, which one do you think you’d be? Would you take any different actions than they have?

Oh, goodness…uh, I like to think that with my authorial knowledge of the characters and the paths they’re taking, I would be Aura, the mentor figure.
Logically, if I myself were the character, then I wouldn’t be myself, and thus wouldn’t take any different actions because I am the character, not myself. If, however, I were myself and not the character...well, if I had no idea what was going on, I would do things way differently than she did, namely face things with a bit less courage than she has. If I had an idea of what was going on...I still wouldn't look forward to it, and would try to run as often as possible because who wants to be kidnapped, sold as a slave, then blamed for everyone else's problems?

6. Give us the first sentence or paragraph and then 2 (or 3!) more favorite snippets!

Here’s the first paragraph from the scene that has the most potential for being the beginning scene:
***
Michelakos finished his inspection of the ship and disembarked. He slapped the hull affectionately. “Ready for another mission,” he sighed. Not that the captain would accept anything fun or challenging. Or profitable.
***
And because they were the most fun to write, some snippets from dare scenes, which may or may not end up making it into the final story.
***
The lily trembled in her hands.
Aura closed the little girl’s unsteady fingers about the thin stem. “Pass in peace,” she whispered to the feverish figure. “I am bound to another, and cannot guide you. May another more experienced than I take you in their arms.”
She pressed her forehead to the girl’s. She held it there. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each unnaturally hard pulse of the girl’s heart sent a jolt through her forehead. Aura grimaced and put her cold hands to the side of the girl’s head.
Aura opened herself. The grief and anxiety and hope of the parents in the next room washed over her. The uneasy understanding of the girl pressed against her like a rock. “I shall give you what I can,” she said quietly.

Delara put a finger to her chin. “You know, you need to get out in the sun more. You’re as pale as a buraq.”
Kallias looked miffed. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
“Oh, hush.” Delara batted his shoulder. “Just sit down and let me work on that sallow face of yours.”
“I’m here for the artifacts, not a makeover.”
“Well, why can’t you have both?”
Kallias rolled his eyes. Seeing he would get nowhere with her until he complied, he sat on the stone bench. “Are you going to be using magic?”
“No, silly; that’s not how these things work. Mother would be infinitely prettier if they did.” With swift movements, Delara prepped her makeup kit.
Kallias squirmed. “This isn’t wise.”
“No, no it isn’t; it’s fun.”

Kallias sighed, leaning his head back and bracing himself for a tirade. “Yes?”
“Will you marry me?”
A blob of glowing goop spattered against his forehead. “Argh!” He jerked up, sending Delara falling into the mess. He rubbed his face with his shoulder. To his dismay, the only thing that managed to do was rub the goop into his eyes. “I’m fairly certain I misheard you,” he said, clamping his eyes shut.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring Kallias’ cursing. “Let’s go!”
They ran out. Nothing came out to chase them, but when they got to the last room before the entrance, they couldn’t keep running.
Michel glanced down at his hands, only to find that they were terribly out of focus. He tried to ask Kallias if he was okay, only to find that his words slurred. Kallias didn’t seem to be in much better shape.
Kallias shook his head, then sniffed at his hands. His curses blurred together. “That…wasn’t blood…altar…”
They both went down to their knees. “Then…what…”
“Sed…sed…” With a sigh, Kallias’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he went down.
After calling out to a pillar, “Oh, hello mother,” Michel went down, as well.
***

7. Have you come across any problem areas?

Eh, one or two. Nothing a quick question session couldn’t fix.

8. What’s been your biggest victory with writing this novel at this point?

Honestly? The fact that I’ve written more than 2K words this month. This is the farthest I’ve made it in the three years of participating in Nanowrimo. I tend to have more luck during the Camp sessions, either meeting or exceeding my usual goal of 10K.

9. Be honest, have you killed any characters off yet?

Not directly? I know in a recent scene there’s mention of the death of a character who was giving Michel problems. And then there’s a scene where the deaths of several crew members are mentioned. Then there’s a zigurat scene where Michel and Kallias kill enchanted warriors (but they were technically dead to begin with).

10. Take us on a tour of a what a normal writing day for this particular novel has looked like. Where do you write? What time of day? Alone or with others? Is a lot of coffee (or some other drink) consumed? Do you light candles? Play music? Get distracted by social media (*cough, cough*)? Tell all!

