#malachitemischief

[pyrebomb]

Aaaaaah! I just got Kanapy's fanbook and the sketch she did of Mal. My scanner is crap, so forgive the poor quality. It's my fault, not hers.

[malachitemischief-blog]

In the Silence of the Darkness We Unite

Loki wound his way through the narrow maze of tunnels that comprised the markets of Svartalfheim, drawing little enough attention in his borrowed form. It had been a month since the confrontation in Latveria, and his physical injuries had long since healed, ragged gashes drawn into pale scars concealed by his habitual glamours. The same could not be said for his emotional wounds, deep lesions which seeped putrid pus and bitter blood at every ill-conceived move.

And, despite all his careful planning, most of Loki’s moves were ill-conceived. Scarcely a moment passed where he did not exacerbate his hurts, tearing open newly-formed scabs under the pretense of plotting his revenge.

It had been a month, and he had made no true effort toward that end. Instead, he concealed himself at this cultural crossroads, lying low in a low-lying realm far past the point when he should have again taken up the tools of his trade to make dark deals towards shadowed schemes. Sooner or later he would have to accept that the truth was simply that he enjoyed the pain.

Rounding a sharp corner wedged between the stalls of a silversmith and a silktrader, he narrowly avoided colliding with a disgruntled dwarf as he noticed the familiar gleam of a blonde head from across the cavern. Not the shimmering, icy pallor of the Svartalfar, but a deep, burnished gold he knew would be soft to the touch.

Heart hammering to life where it had been dead in his chest, Loki turned on his heel, doubling back the way he had come. He slipped unseen from the crowd into a cramped corridor, hurrying past idle travelers, taking turns at seemingly random intervals, striking deeper into the very heart of the realm. When at last he reached an empty chamber, alone save for the echo of an underground stream and the bioluminescent light of Svartalfheim’s oversized glow worms, he sagged against a wall and coughed out slight, hysterical laughter.

Why had he run so? Even if Thor had looked directly at him, he would not have known it was Loki. He appeared as any other dark elf in this infernal city, if garbed a bit more strangely. But Thor had never turned enough of an eye to Asgardian fashion, much less what passed for normal elsewhere, to notice such a disparity.

[viciousthunder-blog]

Nowhere Left to Go

Thor traveled in the dark, hammer singing voiceless whirls of air in front of him as it swung powerfully and split the atmosphere. The air was cold and tinged with silence, the light of a flickering bridge far beneath him, once so broken and now repaired; enough, enough. He would rather fly than walk, the drag of space about him drowning out his thoughts and any time for them. To have walked so long a way between realms would have brought too many things to the surface, things he was saving for Odin, things he was saving—

The feeling, so vivid and tense in his mind racked his frame and made him scowl, the memory of Loki squirming beneath him, thighs tensing, hips jerking. The way his breath had escaped him—

No.

They were brothers. Brothers. Not—not even that, Loki was a murderer, a liar, a betrayer of trust and a thousand thousand other depraved things. A snatcher of family, of faith, of reliance, a doer of impure deeds, a manipulator…marring Thor and his pride, his sanity, his sanctity. Clever weavings of words and actions done in order to fool him, to trick him, to make him do things…

Make him spare thought on desires too rotten to voice.

Thor’s was a warrior’s heart, forged in heady steel, poured under the beating heat of suns too old to name and the light of pallid stars, hammered by iron and shaped to stand tall and proud, worthy. He carried with him the greatest of all weapons forged, the greatest of all tools, save Gungnir…and even this was newly ruined. For it was of Loki’s doing entirely, he had the damned thing made, and now made it worthy of being damned at all.

The very damnation swung before him and Thor nearly let it fly from his wrist into the confines of twisting, powdered nebulae if only to be away from the appalling sight of it. The mere display and repetitive whir made his stomach churn. If only he could so easily be rid of it by flinging a star born thing back to the very stars it was birthed from. Flung back to the fiery pit from whence it roiled. But no.

For Thor was nothing without Mjolnir, so in turn…was he anything but nothing without Loki?

