“To say that I am ‘fond’ of my wife is something of an understatement. Sigyn is all that I am not, but in ways that complement and soothe me. She is round and soft and gentle, candid and unwaveringly ethical. One thing that we share, however, is our faithfulness, and another, the voracity of our minds. We, too, feel more deeply than we divulge, though she to seem steady and composed, and I out of a natural suspiciousness toward the intentions of other. But since her pregnancy I have come to fear that I am a disappointment, and though I would die to preserve her, my dearest friend and confidante, my beautiful and maddeningly sensual harbor in chaos, I must also confess, she is less good at concealing that disappointment than she realizes. Eheh … she has a temper, as well. I do not have a monopoly on that. There is a reason her hair is red.”
“ … I had no notion of what resembled an earnestly loving father, loving without strings attached to diplomatic and political favors, or playing the role of training pony to the champion race horse, all things which Odin did as my father, until I met Njord. His presence still vexes me somehow, and I fear he believes that I am not fond of him, when truly, I am.”
Loki looks down at his wife the way one would look at something hardy yet sweet: fresh fruit in winter, or a fine material stretched thin. He is more aware of his fortune than people realize.
“Happy New Year, Sigyn,” he croons, bending to nuzzle her cheek, and steal a far longer kiss on the lips.
“Well, my … my word, Sigyn … !”
The formal hyperboles are just a way of stalling, while the feeling of warmth like descending into the soothing glow of a bath filled with soaps and flowers and scented oils floods every limb and leaves him feeling pleasantly cottony.
“You would wish to claim me yours again? After every way in which I have vexed you?”
He laughs, and it’s a light sound, a sound from their earliest days of courtship, silverly and soft, free of the shadows of care that have long burdened him.
No one ever claims me except as a nuisance, or a bane… Long have I learned to accept it as a badge of honor, of infamy, and yet, here she is … .
“Mm hmmmm” Sigyn replied, nuzzling the crook his neck while her fingers ran through his hair. She steals another kiss from his lips. And then a another. Pressing her forehead against his, she speaks softly,
“You will always be mine.”
Another kiss.
“Do I take this as a ‘yes’?”
The possessive tone with which his wife speaks ignites Loki’s skin on cold fire, goose pimples breaking out on pale skin.
He receives her first kiss, still blinking in consternation, and her second he returns with the voracity of a she-wolf at the mouth of its cubs’ den.
“You may take that as an always, since you have said it that way, and it most certainly is the truth. I am yours always.”
“Oh dear. I fear you shall disengage yourself from my company permanently for this, but tis a mark of my vanity. The horns are my, er, attribute, as it were. However I must confess, as top heavy as they may seem, they are hollow, but the metal is refined enough to be used excellently in a pinch to bludgeon and, yes, stab.”
Loki looks perhaps more excited at the prospect of praising his glorified “cow horns” than is strictly dignified.
Loki looks down at his wife the way one would look at something hardy yet sweet: fresh fruit in winter, or a fine material stretched thin. He is more aware of his fortune than people realize.
“Happy New Year, Sigyn,” he croons, bending to nuzzle her cheek, and steal a far longer kiss on the lips.
Sigyn returns her husband kiss with equal fervor, holding his face in between her hands. After breaking away, she lovingly brushes away a stray lock of raven hair before planting another kiss on the tip of his nose.
“I have a proposal for you…” She said, taking his hands in hers, playfully wrapping them around her waist.
“ … When we arrive on Midgard, I want to renew our marriage vows, just as we did on Vanaheim.”
“Would you marry me again?
“Well, my … my word, Sigyn … !”
The formal hyperboles are just a way of stalling, while the feeling of warmth like descending into the soothing glow of a bath filled with soaps and flowers and scented oils floods every limb and leaves him feeling pleasantly cottony.
“You would wish to claim me yours again? After every way in which I have vexed you?”
He laughs, and it’s a light sound, a sound from their earliest days of courtship, silverly and soft, free of the shadows of care that have long burdened him.
No one ever claims me except as a nuisance, or a bane… Long have I learned to accept it as a badge of honor, of infamy, and yet, here she is … .
Send 🔪 to find my muse drenched in blood after they killed someone, or send 🔪🔪 for reverse. (not accepting)
“Right. Sigyn? Well done, love. Well done. I know that you are not fond of violence, however. Come here, hand me the blade. It’s alright, I have you. Well done, Sif would sing your praises as a shieldmaiden.”
Loki keeps his voice soft, his words slow and cloying, for though his wife has seen her share of bloodshed, it has rarely been at her own hands, or quite so gory a display.
“Come into my arms, please … and breathe for a moment. I have you, you are safe now. Well done.”
“Ohhh, my loves! What a wondrous thing it is to be greeted by all three of you … !”
Loki obliges Narvi and infant Vali with an animated eagerness, dropping tenderest kisses between each child’s eyes, and bunting his forehead to theirs for a quiet and earnest interval.
Then he kisses their mother, a lingering and sweet kiss, hard earned.
“Hello, beautiful bride,” he greets his wife of many years.
And then, with a wink, he returns his focus to Narvi.
“Did you make this? What did you put in it, loveling? I wager it is very tasty, shall we cut it and eat it now?”
“I do not know that I believe you anymore. But neither do I blame you for how you truly feel. It is alright, sweet friend.”
“No, it’s not ‘alright.’”
