mischiefreagent-blog

[mischiefreagent-blog]

    Well now, if this isn’t unfortunate.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

calamitess‌:

Her eyes widened ever so slightly; hoping dearly that it came off as surprise of finding herself immediately with a welcoming committee. 

In reality that was the least of the surprises dealt unto her; she was well familiar of the numbers of summoned warriors, the same warrior, being oft expanded. It was not uncommon to field troops that were nothing but variations on a theme of the same warrior. But this person wasn’t…quite her, though he bore the name. Coincidence, perhaps? But where Loki was concerned there were few coincidences, and many more machinations of her own providence. This could be dangerous if she wasn’t careful. Excellent.

“Is it that easy to tell?” She pouted, faux-coy as she inspected her robes, tassels and ponytail moving with her head for a moment. “I do have a question; is…Loki a common name in this land? This is going to sound absurd, but, we bear the same name.“

    Common? Well, when the rest of the world would no doubt insist that one was enough, and even then...

     “Not necessarily,” Ikol thought to reply, seemingly not bothered in the least with the apparent coincidence. “There’s one other. More ornery than me, of that I can assure you.” His tone was nothing short of charming. “Consider me the friendlier, more spritely half.” And younger, and trickier, and more handsome, and--

    “Oh, don’t be worried. We’re not from the same universe, multiverse even. It shouldn’t surprise you or I that our namesake and role as the discord within order is endemic to many different realities, no?” For as high concept as he was talking, Ikol said of it though it might be an interesting, but ultimately inconsequential detail. Blame the fact that for his particular slice of the multiverse, these cosmic-level events were paradoxically pedestrian.

    (Then again, they did also usually have a titan and a golden gauntlet with its many multicolored gems at the end of them, so this city was for once at least a little out of the ordinary.)

    “Walk with me,” Ikol said, standing beside her and holding his devil-may-care grin. “I would be terribly impolite to my own kind not to show you around, wouldn’t I?”

[mischiefreagent-blog]

@calamitess--

    Now if this wasn’t a sight for sore eyes.

    Ikol didn’t need to ask to know--call it intuition, an educated guess, or simply pattern recognition by now--and he assumed she wouldn’t, either. She’d her look and he his. (Although, those horns of his might’ve been the more obvious giveaway between the two.)

     “Welcome to Golden Ward,” Ikol greeted her, flashing his teeth beside an immortal cavalier grin. “Judging by the imminent eclipse leading up to your appearance, this is your first time fielding the view, as it were.”

    Not that he’d chastise his ilk for being new to the storied city and its marvel mile-wide hole in the ground, of course. Ikol talked as though it might be a pleasant observation.

    “I’m Loki. Suppose you could say I’m something of a veteran around the block.”

    His eyes shined with everything mercurial as he winked. “Anything in particular you’re searching for?”

[mischiefreagent-blog]

strangeofthevishanti‌:

    “It would appear I’ve stricken a nerve,” Stephen muttered uneasily. He rolls over in bed to now facing his lover, frowning back him uncomfortably.

    “Forgive me for sounding offhanded– that wasn’t my intention dear,” He immediately apologize, hoping that would lighten the blow. “You know I appreciate all you do for me, no matter what day of the week it is. I’d just prefer to sleep in for just a few more hours since I won’t be out and about slaying beasties today. You have me for the full day, don’t you? I had no intentions of doing anything else besides staying in with you…”

    “Don’t let my tongue betray my intent,” replied Loki, watching Stephen more closely than before. It was, after all, an irresistible instinct of his to mouth off in the most vagabond, sarcastic, insincere way possible... to show, signal rather, that he cared. (Ask Thor--the tactic has been extant for at least three thousand years with no change in sight.) “You and I know as well as anyone that we would have hardly fielded this far without my...”

    T...

    Tuh...? No, that wasn’t right, ah...

    Loki threw his hands together. “Trust, Stephen. My trust.” His smile could only wheedle so much out of the stammer.

    “But...”

