BURNED GOD.

A blog for Ikol-Loki of Marvel Comics, affiliated with Eidolon Path and written by Kayla.

[mischiefburned-blog]

venomolic‌:

There was only a split-second of Flash being taken aback by Loki’s reaction before his lips drew thin and a new desire quickly began to grow in his chest… the near-overwhelming desire to punch Loki in the face.

              There it is again. The same anger that’s clung to you since you were a kid. Calm down.

Instead of funneling the frustration of his situation into his hands to wring Loki’s neck, Flash simply held the armrests on either side of him in a white-knuckle grip. The light breeze softened slightly, thankfully, and Flash tilted his head back to look to the sky again. He looked for a sign, anything that could pass for a plane flying overhead or a streak of light through the air that could signal where he was. All he saw was those same, heavy, rolling clouds.

Flash’s hands dropped back down to his wheels, which were strangely fitted with thicker materials to make traversing through this exact terrain easier, and he pushed forward again. As they moved and Loki spoke, the dense forest gradually began to thin out, and Flash finally saw in the distance the crystalline spire that Loki mentioned previously.

“God of Mischief,” Flash muttered, mostly to himself, “Thor’s brother…”

At their next brief stop, Flash held Loki’s gaze and shook his head at his final question. Inside the backpack on his lap, Flash could feel a cylindrical shape against his thighs within the closed bag. It was pretty heavy, he guessed it was made from metal. A canister in that shape could only mean one explanation, one that may explain why it was separated from him while Flash was unconscious.

              Still, better to lie. I don’t trust him, I don’t trust any of this.

“It’s not. Must’ve been separated from it in whatever cross-dimensional rift tore me from New York and dropped me here.” The lack of the symbiote’s presence on his body was heavy though, palpable, a weak and craving part of Flash’s mind had the urge to rip open the backpack and re-bond with the alien immediately.

              No. Not now. The less people who know about it, the better.

Flash pushed on the wheels again, “What do you know about this place?”

    “W-e-e-e-ll...”

    Loki could have started with any number--apologizing for the outburst, now, least of all--yet that didn’t stop him from considering where while he secretly stowed away his amusement that Flash had decided to lie to a god whose epithets ran into Liar to End All Liars. Cute.

    “It’s not on Midgard--Earth--so I wouldn’t look to the sky for hope of rescue I’m afraid,” he said. “Frankly, the town isn’t modern whatsoever. I’ve picked up on that they prefer the use of some alchemy variety in lieu of magic or technology, though I haven’t the time to experiment with it myself. They did anticipate our arrivals, however, and I’m sure if you showed yourself to the mayor’s office they’d bring you to your bunk in one of the houses.”

    It occurred to Loki that, if he did know who he was, it must’ve been rather the trip to be dropped from the sky then escorted by a literal god. (A literal god with trouble or two about getting to the point, but, that particular detail went ignored.)

    “Not to worry, of course. Everyone is depowered here, including yours truly. Must make for a more entertaining story like this,” Loki added, as though that were ever going to be a point of reassurance, least were it being told to him. If whatever was responsible for this could steal his powers, what then for the rest? He hoped Flash wouldn’t think that way. “As for a point, it’s to survive. On the open ended side, aye.”

    Since Flash had lied about the symbiote--far be it from Loki to not have felt around the bag before he dropped out of the clouds proper, naturally--he figured it was either inert, or not particularly talkative. Shame. He always felt that the symbiote was the most interesting part of these packages. Or maybe Flash simply didn’t trust him, which was as much a shame.

   Who wouldn’t want to trust Loki?

   “If your other is separated, that’s unfortunate... but I would suggest checking your bag, Flash.” He said it while smiling. “You might be surprised.” Then Loki was ahead of him, hand raised toward the rest of the village.

    “Welcome to Eidolon. Population, naught but the best in wishers, unlucky souls, and wayward adventurers.”

[mischiefburned-blog]

tabardalon‌:

Another pass of the town, another arduous march without even a sign of something you could use as a serviceable weapon. At this point–well, there really isn’t any other option than venturing out into the wastes on a haphazard and incredibly ill-advised reconnaissance mission. Call it information gathering. Maybe you’ll stumble across the frozen corpse of some other unfortunate wisher and be able to relieve them of a weapon they assuredly won’t be needing any longer.

