A/N: So! I have decided to take a page out of I'vebeenLOKI'Dyetagain's book. She writes a brilliant collection of Loki pieces called Bleeding Myself Cold. I have largely the same problem she does, namely that Loki has invaded my life and I find myself writing random snippets and poetry and stuff about him way too often. So I decided to do the same - it's a great way to publish things that would never see the light of day otherwise!
Anyway. This particular piece is based off of the Thor 2 prelude comic, over which I am sure all Loki fans have individually read and raged. I haven't actually read the comic myself, so please forgive any inconsistencies with what is actually in the comic.
Loki is standing before the Allfather.
He still seethes behind the glinting metal, wounded pride and so much else bristling beneath his skin like broken glass. In some deep, dark way Loki will never acknowledge, his conquest of Midgard was still a conquest to be accepted. If he could not be loved by his so-called father, at least he could be respected by him. But that has failed like everything else, and he is being dragged back to Asgard like a disobedient child, and all he can do now is stand here in front of this man he once called father, anger and denial and stubbornness and hurt coiling and twisting and tearing within him, trying to look poisonous and removed from all around him behind that cold metal muzzle.
And as Odin disowns him, all he can do is ignore the hurt like a spear through his chest, burying it deep beneath his hatred and wrath. He's not Odin's son, he never was, he doesn't want to be the son of this foolish, selfish old bastard, to whom he is nothing more than a pawn. He's betrayed Odin again and again, he's proven his loathing, there's no reason for Loki to feel hurt, none at all.
And as Odin states bluntly that Frigga is the only reason he is still alive, that, indeed, he will spend the rest of his days in a cell, all Loki can do is blot out every memory of his youth into a dull golden haze, and crush the faint leaping of his heart at the mention of Frigga's intervening on his behalf, and twist this new knifeblade between his ribs into a red-hot weapon to clench in his grip. The cell is nothing to worry about, anyway, not when he is Loki. He will find a way, he always does, and everything else he is thinking is concentrated into his burning green eyes, enough to cause Thor's face to crumple if it were Thor, maybe enough to poison even the Allfather himself.
And as Odin calls him Loki Laufeyson, all he can do is stiffen silently, shock running through every vein like ice, cursed ice, followed by the deep blaze of - of everything, he is burning, burning, burning. How dare this man remind him of the lie that is his life, how dare this man use it against him, use it to hurt him - all over again he can see them beneath Asgard, the Casket thrumming malevolently behind them, the blue fading from his shaking hands that he is trying so hard to keep still, a lifetime of being made to feel less rising like bile in his throat - but that was so long ago, when he was someone else, someone else entirely, someone who loved the weak sick pathetic fool before him and believed it was possible for him to love him back.
All he can do is bite back the bitter screams of fury that rage in his mind, a hurricane of them, he can't pick them apart, all he can do is be led away with rough hands shoving him down the halls to his cell with his eyes of smoldering, swirling acid burning into Odin's and daring the old man to regret.
He sees none, and all he can do is continue to walk as his mind splinters in on itself, unable any longer to lie its way out of the pain of his father's final betrayal.
