krylljoy

[krylljoy]

Behold, Hikari Toriumi's take on Loki's Rivals design.

[krylljoy]

my sister and me having a great time...

[krylljoy]

I really like the idea of Artist! Reader and Loki. I think it’d be good for Loki, particularly pre-Thor movies, if someone sincerely admired him. Not just his looks but also his magic too.

Magic is so underplayed in the world of Asgard, which favours physical strength. Artist! Reader, someone who can look at magic through the lens of beauty and meaning rather than utility would mean something to Loki, I think.

[krylljoy]

Muse - Loki x Artist! Reader (Part 2)

For so long, the love of art has been lost on Reader, but it is rediscovered through the form of Asgard’s second prince, Loki.

For the continuing weeks, you followed the same path you took. It was hopeful thinking that made you take the same journey, hopeful you would see the prince again and his wonderful magic. Each day was fruitless but you were nonetheless content to sketch the All-Mother’s flower beds, even if they weren’t as whimsical as Prince Loki’s lights, the flowers still evoked beauty, something that could never be taken away from them.

It was strange. You had come to gardens more times than you’d ever done in the last couple centuries and all for what? The second prince? As an Asgardian it was your duty to revere the royal family, however, it was the first time within your life that you’d ever caught yourself actively admiring the second prince. Even though he stood out amongst his family with his darker demeanour, you found no reason to look his way, a sentiment shared by many Asgardians. Now, you found this sentiment unfortunate. How could anyone overlook such a wonderful creature? The man who had the imagination to evoke constellations even in daylight. It was a tragedy—a slight! You found yourself hastened to rectify the centuries worth of admiration lost and your sketchbook was beginning to suffer the weight of your appreciation, every other page overtaken with the image of Prince Loki amongst his lights. The sight had truly bewitched you. It left your mind wondering what other sorts of magic was possible. What kind of art could spring and innovate with the use of magic?

You were back in the garden, as you were the day before and days before then. Walking the routine path, you idly took in the same trees, same bushes, and same flower beds, a sight that you’ve become well acquainted with.

You pause at the slightest sliver of movement in the corner of your eye.

It was a black snake slithering into the bushes. Seemed your presence had startled it into hiding for its pace quickened with your approach.

“Why, hello,” you greeted quietly, as to not startle the creature, and kneeled down to get a better look at the scales. The snake’s scales glistened in the sun, revealing a green chromatic glint. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?“

The snake’s retreat slowed and lifted its head to your direction. You took your pencil and sketchbook out, eager.

“The All-Mother’s garden is certainly home to the loveliest things,” you said, pencil gliding across the page to replicate the snake’s elegant curvature.

The snake seemed to somehow preen under the praise. In fact, it felt as though the snake had begun posing under your careful gaze, curling from one pose into another whenever you finished one sketch.

You laughed to yourself and the snake looked up at you with what could only be referred to as offense, however, you weren’t entirely sure if snakes could feel that sort of thing. Well, if they do then this one seemed to be intelligent enough to express it.

The snake pressed you with an unfixed glance, almost demanding an answer for your sudden amusement.

“I wasn’t laughing at you. Well, not precisely.” The snake flicked its tongue, agitated. You hurried to elaborate even though it was silly to entertain a conversation with an animal. “I was only thinking about how cute you are. I have never met a snake as expressive as you.”

The explanation seemed to soothe the snake, it taking its pose once more. It perked its head back at you, looking to see if you were drawing again. You stifled a laugh and returned to sketching the vain creature.

As you finished up your sketch you noticed something peculiar, a detail that reminded you why the garden has become a part of your routine. The snake’s eyes were the loveliest hue of green, greener than spring. They were the same as Prince Loki’s. That gave you pause.

The snake peered up at you, noticing the lack of pencil scratching against parchment. It jerked at your intense stare, breaking your trance. You smiled.

“You have such beautiful eyes. They remind me of the second prince. I met him here, you know. His eyes were radiant with magic.” The snake blinked up at you, still. You huff a laugh at the snake’s stiff posture. “Don’t worry, friend. Yours are just as wonderful, if not more. If only I brought my coloured pencils. I’d have captured your eyes better.”