    Loki’s lips were pursed. “The bacon being debated in question would be terribly cold three hours from now, would it not?” That was--if he hadn’t eaten it to the last superficial atom by then, himself. There was startling few that could get between the God of Mischief and his breakfast meats.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

What’s your muse’s personality type?

You Are An ENTP

The Visionary

You are charming, outgoing, friendly. You make a good first impression. You possess good negotiating skills and can convince anyone of anything. Happy to be the center of attention, you love to tell stories and show off. You're very clever, but you are not disciplined enough to do well in structured environments. In love, you see everything as a grand adventure. You enjoy taking risks for love. And if things don't work out, you're usually not too much worse for the wear! You would make a great entrepreneur, marketing executive, or actor. At work, you need a lot of freedom to pursue your own path and vision.

How you see yourself: Analytical, creative, and peaceful When other people don’t get you, they see you as: Detached, wishy-washy, and superficial

Tagged by: @strangeofthevishanti Tagging: bruh I’m sicker than a dog just stealio if you wantio

[mischiefreagent-blog]

@strangeofthevishanti--

“Mmm, thank you, sweetheart. Now if I can sleep in and not have to deal with any mischief, that would truly be the greatest gift of all.”

    Loki had created a fine art out of seeming incredulous for the thought before it melted to another of his award-winning smiles.

    “Really? Well, if you insist. On the other hand, I suppose the bacon I’ve made is of little use to you, what with a Sorcerer Supreme’s diet...” he trailed off, making a circle in the air with his finger. “And the gifts I’ve left in the foyer of equal disuse. Gods, sleep then, Stephen! I’m simply horrible with what I have for you today.”

    It went without saying that his tone didn’t quite match the words.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

!!

! | accepting

    Where would I be without my prodigious Editor-in-Chief? She is, of course, the only reason this God of Mischief gets to put food on the table.

    (Well, at least, whenever the gold of my ‘past life’ runs out in several hundred years...)

    Nevertheless, I like her. She’s not the ordinary rank-and-file when it comes to the gods--stuffy, inscrutable, generally duller than stone--and that speaks for something. And not as pure as a goddess relating to spring would have you, which I consider a plus, what with millennia of dealing with a golden retriever armed with a thunder hammer for a brother. Bitter? Me? Simply not likely.

    If only she approved more of my variety columns in the newspaper. You can’t win them all, I suppose.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

!!

! | accepting

    Mortals can die any number of ways. Negligence. Their own stupidity. Often times nothing they had control over at all. But us, the gods? We die only one way.

    Being forgotten.

    Even when Gorr the God-Butcher tried to slaughter us by the tens, hundreds, onward to the thousands, he was doing little more than playing a war-game; we would always get back up. In new bodies, sure, but we’re considered true immortals for a reason. Even the Void couldn’t kill me forever... in a sense, anyway.

    With that said, I can’t help but to see him as something of a walking corpse that just so happens to smell of lavender in lieu of rotting flesh.

    I don’t know if he’ll ever regain what he’s lost. In earnest, I wouldn’t wish his position on even my worst enemies. It’s hard enough grappling with this temporary loss of divinity that this infernal, holed island has taken us, but permanent? Surely there isn’t worse torture in the furthest ring of Mephisto’s Hell.

    I pity him.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

!!

! | accepting

    Hm. Incredulous type, violent, prone to mood swings of a spectacular caliber and coming armed with one of those wafer-thin blades...

    ...I wonder if he has any intention of teleporting behind me? Perhaps while even remarking on the impersonal banality of it?

[mischiefreagent-blog]

!!

! | accepting

    Farouk.

    Oddly, “the Shadow King”--I find it too, shall we say, shallow and cliched of a name for him. Certainly he styles himself as a king and there are shadows aplenty wherever he walks, but is that all we’re able to come up with? One and two so it must equal three? Perhaps it’s for that I know that he’s more of an abyss instead of a simple darkness that it bothers me.

    A very deep, very interesting abyss, but one with no shortage of razors and teeth.