The fact he could not answer his own passive thought made him spit in the fury of it, made his eyes sting, and his stomach clench.

Asgard was within sight.

--

Odin’s hall was filled with the voices of argument and the scrape of scrolls unrolling, landing upon the stone floor and tangling and ripping underfoot. Only Odin had his eye upon the entrance when Thor crossed the threshold. And it was only that one, blue speck of light, with so much knowing and grim resolve, was what kept Thor walking, past everyone and everything.

Those present were but lords and lowly men, fit for suggesting laws for their own villages. Words housed in huts and stone villas, never palaces, not like his own home. And they bowed their heads when they realized his presence, as they should, and they scurried to the edges of Hlidskjalf. To the darkly glowing gold in the corners where the thunder of a son beguiled no longer could not reach them. Or so they hoped.

“I would have words with you, Odin,” he barked, barely suppressing the fury he’d been holding in for so long.

Odin waited an infinite time before nodding ever so slightly, the weight of his head tilting forward just enough to have the others, who once so viciously bickered amongst themselves over some trifling lowland law, practically racing to flee.

In that one eye Thor saw resolution. And he knew.

“You know my reason for coming here, then?”

“You’ve done something irreversible, my son,” Odin said in response. No true answer, that.

“I thought Loki tortured by the Jotnar! What would you have had me do, were you in my place—”

Odin sighed. “Ignorance is ever your shadow, boy.”

Thor bit his tongue. He may have been angry but he was not stupid. In the golden rafters came the rasp of a raven and Thor knew Odin’s true eyes and ears were overhead, watching.

“Loki is free to let ash fall upon all and you would stand there, confused and angry.”

“I did not know—”

“You have not the right,” Odin hissed, and Thor heard another cackling of beak and tongue. “You have not the right to so rebuke your father. This is your doing. I had Loki where he would be safe, where we would be safe. And now,” he blinked slowly, shifting his posture where he sat, “now all will be ruin.”

Thor eyed him, weighing the words. He wondered what his father was seeing in that moment but he dared not ask. Not now, not when he came for other reasons.

“I came not to sully your court with the future—I came because, because…”

A flap of wings and he summoned adequate voice.

“Balder is dead. My brother is dead?”

Odin stood then, slowly, silent, and took each step down towards Thor like a walk to his own grave. He was before him only after the longest of times and then, “Night terrors do terrible things to the mind, Thor,” he said instead. “Balder was troubled, and Loki saw fit to soothe him.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, meeting Thor’s eyes. “He was to be a light in a world of dark. I had little thought of what had to pass beyond that of his being conceived. I had not planned for another of my kin to be his undoing.”

“Why did Loki do it? How?” Thor asked, voice dropping.

“Loki is Loki. The answer is his own to give. Though I doubt he will tell you it was mistletoe. Such an innocent plant, when treated fairly. The words would burn him to speak of such a weapon wielded.”

“I—” The words, whatever they were, would not leave him. The stuck and clouded in his throat as memories assaulted him. Thor was forced to close his eyes as he remembered the faces of the two boys he’d grown up with. His brother, Loki, his friend, Balder. When had trickster passed the line to murderer? From Lieweaver to truth-seeker? Why divulge such things to Thor?

Another manipulation crafted for a purpose—Loki’s own purpose…Thor didn’t know what it was. He never did.

A flash of warmth surged in the crease of his palms and the spread of his chest where bone met flesh as he remembered hips surging beneath a sure grip.

He turned away, reviled to bring such awful things to mind when before the visage of his own father.

A hand grasped his shoulder and Thor opened his eyes to see Odin was beside him now, the turn of his lips sad, his brow weary.

“Frigga is still your mother, for she raised you. Just as she raised Loki. You are of Asgard. I would not see you suffer so as Loki has. ‘Twas a wrong thing suffered for a misconstrued meaning.”

Thor felt his heart harden at the words. “I am not Loki. Though the misconstrued is oft a casual thing from your mouth!” He turned away, shrugging off his father’s grip easily. It was a small thing, weak, and Thor felt guilt swell in his chest despite everything.

