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The Trial of Loki - Part 1 - Asgard
The prisoner was brought, bound, muzzled, as he had been when the brothers first arrived from their sojourn in Midgard, and led to the dais. His hands were manacled to the podium and the three masters of magic - who had been sought from far parts of Asgard to assure they had no contact with him before his crimes - were positioned surrounding him to watch for his trickster ways. Even with their presence, and the presence of the assembled warriors, and Odin on his throne, the fingers of the guard assigned to remove the muzzle trembled as they worked it free, and the assembled throng drew in a collected breath of expectation. Some no doubt expected heated words, vitriol — the more lurid imaginations probably expected fire to spew from the accused's mouth, so famous was his treachery.
Whatever they may have expected — or wished, Loki simply licked his lips and worked his jaw a few times to remove stiffness, before letting out a gentle sigh and lifting his head to the panel of c
A Small Seed of Hope (Chapter Five)The dreaded day had finally come. Loki was led, hands still bound, by a small army of guards, marched into the throne room of Asgard and before the All-Father himself. The hall was crowded to bursting with the Aesir, all seemingly too eager to catch a glimpse of the disgraced prince, and to witness his punishment. Once Loki had been put on the central platform, Odin spoke, his deep, authoritative voice echoing through the vast chamber, and silencing all talk.
"Loki, Laufey-son. You have been called here to answer for the crimes committed against three realms, including events which destroyed the Bifrost."
Loki swallowed painfully. Hearing Odin the man he'd called father for so many years disown him entirely hurt in a way he hadn't even fathomed. Knowing he had brought this upon himself, and had rejected his family first, made the blow ache all the more. Frigga stood at Odin's side, looking at him with a coldness he hadn't even known his kind mother coul
A Small Seed of Hope (Chapter Four)Thor strode in with his usual boldness, a self-confidence that declared his presence and demanded attention in a way that Loki had always envied. He paused at the sight of Loki, his blue eyes widening momentarily, before softening into a look of worry that made Loki's stomach knot. He moved to approach. It was only by a look of pure ice that the Trickster halted his advance.
The God of Thunder's countenance only served to make the sting of humiliation and indignity grow more unbearable in his chest. They looked at each other for several moments in tense silence, before Thor spoke.
"I have just learned from the guards you haven't been eating."
Unable to reply, Loki remained silent.
"Six times now you have refused food, and now twice water," Thor continued, brow furrowing, "They tell me you will not even let them remove the "
He faltered at the word.
" the muzzle."
It was almost painful to bite back the storm of words that longed to escape his lips. Loki jerked his h
Believing in You and MeDrabble-ish
Can be seen as Gen or pre-slash Thor/Loki
Loki snarls as large hands grasp the chain that connects his shackles, his eyes darting from left to right, making him resemble a cornered animal, before they settle on the man, the not-brother in front of him, their bright green gaze almost physically burning. "Why do you do this?" he asks and grits his teeth. "Why do you intend to bring me back? Why don't you end it here, once and for all?"
"I would never hurt you", Thor says, the sadness in his voice and his eyes washes over Loki like ice cold water, makes him flinch and stare at him disbelievingly.
"Why not? I have hurt you! I have tried to kill you! Does this mean nothing to you?" What starts as a whisper grows in volume, in desperation, until Loki yells and screams and wants to clench his fists, to smash and throttle and destroy the love that is shining in those bright blue eyes.
"Of course it does."
"Then why? Why do you still believe I have some goodness -" He spits t
Alone, Loki stood before the tall mirror. It reached from the ground and clawed its way to the ceiling of the empty room. He was alone and it was nearly unbearable. But no, never alone really. It was there. It was always there. The shadow in the back of his mind, always lurking, always feeding his anger, his fears, his sadness. Only in the mirror did it rear its monstrous head, hungry for vengeance and blood. Loki pressed his hands against the glass the reflected his pale, sickly face. Then it wasn't Loki's face anymore, but the beast's. Loki's features snarled and growled, barely resembling him.
"Loki, you can't escape me", it breathed softly. Loki shook against the glass. He feared this thing that had come to life inside him.
It laughed at him, You fear me? Why? I saved you! I kept us alive while you were practically dead in the black abyss. We survived because of me.
"You're not real," Loki muttered to the horrible reflection, wishing things back to how they were. The loneliness he
I am damned.I am called to trial for my life.
Before a jury of Asir and mortals.
How very hilarious.
You mortals convene to loosely decide the fate of a god.
How very righteous of you.
I, however; cannot be called "righteous." I cannot even be thought to be redeemable.
All hope of reconciliation was lost when I let go.
My brother- he who so claims to be my brother- the oaf, of course, would argue otherwise- that I was and am redeemable.
To call one who has already been claimed with such accusations as I redeemable would be the equivalent of believing that, a monstrous creature set free of its cage, would not bring harm to those who gave him freedom.
I have been given such titles as malevolent, cruel, liar, thief, and murderer.
I stand trial before my subjects with such accusations;
And I am guilty of every one.
Some have even gone so far as to "accuse" me of being death himself.
I, however; am simply a cause of death.
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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