So, this is my NaNoWriMo project. Initially, I just wanted to write a decent Loki/OC fic to prove wrong all of the haters, but his character is just so...there's so much complexity, I'm honestly hooked, so this story really is more about him and the downward spiral that takes place before Thor. I realize that occasionally I don't make sense when I write, but as far as I'm concerned, Loki's thoughts are jumping all over the place, and my style is very stream of conscious-y. So yeah, there's my defense.
Standard disclaimers apply
Truly, I hope you all enjoy this!
I.
And it has always been there.
Always.
Deep inside, sitting, waiting, watching until the perfect time. Waiting until he was weak and it could consume him.
It is fire and he does nothing to put it out, because what is the point anymore? Asgard is his. Father may never wake and if he does…well Loki is prepared for that too. When his father wakes, he will have gotten his revenge, but he will be a hero. Thor will be forgotten, unimportant and for once in his life, Loki will prove himself a worthy son.
His hands tighten and loose around the staff he holds as he sits in the throne. His throne. His lips twist and curl into something close to a smile. His throne, his kingdom, his realm. No one can deny him this no matter how hard they try, and try they will. These cruel, wicked, ungrateful people will abuse him and throw him down and do everything they can to make sure he does not have a moments worth of success. Just as they always have.
This time, when he tightens his hand, his grip doesn't slack. It constricts until the metal presses against bone and bruises and his knuckles become pure white. A nasty scowl manifests on his face as well, he doesn't try to fix it and giving in feels beautiful. Glorious, as though for once in his life he is free.
Yes, that is what he is, free.
There was a time when he believed that he already was. He thought that not having to take responsibility for the throne was freedom, but he sees now just how wrong he was. He was never free, he was just blind to all that trapped him.
He closed his eyes and lied to himself whenever his father chose Thor over him, and when did father not choose Thor? He turned a blind eye to those who looked at him like he was some sort of abomination because he was not all that his brother was. He pushed aside all of his doubts and his jealousy and his hate because he wanted the illusion of equality. No more of that. He rakes a nail down the long golden staff and his scowl becomes that same twisted smile that he wore only moments ago.
No, he will not need that illusion, in a few sweet minutes, Thor will be dead, Laufey will be slain and Jotunheim destroyed. All thanks to him. Equality will be a thing of the past, for once he will be the favorite. He can almost feel the praise that he knows he will receive. Almost, but not quite. There are still important matters to attend to.
Pinch the eyes shut, hand on the bridge of the nose, paralyzing headache coming on, but it will all be worth it. Controling the Destroyer is no easy feat, but the rewards he will reap are so glorious.
Blast this to bits, smash that to pieces. Sif seems intent on dying and it will be no great loss to him if she chooses to sacrifice herself. She always was far too eager to battle for her own good. Perhaps if she is gone, Thor will fight him.
And then…what is this? Thor, playing the martyr. So humbled, so much less arrogant than Loki remembers, but that does not mean he cares. His spoiled, privileged brother's sudden change of heart does not mean that he has had one. Thor has had a few months of cruelty to change him, Loki has had decades worth. Thor will not live to be as jaded.
"Brother, forgive me for whatever wrong I did to you. But these people are innocent, taking their lives will change nothing. So take mine." Thor stands in front of him, so willing to die to save these mortals. Unfortunately, martyrdom has never impressed the god of mischief.
Loki arches an eyebrow when he hears this, but quickly becomes irritated with the prospect of mercy. Why should Thor receive it when he never has? Why should one sweet apology from Asgard's golden boy be worth more than thousands of Loki's? The Destroyer whips around and throws Thor aside as though it is slapping a child's toy away.
Who would have thought it would be so easy?
And then, Thor rises, like a Phoenix from the ashes of his brother's hate and comes back with all of his glory, and is once again, blessed with the power of Mjolnir .
Loki should have known better, he should have known that the AllFather would come through for his favorite son in the end. He should have known that even with the help of the destroyer, to do something right, you must do it yourself. He should have known his brother wouldn't die so easily. Something cracks inside of Loki as he watches the Destroyer fall. He had counted on it, what a terrible miscalculation.
It was a flaw, a mistake, an error and it will cost him greatly. There is no margin for error. He doesn't have much time now. His task must be accomplished quickly.