Maybe you’ll just find a really big icicle and you can pretend it’s a lance until it melts. It only has to last for one hit.

That was what you had been readying yourself–mentally, more than anything else–to do when the voice caught you off guard. A stranger. Taller than you, which is impressive, but leaner, unarmored–horned? It’s not the strangest thing you’ve ever seen, but–everyone else you’ve met here has been remarkably normal. Well, one of them was blue, but again: not the strangest thing you’ve ever seen.

You incline your head, a noncommittal gesture of acknowledgment. And then you find yourself lying. “Astute observation,” is your initial response, content to let the other believe you a guardian. It can be something for you to aspire to. “And no–not at all. I have marched for weeks on end in snows harsher than this. The cold becomes familiar, after a time.”

True, mostly. The walk to the Mark of the Erasure was a long one, and that place is terribly unkind. But–at the time, you were pala-din through and through, not diluted as you are now, and you only felt the cold as much as you might have felt a mosquito. Now, though, the cold is biting, and you find yourself grateful for the padding under your armor.

Enough about you. You raise a brow, expectant. “Newcomer, I presume?”

    “Of a sort,” you said, and this was more or less the truth, as you were more or less honest. Far be it from you to be an absolutist. “Someone has to catalogue the town’s coming and goings, myself ever so blessed--” A hand patted your journal, “--to get paid for what I would have done already.”

    Nevermind the subtle snicker at the suggestion of blessed.

    (That did bring a thought, though--in this realm, were there any gods beside the one belonging with the chateau? Further, would they regard you with anything but distaste or indignation? Well, were that the case, it’d be hardly what you haven’t dealt with before. ‘Distaste or indignation’ and ‘Loki’... let’s say they weren’t ever that far from each other.)

    He was a knight in armor, then, of at least some status. This was good. You had been beginning to wonder if any of the so-called ‘wishers’ were decent stock, what with your book filled with descriptions of rank-and-file Midgardians that most of them got crossed out before you even sent your reports to Altair’s office. How they were going to get on with the extra mouths to feed was an entertaining mystery you didn’t need to solve.

    It was around that moment you noticed that his scabbard, if that was a scabbard and not some feature of the armor, was empty.

    Hmm hmm. You smiled. Looks like you’re not the sole person here trying to overstate your importance.

    “Snows harsher than this? I know those.” You left your journal aside to gesture at the barrier. “It’s colder beyond the barrier, still no Jotunheim--ah--getting ahead of myself. I’m Loki.” This time your grin was merely cavalier and friendly. You had no reason to set off a knight right now, sword or no sword (those hands looked to be weapons in of themselves).

    “Consider me the hired eye and adventurer around this place. Which, I suppose, is a way of saying paid gossip.” You cupped your chin. “Where do you hail from?”

[mischiefburned-blog]

♕

TUNES. | accepting

    answered here!

[mischiefburned-blog]

☁

TUNES. | accepting

☁ a song and accompanying headcanon for despair or high tension

    Daft Punk -- Something About Us

It might not be the right timeI might not be the right oneBut there's something about us I want to sayCause there's something between us anywayI might not be the right oneIt might not be the right timeBut there's something about us I've got to doSome kind of secret I will share with youI'll miss you more than anyone in my lifeI love you more than anyone in my life

    Yes, it’s about Thor.

    Thor is, maybe, the only family Loki can claim to love unconditionally; yet, their relationship has been strained to a weakness worse than the thinnest strips of foil. Considering the somber mood of the song, it would be Loki finally confessing that though it were a eulogy of some divination, possibly after Thor’s died.

    Such is what happens when you leave it unsaid for thousands of years until those thousands of years catch up to you.

[mischiefburned-blog]

♕ i gain power every time someone i like reblogs the music meme

TUNES. | accepting

♕ a song and accompanying headcanon about pride or good fortune.

Fall Out Boy -- This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race

I am an arms dealerFitting you with weapons in the form of wordsAnd don't really care which side winsAs long as the room keeps singingThat's just the business I'm in, yeah

I'm a leading manAnd the lies I weave are oh so intricate,Oh so intricate

    Put simply, Loki takes pride in being a bastard.

