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Very Full - Chapter 14: Writing's on the Wall

Summary: Saoirse recounts a memory from her life in the Avengers compound.

Word Count: 2,609 words.

Chapter Warnings: Anger/angst.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Writing's on the Wall sung by Sam Smith

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: Reminder that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. I did, however, imagine that Melara wrote this song, because the lyrics fit so perfectly into hers and Loki's story.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Loki sat silently, his gaze unfocused towards the abyss behind his daughter, as he contemplated the weight of the task before him. How would he encapsulate the complexity of memories so rich with emotion and significance into words that would resonate with Saoirse? He knew he had to choose his words carefully, each one laden with the wisdom of the ages; a guidepost for his daughter navigating her own powerful destiny. He deliberated on several approaches:

First, there was the lesson of humanity. He pictured himself explaining to Saoirse the humanness of her mother’s struggles, illustrating Melara not just as a figure of immense power but as a person grappling with very human fears and doubts. “Even those touched by destiny,” he would say, “must wrestle with their own shadows. Your mother’s bravery was not in her powers, but in her courage to be vulnerable with me…to share her fears.”

He next considered the importance of sanctuary. He thought about emphasizing the Avengers compound as a safe haven, a physical and emotional retreat from the world’s eyes. “The surrounding hills,” he would describe, “ was our refuge, a place where we could lay bare our worries without the armor we wore in the world. Everyone needs such a sanctuary, a place where the soul can breathe freely. Melara deserved such a sanctuary.”

Loki next thought of the support in solitude. He considered focusing on the support he provided Melara during her moments of doubt. “There,” he would reflect, “beneath the vast sky of Midgard, I could offer your mother nothing but my ethereal presence, which sometimes is the most profound support one can give. It was about being there, even when the nights grew cold and conversations faded.”

Of course, there were the burdens of power. He mulled over discussing the immense responsibilities that came with power, a lesson both of them knew all too well. “Power, as vast as it seems carries weight. A burden I have borne and one your mother bore with a grace that trembled so often. It’s a mantle that can suffocate if not managed with care.”

Each scenario spun in his mind, a tapestry of potential lessons woven from the threads of their shared past. He knew these were not just stories; they were beacons, guiding lights for Saoirse as she navigated her own journey through the labyrinth of life. As he prepared to speak, the cosmos itself seemed to lean in along with Saoirse, the stars a captive audience to the revelations of a god who had loved a mortal and changed the fabric of time itself.

It was as if Loki had taken the time to examine all the variations of their story; a web spun solely for he and Melara, spread across the cosmos. In the silence that grew between him and Saoirse, the pair eyed each other suspiciously and almost expectantly, daring the other to speak the first word.

“Well?” Saoirse questioned, lifting a curious brow in Loki’s direction while curling her mouth into an angry smirk.

“Your recollection of the events is very astute, my daughter,” Loki said with a sigh.

Loki’s gaze shifted, a flicker of pain momentarily shadowing his features as he prepared to reveal deeper truths. “You know, I saw the ripples of your mother’s power, how they began to touch and twist the surrounding timelines,” he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “In my roles, both as a god and a guardian of time, I should have seen the signs earlier. Her powers were growing, unrestrained, and resonating with the vibrations of the universe in ways I never anticipated.”

He sighed heavily, his expression tormented by the weight of his memories. “But I was blinded, Saoirse.” Loki paused, shielding himself from Saoirse’s gaze as he continued, “Blinded by my love for her…for you. It was a bewitching sort of infatuation that made me disregard the cautions that once governed my actions. I allowed my heart to lead, ignoring the escalating energies that your mother wrestled with.”

Loki paused, looking into the distance as if watching the past unfold before him. “I blame myself,” he continued, his voice tightening with emotion. “I was enchanted by our life together apart, by the joy and the chaos alike. I stood by as her powers grew, sometimes wildly so, believing that love could anchor us against any storm. I fought to wield the overgrown timeline that seemingly swelled around you both as if it had no choice but to defy the laws of the universe to contain the enigma that she was. But even love has its limits, and I failed to set boundaries that might have protected us all.”

His eyes met Saoirse’s, conveying a mixture of regret and resolve. “It was a hard lesson, one paid for with too high a price. Your mother’s magic, as wondrous as it was, began to fray at the edges of her control. And I, caught up in our world, the fleeting moments in which she allowed me to be present, neglected to foresee the consequences that were slowly unfolding around you.”

Loki’s hands clenched into fists, then relaxed as he exhaled a slow, deliberate breath. “I share this not to burden you further, but to acknowledge my part in the tapestry of our lives. The power your mother wielded was magnificent as she, but it needed guidance – guidance I failed to provide. This is my confession, daughter, and my hope is that understanding these faults will help you navigate your own path with greater wisdom.”