My schedule is very erratic, and revolves around work. Some days I have a night and morning shift back to back, and don’t have much time for anything except quick notes hammered out on my iPod.
Depending on the scene, I’ll play music (check out my music inspiration page above!). Most of the time, I’m okay with the general ambiance of the house.
I usually write alone, though word wars/sprints with my Cabin mates have really helped me get words written this session. Snacking tends to distract me, so I try not to write while I eat (unless I have no other time to write, in which case I eat breakfast/lunch/dinner, whatever meal my sibs aren’t on the computer for). Drinking (coffee, tea, or hot chocolate) is easier for me to do while I write, so sometimes I’ll drink.
Pinterest occasionally distracts me if I try to stop in the middle of a scene and research, or find inspiration pins for my story. Fandom things, fluffy animals, and epic fantasy landscapes dominate my feed as of late, and it’s really hard to just go directly to my research board without looking at a few things… XD

Be Wary of Strangers, Part 10

Vampire: Loki/Thor x ReaderPart Ten

Several days and nights pass, and Loki refuses to let you back in the basement.
“What’s the point of me being here, then?!” You never thought you’d be mad about not being able to confront a vampire, but for whatever reason, you are.
Loki just narrows his eyes. He has a bag of several sacks of blood in hand. “You’re not going back down until I’m certain he can be trusted.” With that, he heads back to the basement.
You huff, then go back to researching vampires. The name Loki mentioned—Endymion—continues to niggle at your mind. You’ve come close to finding out more about him as the days go on. The books you reference grow older and older, until they’re scrolls written in arcane script. With a sigh, you leave them out with a note asking for Loki to translate them for you. As you write the note, you feel a bit…useless. Not just in research, but life in general.
You can clean a bit, maybe research. But now you’re research is stalled, and you can’t even deliver the packs of blood to the vampire.
You turn in early, hoping that Loki won’t decide that you aren’t any use.