He removes himself from the throne and walks quickly, silently, with purpose.
The King of the Frost Giants is in Odin's chamber by now and has his false sense of security. Loki might take pride in the fact that this villain could be deceived, but truly, it was all too easy. Not even a challenge. Not even fun.
Fun.
Remember when this was all for fun? Remember when mischief was just a game?
He barely does. He was once a child with a knack for trouble, a desire to destroy what was perfect, because that is something that he can never be. He does not long for the days of parlor tricks and turning wine into snakes and letting the Frost Giants into Asgard, simply to cause a little havoc, not when he has destruction at its purest form right in front of him. Loki will not allow himself to feel nostalgic, not when he is finally becoming something more than Thor's shadow.
His face distorts and twists and something in his throat tightens until he cannot breathe. He shakes the feeling quickly. Forget it, forget it all, forget youth and naivety and the days when he was fool enough to love his brother and believed that his father did not choose a favorite. Of course he chose a favorite and of course it was Thor. Loki was a Frost Giant, a prisoner in a place he once called home, thrown away until Odin could find use for him. No, Odin never loved him. Nor did anyone else, no matter how they claim to, they will always choose another.
Until now. He is not a foolish child any longer. He is a king, and who will be able to deny him when he becomes a hero?
One, two, three more steps. Open the door, silently, Laufey is too caught up in his monologue to hear anything though.
Loki is sickened by how he can relate. So often caught up in his own racing, screaming, pounding thoughts that the world around him fades out. No, no he will not be like Laufey, never. He will not be similar to this man…his father. His face turns into something far nastier. Destroy the king of the Frost Giants and then wipe out Jotunheim and he will never again be reminded of what sort of monster he truly is. His stomach tightens as he advances, silently.
The staff is a raw manifestation of his anger, his rage and he cannot wait until it destroys the Frost Giant in front of him. Find a way to toe the line. Be swift, but be patient. Wait until Laufey finishes his little speech, a little theatricality never hurt, especially when Loki has been so subtle and so caged his entire life. Now is the time to let go and drink up this liberation.
He remembers a time when such a thing would never have been possible, when, despite his carefree use of magic and the irresponsibility he was allowed, Odin would not have let the most useful of these stolen relics get away. He never wanted to leave, he never craved escape all he ever wanted…is unimportant. He reminds himself that he is not a child who craves something as silly as equality and that he should never want to be. Not when he has this sort of power, not when he is discovering exactly what chaos can do when properly utilized.
Laufey touches his father's still form, peels open the eye he has left and in that moment, Loki does not know who he hates more. His real father or the one who claims to love him like one. He cannot decide which part of him is real and which is a lie. That will change very soon though. Just do this, end him quickly and silently and then Loki can move onto demolishing that filthy, wasteland that is Jotunheim.
"It is said you can still hear and see what transpires around you. I hope that is true, so that you may know your death came at the hand of Laufey." Laufey makes his move now, he is so close and Loki is so tempted to let the giant murder the AllFather when his better judgment reminds him that Odin's murder is not part of the plan. The god of mischief uses a force he has never known and lets that rage flow through the staff as it throws Laufey aside.
Hate, bitterness, rage and then still, that crippling, destructive loneliness. He takes what he assumes is them at a level he has never seen before and channels them, focuses them, lets them consume him as he holds the staff up and takes aim.
All of this pain, so pure , so raw, so untainted, and yet, somehow, so unimpressive. He thought that unleashing all of it would feel different, instead, it feels like an untamed version of how he normally is. Himself without the leash, without the cage. All of this bitterness is him in his purest state. He blames this all on Odin and Laufey and Thor and everyone else who has dangled hope in front of him for so long and then shoved him down when he was close to reaching it.
Reaching for so long.
So long.
So long.
"And your death came by the son of Odin." He narrows his eyes and fires and watches as Laufey is destroyed.
Just as he is. Just as he was.
So long ago.
Something twists and claws and bites at the very fabric of his existence because now, his eyes are open. Wide.
How has he never noticed before? How has he never seen what has been staring him in the face for so long?
He remembers everything, if there were a time when this did not exist, surely, he would know. But he cannot. He cannot recall a time when hate and bitterness and rage and jealousy and loneliness did not fill him.
He does however, remember exactly when they began to consume him.
He remembers when it all began.