Ficlet 4.5
Möbius
An Avengers Ficlet
Characters: Loki, Thanos, Other.
Pairings: This chapter? None.
Warnings/Kinks: Loki abuse. Loki's mind is a TRAPazoid. One sided parent-child relationship.
A/N- So this fic is basically what happens when it's a slow day at work and all I have is a notepad, pen, and Lego-Loki keychain to look busy with.
Previous Bits Here,and Here and lastly, Here.
Sometimes, Loki hates the weaknesses of the body and wishes he were a true monster with a heart of ice and bones of stone. He is not a monster, exactly, but a god of monsters. Yet, still monstrous enough to be condemned, to be mocked and tossed out once it became clear that the pretty wash of Aesir was but a thin coat hiding the beast beneath. If Loki were less god and more monster then the chains Thanos braided through his being would be as wind against the mountain. As it is, electrodes pulse, nerves twitch, and triggers are pulled.
He can't fight Thanos, not while his glimmering Ivy continues its choke hold -One that cannot last forever, nothing does, except a god (even a chained one). - but one target is as good as any other to the simmering heat within.
Loki has not been cursed with mortality, and goes through the human muck like Death goes through armies. Conveniently, an altar has already been prepared and Loki feels his lips twist into a pleased smirk, gaze roving the screaming, fleeing crowd for the thoughtful priest.
No matter. Loki takes his sacrifice -an eyeball, a distraction- and revels in the peace left behind as the Other retreats, tendrils of servitude going lax. The Other has observed nothing but the weak, cowardly animals Loki had spoken of. For a time the Trickster's eyes are his and his alone.
The Man Out Of Time hits like a child. An Aesir child.
And a child he would be, as the gods measure time; a child dressing in bright, garish clothes and playing Hero like a young Thor punching the air declaring intentions to slay all the Jotuns: all the monsters.
Loki is careful. He moves fast, but not too fast, telegraphing his moves to test the child's reaction time. They exchange blows, leg sweeps, and blocks in a dance that brings a sort of peace to the infant's frazzled eyes. It is... fun.
Until the Would-Be-King arrives wreathed in armor of gold and blood to the sound of technological trumpets to put an end their games.
Loki surrenders. Gracefully.
The Lord of Misrule has always liked green things, and that which is broken has the sharpest edge.
(Theirs is a curious symmetry. The Beast that makes play it is still a man, and the Everlasting with the pretense to assume so lowly a title as King. Mortals are those that die. Gods are those that do not.)
An Avengers Ficlet
Characters: Loki, Thanos, Other.
Pairings: This chapter? None.
Warnings/Kinks: Loki abuse. Loki's mind is a TRAPazoid. One sided parent-child relationship.
A/N- So this fic is basically what happens when it's a slow day at work and all I have is a notepad, pen, and Lego-Loki keychain to look busy with.
Previous Bits Here,and Here and lastly, Here.
Sometimes, Loki hates the weaknesses of the body and wishes he were a true monster with a heart of ice and bones of stone. He is not a monster, exactly, but a god of monsters. Yet, still monstrous enough to be condemned, to be mocked and tossed out once it became clear that the pretty wash of Aesir was but a thin coat hiding the beast beneath. If Loki were less god and more monster then the chains Thanos braided through his being would be as wind against the mountain. As it is, electrodes pulse, nerves twitch, and triggers are pulled.
He can't fight Thanos, not while his glimmering Ivy continues its choke hold -One that cannot last forever, nothing does, except a god (even a chained one). - but one target is as good as any other to the simmering heat within.
Loki has not been cursed with mortality, and goes through the human muck like Death goes through armies. Conveniently, an altar has already been prepared and Loki feels his lips twist into a pleased smirk, gaze roving the screaming, fleeing crowd for the thoughtful priest.
No matter. Loki takes his sacrifice -an eyeball, a distraction- and revels in the peace left behind as the Other retreats, tendrils of servitude going lax. The Other has observed nothing but the weak, cowardly animals Loki had spoken of. For a time the Trickster's eyes are his and his alone.
The Man Out Of Time hits like a child. An Aesir child.
And a child he would be, as the gods measure time; a child dressing in bright, garish clothes and playing Hero like a young Thor punching the air declaring intentions to slay all the Jotuns: all the monsters.
Loki is careful. He moves fast, but not too fast, telegraphing his moves to test the child's reaction time. They exchange blows, leg sweeps, and blocks in a dance that brings a sort of peace to the infant's frazzled eyes. It is... fun.
Until the Would-Be-King arrives wreathed in armor of gold and blood to the sound of technological trumpets to put an end their games.
Loki surrenders. Gracefully.
The Lord of Misrule has always liked green things, and that which is broken has the sharpest edge.
(Theirs is a curious symmetry. The Beast that makes play it is still a man, and the Everlasting with the pretense to assume so lowly a title as King. Mortals are those that die. Gods are those that do not.)