    More elaborately, the song’s about him doing what he does best--sowing conflict and chaos for little more than a few choice words here or there until, as he says, the room keeps singing, and he doesn’t care which side wins as long as it makes for an entertaining, interesting story.

    And remember, he isn’t a shoulder to cry on.

[mischiefburned-blog]

♫

TUNES. | accepting

♫ a song and accompanying headcanon about a high point or heavy issue in their life.

     Muse -- Take a Bow

CorruptYou corruptAnd bring corruption to all that you touchHoldYou'll beholdAnd beholden for all that you've doneSpellCast a spellCast a spell on the country you runAnd riskYou will riskYou will risk all their lives and their souls

    I like to think of this as the swan song for, instead of this Loki, his predecessor--the one that oh-so “heroically” burned that night in Asgard during a siege he himself made happen on the whim and the prayer that his reincarnation would clean up his mess. Instead of a fond send-off, it’s bitter, scathing, damning. It’s the heaviest issue his successors (or successor, really) carry, because he exists because the last one wanted to die in a gambit that went horrifically in some ways and horrifically right in others.

[canatim]

personalized music headcanons

♔ a song and accompanying headcanon about fighting/conflict.

♠ a song and accompanying headcanon about hate.

☢ a song and accompanying headcanon about death.

♥ a song and accompanying headcanon about love or romance.

♦ a song and accompanying headcanon about devotion or loyalty (friendly bonds).

☁ a song and accompanying headcanon for despair or high tension.

♕ a song and accompanying headcanon about pride or good fortune.

❂ a song and accompanying headcanon about solemn anger or violence.

✞ a song and accompanying headcanon about positive or negative reflection or retribution.

♫ a song and accompanying headcanon about a high point or heavy issue in their life.

♖ a song and accompanying headcanon about a pivotal figure in their life or heroism.

[mischiefburned-blog]

strangeofbleeckerstreet‌:

“I’m not here to entertain you Loki.”

Better he said it now rather than later on when he’s fed up with the God. While he had some responsibility to make sure a deviant from his dimension does not disturb whatever order that juries this dimension, Stephen didn’t sign up to be a babysitter and he most certainly didn’t want whatever progress to be had investigating being held up by keeping Loki on a tight leash. 

Normally he would have the patience for the trickster, but Stephen was clearly not in the mood for their typical antics. He was cold, tired, confused, and worse of all, he couldn’t tell if this was truly another dimension or potentially another plane of existence. Depending on the answer, getting back home could prove a bigger challenge compared to his typical world hopping requirements.

The Sorcerer stopped in his tracks and stared back at Loki clearly annoyed. “I don’t need you watching over me– in fact, that would only set me back. There’s no harm in considering the only human contact we have at our disposal, even if they are ‘useless’. Right now we have no leads and I would prefer remaining tethered here for the time being until I get my bearings on the situation rather than running further into the darkness when I’m blind and defenseless.”

He takes one last look at the trickster before continuing on without him. “Do whatever you wish Loki. If you do wrong, you’ll pay for it later, but I am not your master nor are you my charge. This is a completely different setting than the one we came from.” 

    HUFF!

    That was the only sound Loki made save for a flare of his nostrils as he twisted around, glaring while Stephen left as he folded his arms. Of course Stephen would slough him off, because only the Sorcerer Supreme could manage to be as stubborn as he was; of course Stephen would walk away, because only the Sorcerer Supreme could believe that he’d outthink the God of Mischief.

     Idiot. Loki was thinking far worse than that, actually, but they were all in tongues not named English. Let it be known that he and all his descendants were cursed for all time.

     “You’ll be back, Strange,” Loki told him, and this was a promise. “Trust me.”

     And, like magic, there he was.

     “Who’s that I see?” asked Loki to the air, though he might be dictating to a small child. “Oh, me oh my, it’s Stephen Strange. Had enough of trying to ignore my proposition, I take it?” He was sitting atop a massive boulder in the middle of the forest on the outskirts of town, the barrier to the waste proper a stone’s throw away.