    And yet, for that intrigue... he still wants little more than to become a god.

    At least he can do it where other mortals are awash in wanting and only that. He can do it, but would it stick? That I doubt. The grass is rarely greener once you really are on the other side, least of which my pantheon and its laundry list of trivialities. Suppose it must be why I humor him, even now. It’s an amusement.

    It could also be why he humors me--an amusement for a god thinking there’s no way in Hel he’d get away with it.

   My only wish is that he would stay to his promise in keeping Stephen off the board. Then again, can I blame him? It would be what I’d do. Or, more accurately, what he would do.

   He is also very much dead. Farouk... may very well follow suit. (As long as he continues raring for the fire.)

[mischiefreagent-blog]

!!

! | accepting

    In earnest, I haven’t seen him before, but my respect does land on the shoulders of those who could wear something like flannel and not appear as though they’re lost and confused from the nearest mortal coffee shop. Or “microbrewery”, as I’ve heard and have been so far lucky to not learn what it means.

    A vampire, then. I wonder if he has any insight into the unfortunate hordes of the living dead just outside. Probably not.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

Send ‘!!’ and I’ll write a para description of your muse from mine’s perspective, including:

Their looks

Their personality

And who they are to my muse

+ Etc!

[mischiefreagent-blog]

Leo: Why do you have to win every argument you get into?

ASTROLOGY QUESTIONS. | accepting

    W-e-e-e-ll...

    “When your brothers are Thor and Balder, I’m afraid you get very used to winning arguments that aren’t ‘won’--” and in this Loki was sure to make the appropriate airquotes, “--by simply shoving me against the wall with a thunder hammer or the pommel of a shortsword braced to my neck such that it’d be criminal of me to drop the streak now.”

    Naturally, any mentions of an inescapable pride or an ego rivaling the size of Mount Olympus were conspicuously left unsaid.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

Do you fake your confidence so people can’t see how self-conscious you truly are?

ASTROLOGY QUESTIONS. | accepting

    Maybe a little surprisingly, the question has Loki quiet for a moment, this by itself more telling than whatever he’d manage in saying--but it isn’t as though he was rendered totally silent, either.

    (Nothing could do that save for having his lips sewn shut, and even then, that particular remedy lasted only hours. Hours of a very special kind of agony, at least.)

     “What a loaded thing to ask one identified as the Liar to End All Liars, don’t you think?” Of all things, Loki sounded cavalier. “No matter what answer I could offer, you have reason to believe the other in equal amount. I suppose it’s easier to believe that I’m covering up for something, what with my infamous gall, so let me say this: I don’t constantly put my head between the proverbial dragon’s jaws just because I find it amusing, which I do. Whether I do it also for some hidden longing or only to prove a point or what have you, is left... open to interpretation.”

    He figured it was not unlike a story being intentionally vague as to ask those asking to find an answer for themselves. Being the God of Stories, Loki believed this was the ideal. Being Loki, there’s more than enough red herrings to fill an ocean with along the way.

    (Being the narrator, we can tell you that the ‘clever’ answer--that he’s misleading you and he is the way he is solely because it’s the finest entertainment in the Nine Realms--would be a lie, too.)

    “What would you mortals call it?” Loki tapped his chin, then grinned his patented grin. “Ah, yes--character depth. Now that, I have in spades.”

[mischiefreagent-blog]

    By the suggestion of the two-feet pile of candied gold he’s lording over as though he were Fafnir the dragon, Loki’s ploy has been a success, complete with prizes sweeter than Asgardian honey.

    He’s keeping those bags of caramel popcorn for himself.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

    Loki is dressed up as a certain Master of the Mystic Arts.

    He is probably scheming to concoct a plan to steal most everyone’s candy.

[mischiefreagent-blog]

black mirror | II

    The past haunting you usually comes in the little things—bumping into an ex on the street. Neglecting to get another bottle of creamer before the last is gone and god damn it, you can’t sit with coffee without it. Forgetting to feed the cat such that you come home to a torn apart couch. Small things. Human-sized things.