“Father, I—” He breathed. “Loki is my brother. But I fear what he will do if not even family will bind his actions.”

Odin’s lips twitched, a shadow of a cruel smirk. “Loki is Loki,” he repeated.

“Would you have me kill him?” Thor found himself asking.

“No. I would have you be Thor. As I would have him be Loki.”

The trill of a raven’s coo sounded from above and Thor felt himself waver.

“You speak of a darkness. If Loki is that, then…”

“The Norns speak of darker things even than Loki.”

The weight of Gungnir rung throughout the hall as gold clanged against gold, and Odin was walking away.

--

He would not kill Loki, Thor already knew that. The fact he could not did not entirely form in his mind for many long miles.

He could not spend more than an hour more in the home of his family, for seeing everything so unchanged, so regal and calm and quiet, made him recoil. It made his skin crawl. Asgard was changed for him, and Loki had seen to that. Thor felt ashamed, humiliated. He was rarely either.

No, he would not—could not—kill Loki, who in spite of all things was still his brother. He would do something worse. Something his brother deserved.

Thor would make Loki ashamed for what he’d done. Thor would humiliate him.

Hushed breathes, a bruised throat, and shifting legs borne of surging hips.

Thor swallowed.

He would see Loki suffer.

[viciousthunder-blog]

Recovering Truths

Latveria was a twisting, dark maze of streets and spires and dirt. Clouds hung overhead and though the sun shown, light did not permeate below to the streets. Only the castle of Doom himself stood bathed in adequate light, an ugly monolith. Yes, Victor had helped them before but, just as with the suspicion one must have regarding Loki, one must have with Victor. It was that simple.

Thor stepped upon the ground just before Loki did, so that he did not jar him and risk his brother falling and worsening his wounds. The cloak drew tighter around his form and he was glad he'd thought to give Loki at least that much.

"Now, let us see just what Victor does when faced with a nude ally and his brother." He snorted, walking up beside Loki.

[malachitemischief-blog]

Silver Silence

Loki did not bother turning around as the guard closed the cell door behind him. Oh, it was a nice enough room—the same chamber, in fact, that he had occupied as the second son of Asgard, all the familiar relics where he had left them—but the plush velvet comforter and solid oak bookcases could not hide the fact that it now served as his prison. Odin had decreed that Loki be confined herein from dusk to dawn, as if he was some rebellious child to be curtailed by a curfew. By day, he was to be  restricted to certain areas of the palace. He was permitted the kitchens and the gardens, the kennels and the stables—the library, however, was predictably denied him. Running a hand along the nearest shelf, a peculiar gap caught his attention. Perhaps not all the familiar relics. A number of tomes which would have proved useful in his current predicament had gone missing. Trust Odin to see to everything.

Suddenly anxious to see what sort of damage Thor had inflicted, Loki closed his fist on empty air and paced to the far corner to stand before his old dressing mirror. Leaning in for a better look, he poked gingerly at one corner of his mouth. Thor had made a mess of it, of course. A straight stitch here, an angled one there, some even doubled back to form x’s, which he recalled, in a fit of spiteful irony, that the mortals sometimes used as a symbol for kisses. Swelling was beginning to pull the thread quite taut, but there was nothing he could do for that now, unless… no. Nothing to be done for it.

Huffing a small sigh through his nose, he collapsed backward onto the bed. What a cruel joke it was to be relegated to this room, surrounded by the belongings of Loki Odinson. If the Allfather expected these living arrangement to stir latent familial feelings, he was sorely mistaken. Loki knew the truth, now—perhaps had always known—and appealing to memories of the time before would not cause him to forget. He was a monster. Better he accept that now than cling pathetically to shattered illusions. Then why do you still wear this form? his mind mocked. You lie, as ever, Laufeyson. It’s all you were ever good for. Of course it is, he argued back. How could he be expected to be of any other use when his entire life had been a lie? Just because he lied to others did not mean he lied to himself. Then show your true face. Nobody is here to benefit from your falsehoods but yourself.