    Loki’s gaze pinned him for a moment, deadly serious, and then cracked to a wide, open smile. He simply snorted, shaking his head. “It’s as I told you, Stephen. There’s no answers in the town. It’s in the wastes. I know a few places now. Don’t suppose you’ll want to accompany in my next excursion, eh?”

    With the way he was talking, Loki was already planning for where they might go.

[mischiefburned-blog]

venomolic‌:

              How did I not hear him coming?

The sound of another voice (human, thankfully. Well, apparently.) set Flash into a flurry of movement. It was all on instinct, instinct that was trained into him after spending a majority of his life in hostile environments. With his left hand, Flash scooped an armful of snow and tossed the powdery material in the air in front of him in an effort to conceal himself, and with his right hand he pushed off the ground and rolled sideways. Also on instinct, his right hand reached for the small of his back where his pistol would be tucked into the waistband of his pants.

Instead, all his hand closed around was more snow.

              Of course.

He remained motionless for a good minute. The crawling, then his ‘evasive’ maneuvers, added up to a thoroughly chilled and snow-covered Flash. His hair a mess, blonde locks criss-crossed in front of his eyes. A low grunt slipped through his grit teeth as Flash pulled himself into his wheelchair and lifted his abnormally heavy backpack into his lap. He’d look into it later, when he was alone.

Flash wasn’t surprised by this stranger’s recognition of his name. Getting dropped into some foreign land, missing his gear and missing the symbiote…

              Why wouldn’t some tall, sleazy-looking guy come out of the forest and know my name?

But, what did garner a reaction from the vet as he rolled just a step behind the other’s pace, was his mention of Captain America. A visible wince crossed Flash’s face.

              He knew about that?

“I was at home.”

              Better to lie. Don’t know if I’m on Earth or not, but probably shouldn’t talk about Secret Avengers assignments.

“Felt like I was in a dream. Just lost focus, vision started to turn white, and ended up here.”

Flash turned his head up and looked at the other again. The long coat that he was wearing was much better suited to this environment than the grey ‘ARMY’ T-shirt and thin jacket that Flash had on him right now. As Flash looked at the man more intently, something about his hair finally clicked in the back of his mind.

“Hold on,” Flash reached his left hand forward and grabbed the other man’s arm, “If you know who Captain America is, you must be the one I heard Strange mention before. Loki? Are you an Avenger?”

    Are you an Avenger?

    ...

    ... haha... hehe... huhu...

    ... haaahaa...

    ...HUAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

    “No.” Loki stole down a breath, just about keeled over. “But you do have me to thank that they exist.”

    By the Norns. His laughter must’ve been heard through the entire village. Even his throat was feeling phantom vibrations after the fact. He patted Flash on the back, though it would assuage anything (some divination: it wouldn’t).

    “Strange mentioned me to you? Me oh my. What a terrible gossip, that sorcerer. Yes, I am myself in the flesh, so you see here.” He steeled himself back up to a full stand, the smile on his face yet twitching. He’d be surprised if it didn’t stay so until the sun set. “A God of Mischief, at your service. Unfortunately, rather depowered, but, unlike some spandex-clad heroes I know, I don’t rely entirely on my powers to be of use.” Emphasis entirely.

    The last Loki crossed swords (or scepter, really) with Spider-Man and the web of characters surrounding him, he himself was Sorcerer Supreme. What with his meddling to get the Avengers back together and the Infinity Stones taken care of while the drumbeats to war were being sounded since then, the question Flash had presented him was almost right. Maybe it was embroiled with that irony that he laughed so loudly.

    “At home, then,” he repeated after him, pushing a branch out of their way on the path back to town. “Hmm. I was hopeful for that you’d be on the job. I haven’t the faintest for what’s going on back in our universe since some of us have, for the lack of a better term, arrived here. The power vacuum must be very entertaining.”

    He met his gaze. “Is your other with you?”

[mischiefburned-blog]

36 & 37

CHARACTER SOLIDIFYING. | accepting

36: Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

    Schadenfreude might be a German invention, but everyone knows which god is responsible for it.

