supercilious-pariah:

disordinanceandpride:

Loki was never fond of orders and exceedingly so when they were demanded of him rather than a choice to follow, guidelines if you will, but this new level of intensity he could feel burning in that aura of his pets was intoxicating. Stark no longer doubted what he wanted, he was steadfast and sure footed and this change sparked in him a flame he had not felt for some time. Liquid emeralds beheld the burning chestnuts with such wonder, such life, like an oak waking from the dreary sleep of winter and budding anew.

Anthony Stark spoke of his lack of humanity as if it were a gift, a pleasant forever in which darkness was his ally, and for the first time in all of his long life he felt as though he truly belonged here. A god among men with a monster at his side. It set his icy skin to crawling, raised delicious goosebumps along the length of his arms, coaxed the hair on the back of his neck to stand at attention. They would be unstoppable and undying and the world would have no choice but to accept their kings. Not even what was left of the Avengers would have jurisdiction to lay a hand on either of them. For one could not live without the other and, reassured in his devotion, Loki would seek to raise his Pariah should Death steal close and curl her gaunt fingers around his heart.

The touch of that brand against his skin sizzled with a newfound power, a bond that had sealed itself and them completely without his prompting. He had not yet learned how to bind as the Tesseract did, free will was a fickle thing and thus hard to harness. It was not strange to him that his magics should alter themselves to mold to the desire of its host but at this degree…

“You beg and command in the same breath? A far reach for one so little of form.” Oh but famished lips were smiling and devouring this joy he felt like a man starved since birth, nimble, delicate seeming fingers curving now, grazing, trailing, seeking the softness of well maintained hair as he lowered his own form to the floor beneath his boots. To a jotun god the floor, though cold itself, felt as warm as a human body and his presence upon it chilled the hairs of the carpet and made them stiff in indignation. Still it was a soft surface and his knees sank willingly into the fabric mere inches from the engineer’s own. Kneeling did little for the difference in height but it was enough that the liesmith easily grazed his other hand along the well muscled waist of his partner and drew him closer so that this pesky distance did not stand between them.

“There will be suffering. Plenty to go around for you and your friends if I remain. It is all that follows me, sorrow and darkness. Yet stil you wish to bathe in it alongside me?” By all rights he should not be asking, he should not be giving Pariah the option to turn away from him again. He should be taking what he wants as he has so many times before yet…

He had broken this unbreakable man, stolen a bond forged in promise, saved him from himself, given him new purpose, and fallen in love. Was that not enough to redeem lost little Loki? Never before had he tampered so thoroughly in a pet’s life that he had begun to hope to become a part of it beyond that of mastery. It thrilled and terrified him all the same and such a fragile little heart had he.

“If it be your will, the darkness welcomes you with open arms, as it always will.”

He could see it in the god’s eyes. The Trickster might be able to hide his emotions well, but Pariah had spent his entire life learning how to read people. He had become a master at it, even if he had become victim of it all on his own. But he could see it in the god’s eyes, something that was akin to the look the god had given him the day Pariah offered him his wrist of his own free if not beaten will. Something sparked there and did not go out. It was low, but it smoldered. It was there, and he could feel the slightest twitch in his fingers, and the spark of hope was fanned.

This time those silken words weaved by silver tongue did not sting, but caused the man to smirk. A witty reply made ready to slip from his lips but paused as suddenly the god was lowering himself down to the floor in front of him, and he couldn’t help the momentary surprise that must have crossed over his face. But then the god spoke and he was smirking again, an arm around his waist closing the distance between them.

“Any friends that I have after this point are friends who would readily accept me for who I am. Hell, they’d probably join us if I asked them too.”

And he wasn’t lying. One by one, those his small circle of friends was changing. Those who could not handle him, those who did not know him, being replaced by those who could and those who did. But at the mention of sorrow and darkness he simply shook his head.

“Sorrow’s been my friend since I was a child, Darkness was my first real serious crush. So believe me when I say I’m plenty good and fine right where I am, so long as you’re not too far away from where-ever that might be.”

Pariah would have laughed, however, if the god had made a comment about breaking him. Perhaps he had, in a sense. The god in front of him had chiseled away at every single wall the engineer had built up around himself: the bravado and the glamour, the self-doubt, the hatred, everything. He had gotten down to the core of the man, wriggling about into every possible corner and, whether he had known what he was doing or not, blew dirt of the existence that was Pariah at his core. He hadn’t broken him, he had freed him from all the chains he had forced upon himself since childhood.