***

After a horrendously long night—day?—with Thor, Loki was ready for bed. He just couldn’t figure out why Thor kept slipping. Mentions of the past made Thor hurt, and flip him into animal mode. He was a bit dark and demonic a few minutes after feasting, but after that was fine. Feeding off fresh blood, contrary to Endymion’s advice, seemed to make him stay in that demonic state longer than feeding off of refrigerated blood.
And as his abilities continued to grow; new enchantments were required to keep Thor in the basement.
He tromps upstairs, ignoring the sunrise that is just beginning to enter through the windows, and flops onto his bed fully dressed. He would just sleep a few hours and then…then…
Heavy footsteps echoing in the stairwell wake him. “Why?” he moans. For a few moments, he stays where he is, listening. The footsteps continue to head down. Then, the door that leads to the basement entrance creaks open.
“@*#*# you, Thor,” he mutters. Doubtless it’s some new vampiric ability manifesting. And the girl is his target.
Loki rolls over and looks at the clock on his bedside table. It’s only a few hours past noon. If Thor’s abilities are this strong…
He hurries down to the basement, berating himself for never having had a proper talk with the girl about Thor’s new abilities. The maze greets him with its customary coldness. As he navigates through the dark, he hears voices.
One is obviously the girl’s, and it sounds as if she’s praying.
Thor’s strangely dark chuckle winds through the maze. “Who would have thought that prayers would make you smell more sweet?”
Loki hurries down the passages, readying his daggers. When he reaches Thor’s room, he stops short. The girl is sitting, limp, on Thor’s lap—still in her pajamas, thank heaven—and Thor himself is slowly sucking at her neck.
“Brother!” he shouts.
Thor disengages and licks his lips. His hold on the girl tightens and his eye flashes an angry red. “Leave me be.”
“What do you want with her?” Seeing the beginnings of a sly grin on Thor’s face—something was definitely wrong, that expression had no business being on his thick-headed brother’s face—Loki holds up a hand. “Never mind, don’t answer. Let her go.”
Thor doesn’t, of course. He nuzzles the girl’s neck. She sighs and curls in closer to him.
“What time is it?” Thor asks with that same horrid expression.
He knows. Or does he merely suspect?
Loki’s grip on his dagger tightens. “Midnight,” he lies.
Thor frowns in confusion. A bit of the normal blue begins to show through the dark and the red. “Really? I thought it was earlier.”
“Let her go, you’re hurting her.”
That seems to do the trick. The dark blue fades entirely, and Thor blinks rapidly. “What…why…” He glances down at the girl, who has a ridiculous smile pasted across her face. “I’m not normally this uncomfortable when—”
“Yes, yes,” Loki snaps, not wanting to hear a bawdy joke. “You must have used your vampiric call and she came running.”
Thor shrugs. “I remember being a bit…hungry, but I thought I was dreaming.” He stands and holds the girl out to Loki. “She’s not waking up. That doesn’t seem like a good thing.”
“I will bring her upstairs.” Loki takes the girl from Thor. Before he can take two steps, she’s whimpering. Another step, and she’s calling for Thor in a panic. A step more, and she’s shrieking and clawing at Loki’s face.
Loki practically tosses her back to Thor. She quiets as soon as she’s in his arms. “Odin’s beard, what did you do to her?!” He dabs at a few deep scratches on his cheek.
“I told you, I don’t know!” Thor glances at the girl’s neck, licking his lips. “Though perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’ve fed from her?”
Loki glances back to where the entrance to the house is. He recalls some information he came across in the library, but isn’t entirely certain he recalls correctly. Seeing as he normally has a perfect memory, this unsettles him.
He jerks his thumb to the passage. “Come with me. Walk ahead, I still do not trust you where I cannot see you.”
It’s a bit of a challenge, trying to get Thor upstairs without walking through the sunlight filtering in through the windows, but somehow they manage.
Loki draws the curtains in the library and turns on a few of the lamps before ushering them inside.
Thor takes a seat on one of the couches while Loki sifts through the papers and books on his desk. He comes across a note that he hadn’t seen before, asking for him to translate a scroll. He sets it aside. No time for that now.
“Loki,” Thor whispers.
 He doesn’t look up, still intent on finding the document. “What?”
“What should I do?”
Loki glances up. The girl, eyes half-closed, is fondling Thor’s face. She whispers something Loki can’t hear, and pulls his head down to her neck. Thor hurriedly moves a hand up to stroke her face.
Exasperated, Loki turns back to his search. “I’m hurrying.”
A few seconds more, and, “She’s getting more demanding.”
“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying.” Determined not to look up, Loki turns to the shelves behind him. There!
“I found—Thor.”
His brother lifts his head, fresh blood on his mouth. “I’m sorry, she won’t stop until I do!”
“I meant…” Grinding his teeth, Loki tosses a blanket over to him. “…put her shirt back on.”
“Oh.”
Hopefully they would figure this out. And soon.

Be Wary of Strangers, Part 8

Apologies for the lateness; I'm getting over being sick, and man alive my Nano project (read: characters) are absolutely refusing to cooperate... 😒