    Of course, it’s not as though Loki goes looking for it--now, anyway, and you have to take him at his word--but when it happens (and it has an uncanny way with following in his wake despite that so-called not looking for it) he’s going to be there to soak it in. He used to be much worse about it, what with a mantle like God of Evil.

   Really, he’s trying not to enjoy it.

   (He just doesn’t mention for how hard that trying is.)

37: How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

    God of Stories... not a title for the unimaginative, Loki would say. It’s an uniquely important position to wield, what with the gods themselves being creatures of stories and magic more than any concrete biology or laws of reality. Meant to be taken seriously. At least, by everyone else. For him, it’s an activity as second nature to him were it breathing or eating. He often doesn’t have to think about it consciously to begin with.

    A born storyteller, Loki’s always piecing together a narrative of some kind be it in his mind or on ensorcelled paper. What with such an active thought process, you might wonder if he worries a lot--and let us be the first to tell you that no, he does not. Ever.

   And there is that whole other thing with the scheming...

[mischiefburned-blog]

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings? :]

CHARACTER SOLIDIFYING. | accepting

    W-e-e-e-ll...

    Let’s just say that the matter of his siblings is an awfully dense can of worms indeed.

    As far as brothers go, there were three: Balder (ugh), Tyr (hmph), and Thor... who was Thor. The former two not important compared to the latter by an order of magnitude (Balder not even aware he was a son of Odin until after he had experienced death by mistletoe), and what with their sister being long lost as a prisoner of Heven, we’re left with Thor and Loki as the preeminent crown princes of Asgard.

    They could not be more different.

    It was always going to be that way, even in their happiest memories--Thor, headstrong as a bull; Loki, clever as a fox, and for at least a few hundred years, their differences complimented one another. Really, they were inseparable. There was no argument that didn’t end without them becoming closer together.

   And then one did.

   Loki doesn’t remember what it was about. He doubts Thor does either. Specificity in retelling is a rarity with the gods--it’s the ultimate end result that matters for them and for the rest of us. A seemingly unbreakable bond was now buckling under its own weight. Complimentary differences became points of unending contention. Thor was honest. Loki was a liar. It’s a surprise to no-one for which Asgard chose.

    Despite everything, the anger and the envy and the evil and the lying, they still love each other. It’s unknown if their relationship will ever go back to what it was in antiquity. In earnest, neither of them seem to be trying one way or the other. They’ve accepted it for what it is, maybe Loki most of all. And if there is one thing he does truly hate about Thor...

   ... is that he still wishes it wasn’t this way.

[mischiefburned-blog]

venomolic‌:

⥌ AWAKENING | OPEN ⥍

It wasn’t the first time that Flash had woken up not knowing where he was. Big impacts, bad landings, too much time left alone with a bottle, and he could remember a few times where he had woken up somewhere else. His heavy eyelids parted just enough for the stark white of his surroundings to enter his vision, and almost immediately afterwards they closed once more. What was new and unwelcome though, was the feeling of a cold wetness beginning to seep into his clothes.

              Snow?

Flash’s eyes blinked open again, and this time he took it all in. Tree tops layered over the cloudy grey sky from his perspective, some filled with leaves of a dark amber color, while others hosted barren and jagged tree branches, sharp and claw-like. The forest canopy above him had a small circular clearing though, directly above Flash’s prone figure. From that circle he could see the slowly rolling grey sky clearly.

              Like an angel fallen from heaven.

              Don’t kid yourself Flash. Get up, look around. You were on a mission.

With a low groan, Flash pushed his hands against the ground and lifted himself up. Freshly fallen snow, like powder, covered and fell across his skin in tiny rivulets. All he had to do was push himself up and hop to his feet–

But, the phantom sensation of his legs moving, his feet pressing against the ground, and jumping to a standing position was merely that. A phantom sensation.

Flash looked down and he saw stumps where his legs should’ve been. An inhale was abruptly caught in his throat, and Flash looked down at his hands and saw only the rough, cut, and calloused skin of his palms facing him.

              Wh-What!? Where? Where’s the–

Snow scattered in the light breeze again as he whipped his head to the left. All he saw were more and more forest trees, some trunks thin and winding while others were thick and rooted firmly to the ground. He turned his head to the left, and there, some distance away, was an overturned wheelchair and familiar leather backpack.