Pariah was freer than he had ever been in his entire life.

“And I’m pretty sure the Darkness just doesn’t have a choice at this point. It’s just going to have to put up with me, whether it wants to or not. Because even if it walks out the door I’m not going anywhere.”

Such a definitive claim! That even should the darkness abandon that which it’d sought after, it’s prize would continue to live and thrive without its presence. The thought was comforting but perhaps a little dampening as far as spirits went. Pariah would be fine if he left but he had no intentions of leaving.

None do.

He maneuvered to his feet and gestured with a flick of his wrist for the other to follow suit, making his way towards the bar he had become so familiar with. A glass of Absinthe poured into a tall chute, and a second prepared precisely how he had watched the engineer prepare it too long ago.

“And if the Darkness chooses to remain? What will you do with it then?” And without even checking to see if his precious pet had followed him, he extended his hand back, the stem of the wine glass nestled between cold fingers and the chute itself molded against his hand.

thorbrotherofloki:

disordinanceandpride:

Loki’s eyes fell to the subtle but well received gesture of a hand on the hilt and glowered but a moment before settling down further. When the hand decended upon his hair however, his shoulders tensed and his muscles bunched ready for him to dismember the attacker but it rose and decended again. Calming him. Soothing him. Like a kitten frightened by a sound. Now if only he could purr…

Chuckling aside that comment he hummed in response and found himself enjoying this simplistic pleasure offered by the least likely of souls and his tragically gentle touch. If Fandral were to understand his heart, it would be a miracle. Not even he could deduce what it was he felt and what he wanted half of the time. He had always supposed it would take an unclouded mind to see such things.

Briefly he pondered upon the reaction of his older brother if he were to walk in and see the charmer and his silver tongued ‘brother’ in such an intimate and familiar manner. Would he grow jealous? Red with rage? Or would he simply dismiss his friend and impart upon his beloved sibling’s body the memory of who it was that pulled him from the hell of the dungeons? If Thor thought Loki would be thankful and grovel at his feet for that one kindness, he knew his brother even less than he claimed. This was just a brief respite from the horrors concocted below the palace.

“What has my brother told you of the reasons I am in chains?” Perhaps if he knew this, he could use Fandral to his advantage either against Thor or towards his freedom. Out of any of the golden prince’s entourage, he trusted this man most of all. He who had defended him on countless occassions. Who he had defended in battle, who had not openly and outright mocked him. Fandral was a kindred spirit of sorts and it was not on whim that his brother had chosen the lighthearted Volstagg and dashing swordsman as his guards. 

Fandral’s hand faltered on Loki’s hair briefly, another uncomfortable look exchanged between himself and Volstagg. He had no idea what he’d really expected of this task to guard Thor’s brother, but neither champion was even slightly prepared for what they got. But how did one ever prepare when matters came down to Loki?

“Very little…” Fandral admitted. “Thor is nearly as changed in his aspect as you are, my friend. He laughs much less, and thinks longer on his words, even between Sif, Hogun, and ourselves.

“He told us that you threatened Midgard, though he would not speak at length. …There is talk throughout the realms, however. Word of great power uncovered and tampered with. A legion from an unknown realm which laid siege to the mortal world. I could scarce believe my ears to hear the tales told…” Fandral spoke tentatively, watching the figure in his lap with more curiosity and caution, now that he recalled the rumors he’d heard.

They could get no confirmation nor denial from Thor, however. Where Loki was concerned, ever since their return, the prince had kept everything rather close to the chest.

Loki could feel that turn, that questioning gaze passed between the thunderer’s friends and it amused him so. In the past they would have been so arrogant as to claim to know him but as the years grew on, what they never could understand was coming to light. Slowly, little by little, they were realizing they never knew him at all. Gently he pried himself from the other’s lap, body aching at every twitch of his muscles and reminding him that there were bruises along his skin. That his magics were gone. Suppressed.

Perhaps it was the morbid curiosity in Fandral’s telling of Thor and how he’s changed or maybe it was the fear lurking behind the undetailed truth the warriors three and the lady Sif had received, but cunning little Loki was grinning from ear to ear. Thor did not trust them with the truth? Or maybe it was to spare his baby brother the looks, the judgement they would give. Sif despised him enough as it was, Hogun distrusted him, Volstagg’s only concern was the next meal, and Fandral…well Fandral was the closest to wit any of Thor’s companions would get.