Sigyn pulls away, her husband’s words stinging like shards of ice upon her skin.
“What do you know of how I truly feel, if you have notrustin me when I tell you?”
More castigation from a good soul. More “if, then” scenarios which leave no room to barter or comprehend the world in shades of gray and tones of survival. No compromise, no confidence that his words might be taken as benevolent.
It reminds Loki of when his mother Frigga cornered him in his own cell beneath Asgard and, unintentionally, but deeply, cut Loki with her equivalency “if Odin is not your father, then am I not your mother?”
This grows wearisome; the notion that he is a lost cause in the narrative of his beloved pantheon grows all the more likely with every confrontation.
Yet he could never raise his voice to his tender and steadfast wife.
“ … . I do not mistrust you,” he begins as evenly as he is able, though he sounds breathlessly tired. “I conceive of you as an endlessly compassionate soul, who perhaps feels an unconscious obligation to an unsalvageable person. You see, Sigyn, my lack of faith is not, has never been, in you. It is in myself. For you see, I have great experience,” and he thinks on Odin, and on Thor, “with adoring someone who does not live up to your hopes.”
He meets her eyes in earnest.
“I will not be your undoing, for I love you dearly. I have gotten out of the way of the welfare of loved ones before, and I can do it again. You may call it mistrust, but it is my attempt to be brave.”
And selfless.
“These arguments have happened with more and more frequency, and it is plain on your face that I cause you constant pain. If you wish to be released from this marriage, I shall release you, and I shall continue to protect you in every way possible for the rest of my life.”
“By the Norns, Loki!“
Sigyn sighed softly, her head dropping into her hands. Covered, her eyes began to well with tears of frustration. She sat there for several minutes, choosing her words with the utmost care, but they seemed to whirl around in her head in a fog. When her mind felt clear enough to speak, she raised her head.
"Just because I am angry or frustrated with you, it doesn’t mean I want to end our marriage. Please do not draw such drastic conclusions. The love I have for you and the life we’ve built is far greater than any lapse in my temper.”
She drew another breath, feeling like she was treading on shards of glass, fearful of breaking them further. Nevertheless, she continued, careful to speak as clearly and earnestly as she could.
“I understand your intentions, … at least I think I do. I’m trying to… Is it that you are afraid that you won’t live up to my hopes … or that I won’t live up to yours? Darling, I may be endlessly compassionate, but that does not mean that I am limitless. I have my own faults and weakness, try as I may to overcome them. And I know you seek to protect me from further pain by distancing yourself, but I need you here with me more than any physical or emotional protection your absence may offer. The more you drive yourself away, the less I feel that you truly love me, even though I know in my mind that you do.”
She bit her lip, hoping that her words might bridge the gap growing between them.
“Does that make sense?”
Loki swallows sharper words at the sight of Sigyn’s head falling between her fingers. He licks his lips and presses,
“Aye, but it is not the issue of a single argument, but incessant miscommunication, and though all whom I love would have me instantly recognize my error in it, I do not see … it does not feel as if the effort of self-examination is mutual. I do not mean to say that you are as myopic as Thor is, but … ”
His features are crumpled, strained with apology, yet if they are to close all misunderstandings, regardless of the outcome, he too must be honest.
“Yes. What you say makes sense.”
He continues to speak gently.
“But there is more to my offer than our… our quarrel. Asgard is dangerous; there is no scrutable way to defeat Hela. The wiser course is … Sigyn, I have established myself with the Grandmaster and I believe that, in time, I can overtake and eliminate him. I’m staying here, on Sakar. You and our son … nothing would give me more joy than to be with you, but until I have secured power here, you would be safer going through one of the many intergalactic doorways from this planet, into a realm protected from the forces here, on Asgard, and …”
“I do not know that I believe you anymore. But neither do I blame you for how you truly feel. It is alright, sweet friend.”
“No, it’s not ‘alright.’”
Sigyn pulls away, her husband’s words stinging like shards of ice upon her skin.
“What do you know of how I truly feel, if you have notrustin me when I tell you?”
More castigation from a good soul. More “if, then” scenarios which leave no room to barter or comprehend the world in shades of gray and tones of survival. No compromise, no confidence that his words might be taken as benevolent.
It reminds Loki of when his mother Frigga cornered him in his own cell beneath Asgard and, unintentionally, but deeply, cut Loki with her equivalency “if Odin is not your father, then am I not your mother?”
This grows wearisome; the notion that he is a lost cause in the narrative of his beloved pantheon grows all the more likely with every confrontation.
Yet he could never raise his voice to his tender and steadfast wife.
“ … . I do not mistrust you,” he begins as evenly as he is able, though he sounds breathlessly tired. “I conceive of you as an endlessly compassionate soul, who perhaps feels an unconscious obligation to an unsalvageable person. You see, Sigyn, my lack of faith is not, has never been, in you. It is in myself. For you see, I have great experience,” and he thinks on Odin, and on Thor, “with adoring someone who does not live up to your hopes.”
He meets her eyes in earnest.
“I will not be your undoing, for I love you dearly. I have gotten out of the way of the welfare of loved ones before, and I can do it again. You may call it mistrust, but it is my attempt to be brave.”
And selfless.
“These arguments have happened with more and more frequency, and it is plain on your face that I cause you constant pain. If you wish to be released from this marriage, I shall release you, and I shall continue to protect you in every way possible for the rest of my life.”
icyxmischief 