    Suppose if you’re a god, the past deciding to haunt you does so literally.

    “Why are you looking at me like that? Unhappy with what you see, little Loki?”

    And it twists both your ankles, just for fun.

    “What…” Loki strains to sit up. “What do you want? Don’t you have an indefinite stay in the jaws of the Void to attend to?”

    “Well,” says the ghost, who is an older, wrinklier, much more obviously evil Loki, “I’m going to kill you. Oh, save the gasp surprise, won’t you? But let me bury the lead. Before I kill you—and trust me, it’s coming—we’re going to talk. Then I suppose after they’re done picking apart your corpse piece by piece, I’ll go back to the Void like a dutiful dead trickster.”

    Hnh… our Loki wipes away blood from his lips on his sleeve, cringing at the taste of iron in the back of his throat. “You’re intangible. How are you going to kill me?”

    Now the ghost smiles with every last of his misbegotten teeth.

    “Through the talking, of course. Hasn’t thou heard the pen be mightier than the sword?”

    Through the talking—

    There is, as you might expect, reasons bordering on several thousands for why our Loki is less than enthusiastic at this. Not the least of which that the Loki before him is the God of Evil. He Who Burned. Technically his creator insofar as they share the same memories, albeit ours spent the first year of his existence as a magpie. (It’s a long, long story.) The old. The done with, except now no longer. A God of Evil who—

    —wait, where is he going?

    Loki had stood up, despite the pain in his legs. He had stared his ghost in the eye. Then, as we all do when confronted by the devil of yesterday…

    …he had turned tail and started running.

    “More’s the pity. I suppose I could just kill you.”

    It’s not something he should be doing—running, not even as he shapeshifts such to cure at least the hanging problem of hobbling to a sprint on feet that had fallen from rather the height only moments before. There’s a voice in the back of his head saying that running is only proving his point. That fleeing is what he would have done. But does our Loki care?

    As far as vaulting over a fence and threading through the woods circling back into the city goes, not a whit.

    If he had Laevateinn, or Hel, any useful magic at all, there’s the chance he would’ve stood his ground and fought. Bashing his past self’s spectral head in with the blunt edge of a chaos blade does sound awfully cathartic. Our Loki has neither, and instead boots made for running, so that’s what he’s doing. (And he’s putting in good pace, too. Shamblers, do eat your rotting hearts out.)

    Initially, with the drumbeat of his ears hard and fast and the growls of the monsters currently plaguing the streets drawing nearer, Loki thinks about calling for help. But then he imagines what it would be like being saved by Thor in this situation and he grinds his teeth in bitter silence.

    “I think you’re missing something important, little Loki.”

    Loki’s eyes widen such that they’re fit to burst as a sheaf of metal once belonging to a roadside guardrail flies in his direction and bends around his calves faster than he can jump, taking him down to the ground with a loud, anxious THUD. He hisses something in a language distinctly not from this realm of existence, shoots of pain scoring through his body all over again.

    “Do you want to guess what it is?”

    “Go to Hel,” is everything he has to say.

    “When it comes to running,” his ghost tells him, swooping around to loom over his fallen body, staring down at him with crooked, see-through eyes, “Being intangible is rather the advantage, wouldn’t you say?”

    Their faces, but millimeters from meeting. “As we were, then. The talking.” A hand reaches for our Loki’s cheek, feeling like the icy suction of open space.

    “Do you honestly believe you could leave me behind? Everything? We have the same memories, little Loki. The same anger. The same lack of peace. You knew it when you obliterated the Loki that came after us from the living without a trace to be found and have spent the years after trying to forget what you are. What we are. For me, that’s unforgivable. So I will kill you, little Loki, and I thought it’d be through this talking, but… as the moon rises, so doth the tides change.”

    The ghost phases through him, and doesn’t come out the other end.

    And personally, it’s much more satisfying to me if you died by your own hand.