The air around them seemed charged, heavy with the revelations and the silent sharing of shared history. As Loki prepared to continue, the stars above appeared to listen intently, bearing witness to the unfolding narrative that was as much about the past as it was a guide for the future.

***

In the soft glow of the afternoon sun, Melara found herself climbing the gentle slope of a grassy hill that overlooked the Avengers compound – a sprawling fortress of technology and heroism below. Her heart beat a rhythm of escalating stress, the weight of her duties and the relentless surge of her powers making her feel as if she was about to fracture from within. The hill, a place of solitude away from the prying eyes and incessant noise, seemed like the only refuge where her thoughts could run wild as the wind brushing through the tall grass.

As she reached the summit, the panoramic view of the compound spread out before her offered a stark reminder of why she fought so hard – why every moment of struggle was worth it. But even as she tried to draw strength from the sight, her breaths came short and ragged, anxiety clawing at her insides. She sank to the ground, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, her forehead resting against the coolness of her wrists.

The wind picked up around her as a tear fell from her glassy brown eyes. She had worked so hard over the past few years, spending time learning to control the fire raging beneath her skin. Even after all the episodes of excruciating pain and the way it left her exhausted each time, somehow, she had found the strength to push forward. If not for her music, but for Saoirse who was also developing her own magical gifts, though likely tamed through control that she gained being half god and half mortal.

The Avengers compound was now a haven for them both, as they had recently become permanent residents. Melara could attempt to learn control over the fire that burned while also having access to the best medical care when the pain would take over. With Loki tending to his duties at the end of time more often, she had found friendship and a safe space for respite in between concert tours.

As the familiar sting of longing for Loki ignited within her once again, Melara found solace in the soft hum of her own melody. Music had always been her sanctuary, soothing the restless turmoil within. The latest song she was crafting acted like a soothing balm on her frayed nerves, quenching the flames of distress with its harmonious flow.

I’ve been here before, But always hit the floor. I’ve spent a lifetime running, And I always get away. But with you I’m feeling something, That makes me want to stay. I’m prepared for this. I never shoot to miss. But I feel a storm is coming. If I’m gonna make it through the day, Then there’s no more use in running. This is something I gotta face.

Just then, a familiar disturbance in the air alerted her to Loki’s arrival. His avatar, a wisp of green smoke coalescing into a solid form, materialized behind her. Even as an avatar, his presence carried the unmistakable essence of the Asgardian god she had fallen for – an anchor in the tumultuous sea of her life. Even though she sensed him there, Melara remained curled up, singing to herself.

If I risk it all, Could you break my fall? How do I live? How do I breathe? When you’re not here I’m suffocating. I want to feel love run through my blood, Tell me is this where I give it all up? For you I have to risk it all, ‘Cause the writing’s on the wall.

“You look like you’re carrying the weight of the nine realms on your shoulders,” Loki remarked, his voice soft, almost hesitant as he sat down beside her, maintaining a respectful distance.

Melara let out a half-hearted chuckle, not lifting her head. “Feels more like ten today,” she murmured, the words muffled against her sleeve.

Loki’s gaze softened as he watched her, his heart aching with the desire to ease her burden. “Where’s Saoirse?” he asked.

Melara sniffed, answering softly with a smile, “Practicing her combat skills with Clint. She’s a little too young to become an Avenger, but I see how much she enjoys learning how to defend her little seven-year-old frame.”

Reaching out to touch Melara, Loki thought better of it, before offering soothing words. “Our daughter is in good hands. You know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

“I know,” Melara replied, finally raising her head to meet his eyes. The worry was evident in her gaze, a turbulent storm of grey that mirrored the gathering clouds above. “It’s not just about Saoirse. It’s everything. The constant fighting, the endless training of this damned gift.”

Melara flashed a fireball in her hands, toying with the flame before extinguishing it as quickly as she had conjured it. “It’s so exhausting to be a good mother while trying to keep from burning our lives to the ground…literally and figuratively.”

Loki reached out once more, this time Melara nodded permission before he set his hand over hers gently – a touch meant to comfort. “I know,” he echoed her words. “You are doing an incredible job. You are more than any daughter could ever ask for.”

“But I feel like a shit mother because all I want is to leave all this and be with you. And…ugh…I am more than that. I love the life I have built. My career keeps getting better and better, but I feel like I’m living a lie,” she mused. “Why can’t I just use my gifts to spend some of my time with you?”

“You know what projecting yourself out there does to you. ‘Lara, you are no good to anyone burnt out. I love you too much to let you do that to yourself. Not for me. I won’t let you,” Loki argued.