“Then he has not told you everything? He has not boasted his accomplishments in the mead hall? He was marvelous you know, all that brawn certainly put to the test.” Gradually, he gathered himself and, despite his protesting muscles, managed to sit properly as a prince would.

“It would probably be for the best if I were to tell you anyways hmm? Biased opinions and all.”

thorbrotherofloki:

disordinanceandpride:

Loki’s lips turned upwards at the corners at the others words, his admittance to knowing so little and refraining from angering him further by pretending to understand. Then again, Fandral had always been a man who knew when to house his tongue rather than let it flail about in matters he knew nothing about. It soothed his ruffled feathers and bade a wider grin form across his features.

“None of you could ever hope to understand the machinations of anything beyond what you were raised to. Common sense, strategy, the workings of ones heart and mind…they’re all an enigma to you lot. You were raised only with the singular purpose of doing battle while I sought other means. I knew there was more to our world than swords and shields and the brutish strength to smash a skull with one fell swoop of a mace.” With the air of a royal, the god lifted his chin and opened his eyes, pushing himself up and leaning closer to his companion.

“Come, lay with me. I grow cold even before the fire, a warm body will do me good.” Expectantly, the trickster made a place for Fandral to sit so that he would be able to lay his head in the man’s lap and patted it gently. Subduing the venomous aura around him he looked, for all intents and purposes, like the prisoner he was. Harmless, worn out, beat down. Truly playing it off as if all he wanted was someone to hold him.

The swordsman was a little wary after their last tussle, but decided the risk wasn’t too great. Loki was still chained, and so long as he didn’t let the trickster get hold of his sword, they would all be fine.

He wasn’t here to keep Loki in so much as to keep anyone else out, after all. The palace was full of guard who could handle Loki in his present state, more than easily. But in his present state, Loki was in no condition to handle the palace guards, should they try to come through Thor’s door. And Fandral hadn’t only undertaken this task for Thor’s sake. Getting along with Loki had never been perfect, not always sunshine, honey mead, and roses, but the trickster was still a friend. At least… once upon a time.

“I know most minds, and especially hearts, well enough,” Fandral scoffed good naturedly, even as he settled where Loki directed him, “even if I cannot fathom yours. You are indeed and enigma, my friend. Ever intriguing, if sometimes vexing.”

He rested one hand upon the hilt of his sword, casual enough in the grip, but able to tighten if need be, from either prince or intruder. The other he was bold enough to pet over Loki’s hair. The raven locks were too silken in their look, and their position too familiar for the swordsman to resist the impulse, once the prince’s cheek had settled on his thigh.

Loki’s eyes fell to the subtle but well received gesture of a hand on the hilt and glowered but a moment before settling down further. When the hand decended upon his hair however, his shoulders tensed and his muscles bunched ready for him to dismember the attacker but it rose and decended again. Calming him. Soothing him. Like a kitten frightened by a sound. Now if only he could purr…

Chuckling aside that comment he hummed in response and found himself enjoying this simplistic pleasure offered by the least likely of souls and his tragically gentle touch. If Fandral were to understand his heart, it would be a miracle. Not even he could deduce what it was he felt and what he wanted half of the time. He had always supposed it would take an unclouded mind to see such things.

Briefly he pondered upon the reaction of his older brother if he were to walk in and see the charmer and his silver tongued ‘brother’ in such an intimate and familiar manner. Would he grow jealous? Red with rage? Or would he simply dismiss his friend and impart upon his beloved sibling’s body the memory of who it was that pulled him from the hell of the dungeons? If Thor thought Loki would be thankful and grovel at his feet for that one kindness, he knew his brother even less than he claimed. This was just a brief respite from the horrors concocted below the palace.

“What has my brother told you of the reasons I am in chains?” Perhaps if he knew this, he could use Fandral to his advantage either against Thor or towards his freedom. Out of any of the golden prince’s entourage, he trusted this man most of all. He who had defended him on countless occassions. Who he had defended in battle, who had not openly and outright mocked him. Fandral was a kindred spirit of sorts and it was not on whim that his brother had chosen the lighthearted Volstagg and dashing swordsman as his guards. 

(Ravenna’s mun just sits in rapt attention, musing a little) Strange how nightmares make a sharper impact than a pleasant dream.

I have only ever known nightmares, dear one, pleasant dreams escape me. Give my regards to your queen.

Well, there’s always going to be something I wish to know. Just depends on when I ask. ~ Pariah

Ask when you may, there will be no secrets between us.