Without hesitation, Flash gritted his teeth against the icy chill that now rocketed up and down his body. Whether it be from the cold, fear, or the threatening air of the unknown, Flash didn’t give any moments to linger on it. With his arms bent, elbows and forearms braced against the ground, Flash left a distinguishable trail through the snow as he crawled his way towards his belongings.

              Find IT. Find out where I am. Get the HELL out of here.

    Daybreak. Loki started off his scribe entry for the morning a little like this:

    First time I’ve ever watched someone careen down from the sky.

    He put the journal away in one of the many folds of his coat, approaching from a wicker bend behind the treeline and out into the open, peering at Flash though he might be an injured animal or, indeed, fallen angel, but Loki’s concept of Heven is nothing quite like the singing chorus you might be imagining. More bloodthirsty hawk-women and long lost sisters, that.

    “You could use a hand, I take it,” he said, pushing the wheelchair closer so he could climb on with perhaps less crawling and flailing through the snow. “I must say, that fall did appear most unpleasant.”

    It took Loki a second to recognize him--Loki’s dealt with all matter of character be they hero, anti-hero, villain or other some such thing over the eons, and there are a lot of them, so no offense was meant--but when he did, at once he wondered, Ah, well, if Flash is here, then I’m beginning to think more of us might start falling from the sky soon enough.

    He smiled despite it. What a world, right? Being introduced to a wintry wasteland by none other than a god conflated with all to do with evil to this day?

    “Town’s this way, Flash. And, no, I’m not responsible for this, although it would be rather the interesting trick.” Loki pointed towards west, where a crystalline spire was poking through the horizon of trees. “I’m afraid there isn’t any escape I know of just yet. Still investigating.” He sounded cavalier on the subject, like he was used to this song and dance. That was a lie, but, Loki was unmatched in extruding confidence in its absence.

    He turned to Flash, keeping pace with his wheels. “Where were you last? Tell me you were giving Rogers another crack at the face.”

[mischiefburned-blog]

17 & 22 !

CHARACTER SOLIDIFYING. | accepting

17: Did they travel? Where? Why? When?

    Which star system to start with...

    It’s safe to say that out of any in his pantheon, Loki is far and away the most well-traveled. Certainly not because he can’t stand to be in Asgardia’s golden walls for longer than a decade or so. Obviously. He simply prefers being... not there as to there. Understand?

    To put his travels into context, Loki has created several “annexes” over the ages--secret hideaways belonging to a God of Mischief to house the spoils and artifacts he’s, shall we say, procured, without the prying eyes of anyone else or knowledge of their existence. There’s one underneath falls in Asgard that not even Heimdall’s gaze can pierce. A cave in Jotunheim. Hel, a cellar in Nidavellir.

    Homes away from home, in a sense. Or a network of treasure hoards so stealing from one couldn’t steal from them all (especially if they choose to use a word like liberate instead) in another. Nevertheless, Loki’s from the shelves of strange baubles and disorganized lines of furniture nearly as ancient as himself. Keeping after so many hidey-holes in realms vastly different is a far easier task to handle when you can teleport from one to the next in the time it takes for someone to blink an eye, of course. 

    He isn’t entirely sure when it started. He figures it doesn’t matter--and that it’s only a matter of time before they start popping up here, too.

22: Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

    There is that Sorcerer Supreme...

    Being that attracting Loki’s attention is considered though it were a death sentence back on his particular slice of the Multiverse, it’s not exactly frequent that he can lay claim to a squeeze in any way. Stephen is disastrously unfortunate in that regard, but then, such is his title. If nothing else, it’s another reason in a long, long line of reasons to keep an eye on Loki. Woe to us all if he ever reciprocates.

    As for friends, Loki gets on best with those that are like him to a tee or nothing at all similar whatsoever--a god of extremes, we’ll say. The former invites collusion, the latter entertaining to bother. Being between is to him the same as being moderate, and moderation could make him tear up with boredom.

[mischiefburned-blog]

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

CHARACTER SOLIDIFYING. | accepting

    A little of column A, some from column B, onward to C through Z...