“You won’t let me?” Melara frowned. “How many times do I have to keep saying this? I am not yours to command, Loki.”

Melara’s voice rose, each word more charged than the last, the skies above darkening in response. Thunder rumbled in the distance, mirroring her emotions. “I make my own choices, Loki! I always have,” she declared, her tone defiant.

Loki’s expression tightened, the tension visible in the lines of his face. “And I respect that, Melara, truly,” he replied, trying to keep his own emotions in check amidst the escalating storm, “But seeing you so drained, so worn from this constant struggle…it pains me.”

“Pain?” Melara scoffed, the winds around them picking up, whipping her hair as her anger grew palpable. “You think you know pain? Really?! After all this time…I…”

The air crackled with her rising power, the first drops of rain beginning to fall, echoing the tears she fought back. “I am torn between two worlds, and it’s tearing me apart! It’s never-ending, and I just want it all to make sense. Why can’t you just let me be done with all this?”

Loki stood, his figure steadfast against the gusting wind, his voice carrying over the storm’s roar. “I know, and I am here now, trying to help-“

“Help?” Melara interrupted, her laugh harsh against the howling wind. “You know for damn sure that this isn’t helping and you aren’t HERE! Don’t tell me to step back and don’t tell me to be any less than what I am!” She shook her head vigorously, her eyes flashing with a fierce light as lightning streaked across the sky.

“I don’t need your protection, Loki. I need you! I need your support, your understanding, not your control!” Melara’s hands ignited once more, the flames flickering wildly in tandem with the tempest, underscoring her turmoil.

As the storm escalated, matching the intensity of their confrontation, Loki realized the gravity of the moment. This was more than a simple dispute; it was a clash of fundamental beliefs, a storm that had been brewing beneath the surface of their relationship. There they were, nearly nose to nose, both stubborn and proud, yet one was a mortal conjuring a storm that rivaled that of Alioth that guarded He Who Remains’ citadel at the end of time. Loki knew at that moment that he had to back down, as he could see the consequences to the timelines simultaneously as he peered into this reality through the avatar. If he was not careful, more neighboring timelines would be lost as Melara’s rage swelled beyond the confines of this one.

“I…I’m sorry,” he finally said, the words barely audible over the din of the thunder. “I never meant to make you feel caged. I just can’t bear the thought of losing you, or Saoirse, to this endless fight. If it were meant for me to burn for you, I would. I would carry it all…for you.”

Melara’s flames dimmed slightly, her anger giving way to exhaustion as she collapsed at his feet, the storm giving way to clear skies as quickly as it had formed. “I know, Loki. I know. But this is who I am. I can’t just turn it off, no more than you can stop being who you are.” She sighed deeply. “Why did the Fates allow me to fall in love with you when this is all that we can be?”

“The Fates?” Loki chuckled as he knelt to cradle Melara.

“Oh…the gods? The Norns? Or perhaps it was you that orchestrated this game?” Melara muttered, eyes fluttering as the color drained from her face.

Loki searched for the right words, “There is no game, only the two of us and our daughter. I cannot explain it and I certainly do not believe in this idea of fate you have. I just don’t know what else to tell you, ‘Lara.”

“Likely story, Loki,” Melara whispered as she passed out in Loki’s arms.

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki

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mischiefandmedicine · 8 days

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Very Full - Chapter 13: Melara's Daughter

Summary: Saoirse recounts a memory from her life in the Avengers compound.

Word Count: 2,672 words.

Chapter Warnings: Health problems, injury/trauma.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Savage Daughter sung by Sarah Hester Ross

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: As per usual, I just want to say that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. I did, however, imagine that Melara wrote this song, because the lyrics fit so perfectly into hers and Loki's story.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

---

Back at the end of time, amid the cosmic serenity, Saoirse and Loki found themselves adrift in a sea of memories once more. The air still charged from their heated exchange and the recollection of the dawning of Melara’s extraordinary gifts. Saoirse, her gaze piercing the veil of her father’s stoic façade, spoke with a voice that echoed with fondness.

“The Avengers compound…I was a baby when we first went there?” she asked, eyes alight with warm memories of the past.

Loki could only bring himself to nod in response.

“I have so many memories of the compound…mom’s check-ups…and then she moved us there towards the end. But you…your presence was…sporadic at best,” Saoirse mused, the words painting a picture of a childhood mosaic, rich with vibrant hues yet shadowed at the edges.

The ghost of a grimace transiently marred Loki’s face. “Saoirse…the compound was a sanctuary of sorts for your mother, a citadel of science and sorcery intertwined. As for my own absence, it was a necessary evil to support your mother’s healing,” he murmured, his words heavy like stones in a velvet pouch.