---

Vampire: Loki/Thor x Reader
Part Eight

You’re upstairs in the library when you hear the front door scrape open. You rub your shoulder and the knife you have strapped to your side. Since visiting the vampire, and the wolf attacks, you just haven’t felt safe without it.
Hurrying downstairs, you head into the living room. Loki lays sprawled on one of the couches, eyes closed. The morning sunlight casts odd shadows about the place.
“Hey,” you say, unable to keep an angry edge out of your voice.
Loki sighs. “What happened to the door?”
“Wolves.”
“Wolves.” He frowns. “How long have I been gone?”
“A week. More or less.”
Loki leaps up, obviously forcing himself to keep his eyes open. Cursing, he stumbles past you and to the basement entrance.
“He’s fine,” you call after him. “He’s been fed.”
Loki pauses, shoulders hunched. “Are you infected?”
“Nope.”
He looks like he doesn’t believe you. “All the same, I’d like…” A huge yawn keeps him from speaking for a few seconds. “I’d like to test you.” He continues without waiting for a reaction. “I need to contact the carpenters, restock from the hospital—”
You follow him as he absently wanders into the kitchen. “Don’t you want to know how he was?”
Loki’s red-rimmed eyes attempt to focus on you. “I can deduce well enough. The door, plus your desperation to enter the basement alone…he was not well.”
“Don’t you want details?” Your voice is high in disbelief. “He’s your brother! A vampire! A starving one. And you haven’t asked a single question about him!”
Loki sinks into a kitchen chair and rubs his face. “Fine. How was he?”
“Starving. And missing social life.” You sit down across from him. “He managed to give himself a bath.” Pointedly, you look at him.
He stares back vacantly. “What?”
You sigh, unable to maintain your annoyance at him. He looks like he hasn’t slept since he left. He looked like that before he left, as well…
“I just think you should visit him more,” you say.
“Is that all?”
You nod. “Um…do you need help getting upstairs?”
“I’m fully capable of getting to bed myself,” he says with a wry smile. “However ill I look.”
You watch as he stumbles up the stairs, waiting for him to roll right back down. When he totters, and braces himself against the wall for a full minute, you rise and offer him your shoulder.
For a moment, he looks resentful. Then he accepts your aid. Once you get to his room, he nods. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See you tonight?”
“If I happen to wake up, yes.”
You turn in shortly after; the night before, you’d been to visit Thor again, and you’d left greatly unsettled. Maybe it was the way he looked at you. Maybe it was the way he’d taken the containers of blood, and let his hands linger on yours.
You put on your pajamas and wrap yourself in the bedsheets, feeling oddly lonely. Your thoughts turn to your sister. “Hope you’re getting better, Bria,” you mutter to the un-curtained window. “Sleep well.”
***
Despite being dead tired, Loki wakes in the early evening. Unsettled dreams and over-exhaustion kept him from sleeping soundly. Feeling as if he would never stop cursing, he heads to the library.
Endymion had said that blood would aid in healing. The fresher the blood, the quicker the healing. The fresher the blood, the faster Thor would be able to gain control of himself.
Loki unconsciously glances to where the girl’s room is. “One more mortal. What’s one more?” he mutters to himself.
During his visit with Endymion, he had taken notes. He pulls the torn and slightly water-stained papers that he had jotted notes on from his pocket. For a moment, he is unsettled. I could have sworn I'd used a notebook, not just scraps, and kept it within a plastic wrap so such damage would not occur.
With a grunt of displeasure, he sits at his desk and does his best to transcribe his barely legible notes into the margins of a larger book of vampire lore.
Thud.
Putting it down to nerves, he continues without pause.
Thwump.
“Odin’s beard, what now?” He rises, an offensive spell readied and glowing in his hand. The girl wanders in the hall, eyes half closed. “Oh, a somnambulist. Wonderful.” He disarms the spell and carefully approaches her.
As he nears, he senses something. Or rather, sees something. A shadow, hovering about her. A very familiar shadow. “Thor,” he growls. “What powers have manifested now?”
Loki puts his hands gently on the girl’s shoulders and guides her to his room. It’s closer than the library, and the girl’s room. As she passes by the iron and silver crosses embedded in the door frame, the shadow about her dissipates slightly. The girl sighs and begins to go limp.
He hurriedly dumps her onto his bed.
“Let’s see, vampires, haunting, dreams…” Loki flips through several bedside books in an attempt to guess what Thor is doing. He glances up and notes that the shadow is becoming more substantial. And more fondling.
“Hang it all.” He opens a drawer and retrieves a bottle with tinted liquid. He sprays it over the girl. “Bad vampire, bad vampire,” he chides, feeling a tad ridiculous.
The shadow seems to see him, then vanishes. The girl’s eyes close fully. She sighs as if in relief and curls up on the sheets.
Loki sits on the edge of the bed for a minute, nose wrinkling at the heavy and unpleasant scent that now permeates the air: garlic, lavender, hyssop, mustard, and several other herbs that never should have been steeped together.

Loki quietly bangs his fist against the desktop. Feeling rather childish—and not caring—he stands forcibly. He hisses, “If my room is going to smell like this, so is Thor’s!”

