Plot Bunny Needs a Home
So here's this fic idea I had that needs a home. Basically an excuse for me to imagine Loki with UberPowers and Wings.
Space is big, complicated, sprawling and mixed up thing that is ever expanding and ever changing.
Time is worse.
Time is like a river, and flows, but a river is made of water which evaporates and leaves residue. It gathers and falls. Doubles back on itself. Sometimes it even swirls into little whirlpools that an enterprising Trickster may take advantage of and dump an unsuspecting mortal into.
But this isn't a story about that particular enterprising trickster of an angel. This is a story about another, the Ex-God of Mischief, the Fallen Jotun, and how through one of those curious happenstances that some might call miracle Loki Rose.
There was no epiphany of self-actualization, no sudden revelation of Nirvana. An act of Divinity cast him down -if you Believe in that sort of thing- like Micheal did Lucifer -if you follow the simile- but there is much less omniscience in the world of gods and angels than most Cleric types would have you believe.
Which is why Loki, empty and mortal and full of a void that wanted to be filled, was sent crashing through one plane of existence and another on his way to Midgard - Earth. It is why in another plane close by an angel stood on what could be thought of as a precipice, butter-knife in hand, and carved out her own Grace.
The Angel fell like a ethereal comet, little left after the excision but a steel will, finding refuge in the womb of a barren woman. Her Grace trailed after her, nothing but power and instinct, a burning mass of Creation seeking a vessel.
The Jotun fell, empty of purpose and power, and found both.
He never reached the place his Father had prepared for him.
Abandoned Grace sought out the nearest available receptacle, and found it falling along a similiar trajectory to its own. Loki felt his body fill with cool blue light so bright it blinded. It burned away mortality, growing roots deep into a battered sense of self and bearing with it the echos of millennium.
Unable to contain all the potential that is Grace, the condemned mortal form burst, leaving nothing behind but wavelengths of confused celestial intent.
On Midgard, where a spear filled with sealed magic had crashed down, an acorn cracked open as the potent magic fed into the earth while waiting for an owner that would never come.
Space is big, complicated, sprawling and mixed up thing that is ever expanding and ever changing.
Time is worse.
Time is like a river, and flows, but a river is made of water which evaporates and leaves residue. It gathers and falls. Doubles back on itself. Sometimes it even swirls into little whirlpools that an enterprising Trickster may take advantage of and dump an unsuspecting mortal into.
But this isn't a story about that particular enterprising trickster of an angel. This is a story about another, the Ex-God of Mischief, the Fallen Jotun, and how through one of those curious happenstances that some might call miracle Loki Rose.
There was no epiphany of self-actualization, no sudden revelation of Nirvana. An act of Divinity cast him down -if you Believe in that sort of thing- like Micheal did Lucifer -if you follow the simile- but there is much less omniscience in the world of gods and angels than most Cleric types would have you believe.
Which is why Loki, empty and mortal and full of a void that wanted to be filled, was sent crashing through one plane of existence and another on his way to Midgard - Earth. It is why in another plane close by an angel stood on what could be thought of as a precipice, butter-knife in hand, and carved out her own Grace.
The Angel fell like a ethereal comet, little left after the excision but a steel will, finding refuge in the womb of a barren woman. Her Grace trailed after her, nothing but power and instinct, a burning mass of Creation seeking a vessel.
The Jotun fell, empty of purpose and power, and found both.
He never reached the place his Father had prepared for him.
Abandoned Grace sought out the nearest available receptacle, and found it falling along a similiar trajectory to its own. Loki felt his body fill with cool blue light so bright it blinded. It burned away mortality, growing roots deep into a battered sense of self and bearing with it the echos of millennium.
Unable to contain all the potential that is Grace, the condemned mortal form burst, leaving nothing behind but wavelengths of confused celestial intent.
On Midgard, where a spear filled with sealed magic had crashed down, an acorn cracked open as the potent magic fed into the earth while waiting for an owner that would never come.