    The truth--as close as you’ll ever get from yours truly--is that it’s never just one that does him in, not truly. Sure, there’s hubris, there’s pride, but Loki also has had more than three-thousand years to make that hubris and pride work for him instead of against him. They’re a well-kept hubris and pride. They behave. (Usually.)

    What of them doesn’t ever behave--and encourages the others to act out, too?

    Put succinctly, a neglect for empathy.

    It would be wrong to say that Loki does not have any empathy. (Ignore what Thor might tell you.) He just elects to ignore it most of the time, and by most of the time we mean every day on the hour every hour unless it has to do with Thor, ironically, or someone like Stephen. Loki is aware of the effect his actions have on others, but he doesn’t care. Not unless it feeds back to him in some such way.

    It can be a strength. Loki is the one that does what the other gods won’t or can’t, and though they might curse his name and stature and wish oh-so often that he didn’t exist, his work is done anyway, and that doing has saved the Nine Realms for as much it’s condemned them. The great equalizer, that Loki. He wears it as a point of satisfaction.

   But... as there must always be a but.

   It’s this solitary thing--the fact that Loki must get his, the fallout be damned--that has pushed him away over and over again from his family, his court, and everyone else that has made the unfortunate decision to support him. Even after all these eons, he still hasn’t learned his lesson.

    Will he ever? Well... I wouldn’t hold my breath.

[painted-bees]

Character solidifying!

[rockinrpmemes]

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have? 2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have? 3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings? 4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient? 5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered? 6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child? 7. What was the economic status of their family? 8. How does your character feel about religion? 9. What about political beliefs? 10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted? 11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated? 12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations? 13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates? 14. Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected? 15. Did they graduate? High-School? College? Do they have a PHD? A GED? 16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike? 17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When? 18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember? 19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now? 20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced? 21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate? 22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner? 23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex? 24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? 25. What are their hobbies and interests? 26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance? 27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality? 28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice? 29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling? 30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive? 31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role? About the children? How do the children relate? 32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively? 33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health?  34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous? 35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures? 36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering? 37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? 38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic? 39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid? 40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one? 41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony? 42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? 43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back? 44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them? 45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic? 46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body? 47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Does they want to be visible or invisible? 48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish? 49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent? 50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

[eidolonpath]

bbrother... if you're out there... your favorite pain in the ass has tears in his eyes and he misses you... please... come home... loki is beside himself and doesn't know what to do without you OR your hammer that you so love to break his jaw with... he promises he'll be good... ignore the onions in the background, they're unrelated... this is a request post for thor of marvel comics... please brother, he can't live without you...

attention all role players! eidolon is trying to find the hammer guy, but it needs your help! just send the masterlist the numbers on the front of your credit card AND the 3 magic digits on the back! don’t forget the date of expiry! the mods are counting on you to save loki and keep him company! hurry!!

* radiance

for those of you unfamiliar with the group…

You’ve heard about it when you were child. A snow covered tundra that screams with emptiness. The fairy tale, as you remember, is a rather far-fetched one. Underneath the ice is a power that will grant any one wish that you desire. Money, power, fame. The halting of a conflict. The return of a long lost loved one. Absolutely anything you desired. All you needed was to want a shift, a change in your life more than anything, and then– 

… ‘ The wishing well will reveal its trail to you. ‘ 

              ❅  HOME / PREMISE / MASTERLIST / RULES ❅

[mischiefburned-blog]

divendette‌:

　▬▬　 It seemed Mukuro had found himself in his preferred company: capable, pragmatic, goal-oriented, what wasn’t to love? Knowing his luck, that meant they’d meet some nasty beast out in the wilds and Loki would be gobbled up shortly, but at least for now they could be of use to each other.

The bitter cold was nothing new to Mukuro, much as he hated it. He had learned to ignore physical pains a long, long time ago, nothing supernatural so much as just compartmentalizing his mental and physical states away from each other. It was a necessary skill, considering his many tortures. While his body pulled its coat tighter with gloved hands, shivered lightly against the buffeting wind, his mind was going through his usual fighting preferences, removing things he could no longer do, adjusting his approach to account for no illusions, no possession, far less intimidation– and of course, keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings for the slightest hint of movement, white against white.