And so it started, he thought, tugging at his hair in frustration—the true punishment. The act itself was as nothing. Being trapped inside his own head with no recourse… Odin was as mad as he was, if he thought this a means of healing. It’d be a miracle if what remained of his sanity did not fracture within the fortnight. But Loki knew the Allfather’s intentions were not half so benevolent. The Terrible One sought to cow and conquer, not mend and restore. Only Thor, of all those who had been gathered, was dull enough to believe that proffered reasoning.

Thor. And how he wished his once-brother had put up more of a fight, protested his father’s wishes, let someone else perform the task. Even now, he felt familiar fingers cupping his jaw, a gentle hand in his hair. He could almost pretend that… no, that was foolish. He hated Thor. Loathed him with the intensity of the Thunderer’s own storm. Perhaps he was not so immune to his surrounding as he had hoped, if such thoughts were finding their ways through the cracks. Such feelings belonged to a younger Loki, the Loki who had been Thor’s brother. Do they, really? his mind tittered. ‘Tis unnatural for such desires to exist between kin. But then, you’ve always been a twisted thing. It’s in your nature. Bastard. Traitor. Murderer. Jotun.

Groaning, he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. If he was lucky—and he never was—he’d suffocate sometime in the night.

[heofninenights-blog]

Fallen

Eve had barely fallen when they returned. The light signaling their return blasted out of the sky, giving off a residue of darkness in it's wake. It had taken quite a bit of energy on his part to even see Thor off in the first place, just weeks ago, and already he had returned.

Odin had no need of his eyes to know Loki was with him.

He lifted Gungnir and allowed it's base to strike the golden floor, ringing out for all of Asgard to hear, to know. Hear there was audience, and here he would have it. Thor would know to come here first, to the throne room. To the hall of his fathers before him, Valaskjálf. Thor would command this hall one day. Not now, but soon enough.

Considering how he handled Loki today, Odin would see if he had learned yet more in his journey.

[malachitemischief-blog]

Far Too Many Notes for My Taste

Loki woke early. He never truly slept well, but his inclination towards insomnia was only made worse by hunger, and with Thor camped outside his door most of the previous evening, his access to the kitchens had been blocked. After the fifth note, he had given up on ever leaving his chambers that night, and had instead opted to sleep through the rest of Thor’s siege. Surely he would have lost patience by morning.

Indeed, that seemed to be the case. Instead of finding enough notes to bind into a book on his chamber floor, there was but one lonely piece of parchment. Picking it up, Loki was mildly surprised to see how much Thor had written. This was no two-sentence entreaty to quit his room, as the others had been, but an actual letter, signature and all. And Thor would sign it with that particular epithet. Of course he would. For all that Thor was no wordsmith, he always managed to say just the things that would find their way through Loki’s nigh-impenetrable emotional armor. Perhaps it had less to do with the words themselves and more to do with the man behind them. And all that he was. Either way, Loki hatedhim for it. And that hatred was all he had to protect himself from the brotherly sentiments of his would-be-protector. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips at the notion of Thor wishing for his safety and happiness. He would have neither so long as the elder lived, and he had long since proved himself incapable of killing him. Thor’s disregard cut more deeply than the knives Loki had favored once upon a time. His love, if it could be called that, chafed worse than the bonds he had so oft been returned to Asgard in. And both burned like serpent’s venom. So, to answer Thor’s question, yes. He had to lash out. As far removed from what most would consider sane as Loki was, he was quite certain it was the only thing that kept him from outright raving madness.

He did not bother to place this last communication on the desk with the others, but crumpled it in one palm and tossed it away, not even paying heed to the direction in which it landed. He did not want to think of Thor, today. He wanted to have some breakfast and be as far away from the palace as he could manage before the other awoke as predictably late as ever. Of course, Loki rarely got what he wanted, and he recognized immediately that this was to be another such case, for no sooner had he opened his door than he spied Thor’s hulking form spread out in the hallway, back resting against the far wall and knees drawn up to his chin. If the disarrayed furs and abandoned water skein were any indication, he’d spent the night there. Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, only barely managing not to sigh in resignation. Loki was stealthy and Thor slept soundly. There was still a chance he could sneak past without rousing the oaf.