Together, you and your new serpentine friend stayed, content to play artist and muse. It was when the sun was at its highest in the sky that the snake finally slinked away. You went home satisfied. Despite not having found Prince Loki, there was something rewarding in befriending a creature of the All-Mother’s garden.

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[krylljoy]

Muse - Loki x Artist! Reader (Part 1)

For so long, the love of art has been lost on Reader, but it is rediscovered through the form of Asgard’s second prince, Loki.

Prince Loki was in the queen’s garden the first time you saw him. Your motives were simple and innocent, yet to be tainted by love of any sort: inspiration for a painting was all you seeked. It had been moons since the last time you had picked up a brush. At first it had only been a week then it turned into fortnights, until eventually, seasons had passed and not a single stroke of colour made its way onto your canvas. Perfection was a chain that weighed your brush down and now, your only achievement was that you once drew flowers as a youth. Some artist you proclaimed yourself to be.

It was the youngest prince’s birth cycle that an old painting of flowers was rediscovered; your painting from childhood. Clumsy blotches of blue petals, shaky lines to make the stems. Your painting was an injustice to the beds of flax that grew in the queen’s gardens. The amateur skill of a child was verily apparent, you could certainly do better now that you’ve harboured cycles of experience—something your recent seasons of idleness couldn’t take away. The old painting was awful, and yet, it was the spark that ignited the desire to create again.

You set out to rediscover what you once had: art and passion. What better place to go searching than the origins of your first painting?

Queen Frigga’s garden was the most beautiful place in all of Asgard, well maintained and open to the public for all to wander. You had been there many times and your admiration had yet to cease.

It was as lovely as ever. Flowers eternally in full bloom, heads gently bobbing in the light breeze. The path you had been walking along had tall trees rooted along the sides, casting cool shadows against the warm sun, then something peculiar danced into your peripheral. A singular dot of golden light, not enough to think much of it. A glare of the sun or a trick of the eye that could be dismissed. Then there was another, then more, until there were constellations of golden light in the air and it could hardly be excused as the sun’s glint. It was as though it was snowing starlight. The urge to follow the light was instinctual. They flowed from a singular direction that eased the journey to find its origins. You ducked into a bush along the path, and that was when you saw him, Prince Loki of Asgard, who stood amongst the glittering lights. He was bathed in a soft, golden light. His hands seemed to be the origin of the dancing lights, them floating from his palms as he held them out, and his eyes were closed in what seemed like strong concentration, if his furrowed eyebrow was anything to go off of.

For the first time in your life, you found magic beautiful.

You couldn’t help but stare. You stared until you remembered your manners. Gawking so unabashedly at a stranger, particularly someone of royal blood, was so undeniably rude that the image of getting thrown in prison for offending the prince struck you.

Backing away slothfully, there was hope that you would be able to leave whit of incident but luck was a fickle mistress. Your shoe scuffed against the stone path, leading the prince’s eyes to dart over to your position. The lights blinked away. Immediately, you bowed lowly to the prince, nearly toppling over in your haste.

“Good noon, your highness!” Your face was warm and your palms were a bit sweaty.

The prince was quiet. You maintained your deep bow. A moment’s pause before brisk footsteps walked past you. You finally look up, heart pounding, and see the prince’s fleeting cape escaping the scene.

You ran all the way home, eyes bright. The image of Prince Loki amongst the spectors of light playing on repeat. It was as though your brain refused to think of anything else.

Returning home, you rushed to your sketchbook. You snatched a pencil and drew with the fervor of a mad man. Thin streaks of coal rushed together to recreate that image of Prince Loki in his mother’s garden. Him and the soft cascade of his hair spilling past his horned diadem; him illuminated by the gentle glow of his magic. Magic. You never thought it so beautiful before.

Magic was trickery, a symptom of cowardice—an idea so engraved into your head by everyone around you. It was the mask witches wore to deceive honorable warriors, and yet—and yet! Your mind drifted back to Prince Loki amongst his lights. The way the prince had used it was nothing short of majesty. Magic was art.

You rushed to draw yet another sketch, heart full of inspiration at the founding of a muse to occupy your mind.

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