It has been a while indeed. Here are two chapters for your pleasure and enjoyment. I hope you don't hate me! (: I should be posting more if I get some good responses and reviews, so review!
I respond personally and ALSO you could leave prompt requests! Basically free fanfiction commissions. Think of it that way.
Brightwatcher: Hey thank you so much. It means a lot that you left this comment and are concerned and duly so about my muse because it is flighty as anything and clearly I am often unmotivated (even to just post things so you rock, this review reminded me I owe you guys something).
The Lady of Souls: Well hello there. This is fanfiction. A collection of drabbly chapters. All concerning Sif and Loki for reasons I honestly know not. Enjoy! :D
I OWN NOTHING EVER PLEASE KNOW THAT.
Lies and war mixed like drops of ink dancing through water. It was Midgardian psychiatric blots and it was a painters muddied water running in rivulets down rough paper.
When the Warrior goaded the Liar into joining her on the training courtyard they flew together- a frenzy of her brute power paried by blows like the beats of a raven's wings. A gold-hilted broadsword clashing against silver daggers. Knives singing, cutting through air, embedding themselves in a circle of shield.
When War and Lies clashed duels came to an exhausted standstill. No one saw through his illusions so easily, and no one considered flitting and fainting out of her way instead of taking her head on.
And when they fought together lives were ended in ragged breaths.
She cut through ranks of warriors, sharp edges meeting soft flesh, slicing through leather, breaking off sheaths of chainmail rattling like rows of glass beads. With deft flicks of wrists, her hilt dented metal and broke bones to dusty bits... and then she was in too deep… and he got her out.
He picked up the pieces, daggers whizzing over her shoulders, a lithe body pressed to her back. He distracted with his illusions, he decieved with his silver-toungue. He saved her life with magic and precision.
She was his finishing blow, the honest follow-through for every false truth. A dragon, dazed by a million of him, was blind to one of her.
When they fought together, they suddenly knew each other more keenly. Every bead of sweat, each pull of every muscle. The balance of each blade. Every dark thought and insecurity- all laid bare.
When they loose the other in the fray it means losing one hundred and eighty degrees of vision. Your back isn't to a brick wall… your shield was split in two. Anyone could be lurking on your blind side.
Pounding hearts, unsure steps, bursts of adrenaline. The feelings fluttering through every other body stumbling through the battlefield.
Then the world ended.
Ragnarok was idealized and glorified. And all of the overzealous oracles had prophesized The Liar as The Perpetrator.
But when the Midgardian Sea serpent uncoiled and when Fenrir the wolf burst from his chains, Loki the Liar was at the side of his golden brother.
Thunder rolled through open fields- an earthquake around every corner and air that shivered. There was lightning and there was frost in the air.
The Valkries rode on the storm clouds, each face in sharp relief as lightning bolts broke the ground.
The All-father took the Wolf. It raised its snout and howled and bared down, teeth bared, spittle flying madly.
Thunder met the Snake. A hammer met plated scales and a forked tongue tasted semi-immortal flesh.
Hel opened her gates and life flooded her dimension. She wailed, thick, retching sobs that echoed in the thunder.
The court of Valhalla clashed with the rest: the wicked sorcerers and the high elves, the gruntish trolls and frost giants.
From across the field of battle the Liar saw War fall. A battle hammer rattled her heart; Pulled the breath from her lungs with a huff.
Mjolnir ripped down the length of the Serpent. A fang caught on the prince's arm and venom shocked his system.
Loki held out a hand and the hammer flew to him.
Worthy at last.
He summoned lightning and brought Mjolnir to Sif's chest. The war was lost without this goddess.
Her body jolted. Again. Again. And a heart thudded into beat. She watched him for a moment.
"It's a Midgardian technique they use in hospitals. You don't think you could hold them off with Mjolnir, do you? Thor's gotten himself nearly killed and needs me urgently," Loki asked.
Sif took up the weight of the hammer and threw it into the ranks of dark elves where it sliced like a knife through butter.
They mixed like ink and water, black spreading in lopsided circles and settling in. They moved together.
Sif always fought with uncanny skill. She learned early how to faint away from Thor's strong arms swinging his heavier swords and dodged his hammer, letting his own momentum throw himself off balance.
She wielded double ended swords and spears that came to perfect needle points and she saw through Loki's lies. She could sift through duplicates and sweep around to throw the trickster off his feet.
She took on Mjolnir and Odin's scepter. She fought Loki's infinity stones, his ice and his magic.
She once goaded him into lowering his most persistent illusion, and he stood glowering, as tall as ever, but with blue hands and a blue face peeking out from under his usual ensemble. His eyes were scarlet and he was furious, his hot breath fogging up the cold patch of air swirling around his skin. Spectactor's gasped and he fumbled for a minute, she distractes him with an offensive strike.
She ran the length of the field and kicked him down. He grabbed her boot and swung her down beside him. Ice crusted her ankle and her leg felt cold and numb.
He was summoning winter and flinging icicles like his throwing knives. They shattered into her sword, pattered off her shield like hail. This was his true power.
Summer had turned cold, she had to chip at the ice creeping up her leg if she wanted to get loose, but she knew she would slip anyway, he grounded her for her own good.
Red eyes flashed, and through the snowstorm the birthmarks decorating his face looked like smeared blood. She swung the broad side of her sword into his shoulder and then hammered at her ankles, she stood over him, their battle now blocked by a curtain of wind and blizzard. She held an icicle to his throat and he laughed.
He kicked her off her feet again- he was the only one who unnerved her enough to get the opportunity to consider such an action. She turned slowly to face him.
"Kill a frost giant with ice?" Red eyes rolled at her, not ominous at all.
"I am renound for my ingenuity."
"I won't give you iceburns…" he muttered lowly, less suave more shy. She had been wrapping her hand in his discarded scarf. She unwound it and looked at him questioningly.
"I mean- I wasn't expecting you to want to want to touch me!" He growled. Liar, liar, always green with envy.
"It's not often I best a frost giant and face him reclining in the snow," she said, grabbing his face, admittedly still quite cold, and planting a kiss on some kind of royal Frost Giant rune. "You should be blue more often- it's a good look for you."
They were essentially monochrome- an elaborate spectrum of pitch ink to crystal clean water. Together they were muddied and messy, their natural tendencies and vices became diluted. They danced around each other and were thrown into each other until they were indistinguishable and inseparable. He was the ink scrolling neatly upon parchment and she was the water a warrior scrubbed caked blood with and somehow they managed to make sense.