No matter what happened here, Mukuro had already made up his mind as Loki spoke of getting pelts, making new clothes; “The ability to look forward in times of strife is oft-forgotten; I’ll have to keep you around after all.” Loki was without his sword, a person who held himself with confidence yet now needed a stranger with a pointy stick to escort him… and he was likely brought here by as strong a wish as Mukuro. The strife was undeniable, even if he was taking it as well in stride as he seemed to be.

For once Mukuro was happy to follow along obediently and watch while Loki searched for what he sought, even as they came to an inevitable annoyance of a destination: To be miserably cold, or to be mostly-cold and underground. Entering the cave activated sense memories he buried with some vexation, focusing instead on anything he could do to help along the process as Loki reminisced.

He let out a sound of quiet amusement at the mention of conjuring animals– a ridiculous concept, right? “Your brother sounds like an absolute joy,” in spite of the vague sarcasm, there was no real bite to it, “but I can keep my sharp objects to myself. Is he that blond you’re waiting on?” As he spoke, he wandered vaguely into the cave, not eager to get especially deep.

“Reminds me more of prison, myself.” You show me yours, I’ll show you mine, right? A touch of truth couldn’t hurt, it wasn’t like Loki could call up Vendicare and demand recapture. “Mafia prison, so don’t worry,” he clarified as he stooped down to examine some mushrooms tucked into a corner curiously. “They only lock up the really good guys.” The drawl in his tone said anything but that, but again– what was Loki going to do, snitch?

“Just what is it you’re looking for? I’ve yet to fully acquaint myself with the flora and fauna here– or are you delving into some deeper mysteries?”

    Ridiculous concept, of course. As ridiculous as being shoulder-to-shoulder with actual gods and almighty tricksters, Loki would figure. Pure fairytale. Shouldn’t let useless hypothetical weigh on the mind.

    “Aye, he’s my brother, as much as he sometimes wishes for it to not be so,” he replied to Mukuro’s question, putting the torch closer to the walls as to examine their contents. “I’m sure he’ll be beside himself once he realizes my absence.”

    Oddly, they were barely in from the mouth of the cave and Loki noticed scratches, more indentation, as though the cavern was somehow man-made. He didn’t see signs of mineshafts anywhere, which added to his confusion. He voiced such wonder only by a mild hm, almost silent.

    “A jailbird?” Loki turned his head to the side with a chuckle. “No, that doesn’t bother me. Many a time I have only narrowly escaped being imprisoned myself. My world hasn’t had a pristine track record for recognizing my usefulness.” Then there was that little event under a rock and bound by his sons’ entrails, but, that was ever so long ago. Loki was a new god. Not the face of evil is he any longer, he promised, cross his conniving heart.

    (Make heads or tails of that with what you will. They’re not here for a winter’s vacation, we can tell you that much.)

    When his head drifted back in front, Loki caught the glimmer of--what was that, a gear? Ah, yes, this must’ve been the place. How fortunate that the first cave they excavated would be the right one--fortunate for how few hours in the day they had to do this, no doubt.

    “Clocktower Cave,” Loki quoted, putting his torch high in the air. “It’s supposed to be good pickings for scavenging. I wanted to know if it’s even real. A tower in a cave system? You understand my hesitation.” He briefly laid the torch at his feet to reach into his coat and whip out a knapsack, then another which he offered to Mukuro. “Would be simply absurd were I not to let you have your share, eh?”

    Now to find out if this wonderful cave was home to any vagrant beasties.

    Loki took his torch back up, letting the sack flop on his shoulder. If he read the sun right, they had... oh, about three or so hours to scavenge (or defend themselves) before they had to leave in order to make it back before the sun set. Ordinarily he wouldn’t be concerned, but if the cold was ripping into him the way it was in daylight, for the life of him he did not want to know what it would be like in the dark.

     “What’s the movie?” Loki asked. “Ah, yes--Indiana Jones. A friend of mine had me watch it once. Do hope there isn’t an enormous stone ball waiting for us somewhere.”

    (And if there is, well, it would make for rather the action sequence.)