Be Wary of Strangers, Part 6

Vampire: Loki/Thor x Reader
Part Six

 The next day—an agonizingly long handful of hours later, as neither of you were able to sleep after the visit with the vampire—you sit across from Loki. The both of you nurse mugs of tea. Silence stretches between you as you both look into your mugs, lost in thought. Somewhat afraid to break the silence, you clear your throat. Loki glances up sharply.
“So,” you begin. “Maybe we should go through the books again. Try to narrow it down somehow.”
Loki shakes his head slightly. “Do so if you wish. I will visit the one who turned him. Perhaps he will have answers.”
“Who?”
“He called himself Endymion.”
You sip at your tea. The name sounds familiar, though you can’t place it. “Hmm. Are you sure you can trust him?”
“As sure as I am that I can trust myself,” he says darkly.
You nod as if you understand. After a second that your mind stretches into a hazy, sleep-deprived minute, you ask, “Is that a yes…or a no?”
Loki’s grip on the mug tightens; his knuckles go white. The ceramic cracks.
“Loki—!” You hop from your chair as the mug shatters, and scramble for the nearest wash cloth. “Are you alright?”
Loki stares down at the shards embedded in his hands—blood begins to prick from beneath his skin—and laying across the tabletop.
Hesitantly, wondering why he isn’t moving, you swipe away the mess on the table. “Hey,” you say quietly. “Can…can you hear me?”
Loki glances at you. Without a word, he stands and goes over to the sink.
You watch, utterly baffled. Carefully, you walk to him and lay a hand on his shoulder. You fight a yawn as you talk to him. “Okay, you need to sleep before you do anything else. That…wasn’t normal.”
Loki’s expression makes it clear he doesn’t appreciate your demand. He finishes picking out bits of ceramic from his hands. “I’m leaving. I’m going to see Endymion. In the meantime, you can mull over what I didn’t want to tell you earlier.” Somewhat angrily, he flicks water from his hands and dries them on a towel. “My brother and I are from another world entirely. We’ve been in this land—wherever this is, it’s similar enough to the world I know—for a few months.”
You take a step back. A thought shudders through your mind. “How…how are you able to care for my sister?”
“The funds and influence I’ve garnered in this world are more than sufficient, never fear of that.” Loki seems to soften slightly. “Our bargain still stands.”
“If anything happens to her while I’m still around…” You trail off, clenching your fists and shaking a bit. You want to hurt Loki very badly. Him being a stranger with the funds to care for your sister was one thing. But if he was from another world, and whatever source of funding he had was depleted or destroyed…because, really, how much could he have made in a few months? How could he possibly have had the time to gather the influence to build a house like this, pay for labor and amenities, and then pay for life-support at the drop of a hat? Had he even been outside of this country?
Trying to calm yourself, you close your eyes. “We both need to rest before we start getting violent.” You follow your own advice and tromp upstairs.

After a wonderfully long nap, you search for Loki. It isn’t until you get to the kitchen that you find a note: I’ve done as I’ve said. Don’t go into the basement alone. Wait for me.
You do your best to keep occupied, and research vampire lore. Four days pass. On the fourth day, you successfully adjust to a nocturnal sleep schedule.
You’re reading in the library when a bone-shuddering howl begins. You jump, heart pounding, unable to tell if the sound is coming from inside or out.
Hastily, you go to the library window. A heavy fog lays over the land. Eyes blink in and out of existence, and large shadows move through the fog.
You dash downstairs and check the basement door. It seems as secure as before.
Another howl sounds, terrifyingly close. “Definitely the basement,” you gasp. As if in answer, raucous baying and the sound of splintering wood come from upstairs.
Shaking, and debating whether or not this is a good idea, you go upstairs to the living room. Canine jaws and claws snap at the bars of all visible windows. Judging by the sound, they surround the house. The front door shudders. Boom, thud, sccrraaape.
You snatch a butcher knife from the kitchen and hurry to your room. It seems to be a safe place at the moment.
Placing the knife on your bedside table, you hurry to the window. The shades are drawn back, showing the luminescent nightmare scene below.
A body thuds against the window, clawing and scratching. A heavy paw makes it past the intricate bars. With the sickening sound of cracking glass and bone, it’s gone, sliding down the side of the house. You jerk back. “Was that a wolf?!” you screech. “But I’m—second story—window—jump—!”
You yank the blinds over the window. Panicking, you do your best to shove a wardrobe in front of the window. You only make it halfway, but it’s better than nothing. You barricade the door with a chair and the bedside table.
Not knowing what else to do, you huddle in your bed. The braying and howling continue throughout the night. The sounds coming from the basement gradually grow more hoarse, and desperate.
You close your eyes, clutching the knife and waiting for the dawn.