With a brief pause, he continued with a smirk. “Besides, haven’t you heard the human expression that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’?”

Saoirse opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out, realizing Loki’s innuendo. “Oh, gross! Really?!” she shouted, an amethyst-colored glow emanating from her eyes.

Loki held up his hands in acquiescence, attempting to mask his laughter.

“Anyway…the compound, it was a world unto itself, yet. They helped mom a lot, the fortress of heroes that they were in so many ways. And then there was Clint…,” she reminisced, a smile curving her lips. “He didn’t look at me and see just another responsibility or duty; he saw me. He looked after me.”

Loki’s expression tightened imperceptibly at the mention of the archer. “Barton…of course,” he acknowledged, the tone laced with a complex blend of respect and a simmering disquiet. “And during those times, what became of your mother? Was she not your anchor?”

Saoirse’s eyes glimmered, “She was…always fighting, always strong. But her music was quieter, and her flame…it flickered without you there. Clint, he…” her voice trailed off again, laden with an unspoken gratitude for the man who had unwittingly stepped into a void.

The god’s gaze drifted, lost in the whorls of time. “He didn’t…” Loki began to wonder.

Knowing instinctively that Loki’s question would be about Clint’s relationship with Melara, “Not that it would be any of your business, but no. He knew I was your daughter and he knew about you and mom. He didn’t dare,” Saoirse spat. “Besides, he was married and had a family himself.”

“Ah…well, I remember the songs she wrote back then. The ones in recovery; they spoke of resilience. Of triumph and loss in equal measure. Yet, I could only listen from afar. The complexities of the timelines…they demanded sacrifice.”

Saoirse’s posture stiffened in her seat, her earlier warmth giving way to a frost that crept into her tone. “You keep speaking of sacrifice, yet it was always her strength that held us. You say you were there, and I want to try to let that in, but it was Clint’s stories, his laughter, and his protection that filled my days. Why, Loki? If you cared, why were you so distant then?”

Loki, for once found himself ensnared in his own labyrinth of truths and half-confessions. “There were reasons, threads of fate too perilous to tug. Your mother’s burgeoning power, it began to…distort the fabric of reality. My presence there, it would have risked far more than you can imagine. The branch of your timeline, it…it began to overshadow others. I had to step back to preserve the balance.”

Saoirse’s eyes, once reflecting the stars, now mirrored the storm clouds of a brewing tempest. “Balance? While we lived in uncertainty, you balanced equations of what?” Her words were sharp, each one a barb aimed with precision.

Loki reached out, his gesture a plea for understanding. “It was never about equations or cold calculations. It was about safeguarding the multiverse, and that included you and your mother. I chose the path that ensured your survival, even if it cost us moments…years together. That is the sacrifice I speak of.”

A silence stretched between them, a chasm of years filled with absence and longing. Saoirse, standing at the precipice of revelation, grasped at the threads of her fragmented past.

“You sacrificed being with us to protect us?” she whispered, the realization dawning. “And in doing so, you left a vacancy that Clint willingly filled. He…he never tried to take your place, but in many ways, he did.”

Loki, his heart a fortress besieged by his daughter’s words, conceded, “Perhaps in another life, an alternate timeline, I could have been the father you needed me to be. But Clint, he was there when I could not be. For that, I am indebted to him.”

Saoirse’s gaze softened, the edges of her anger dulled by understanding. “I didn’t come here to dwell on what could have been, Loki. I came seeking answers about the now, about this fire that burns within me. But first, I needed to understand the past.”

Loki, with a solemn nod, braced himself to unfurl the remaining tapestry of their shared history, ready to ignite the torch of truth and illuminate the dim corridors of Saoirse’s understanding. “Then let us journey back, through the annals of time. Let us trace the path that leads to this very moment. Tell me…what do you remember most of those years that I was gone?”

Saoirse leaned back, the celestial dust beneath her forming a cushion as her mind traveled across the years scattered like stars behind her. “I remember the compound,” she began, her voice a river flowing from the springs of her earliest recollections.

Loki listened, his façade muted by the earnest narrative spilling forth from his daughter. He, the weaver of tales, found himself caught in the threads of Saoirse’s storytelling.

“Clint had a way of making everything seem like an adventure. When mom was in sessions with doctors or locked in her own battles, he would whisk me away to spar or even to the archery range. It was like I was the youngest Avenger. I remember the thrill of it all,” she recounted, a smile playing on her lips at the memory.

“He told me stories too, you know. Not of battles and glory, but of life and of loss. Of a family he fought to return to, of a world he hoped to keep safe. And in every story, every lesson, I saw the silhouette of the father I wished for in the quiet of the night.”

A silence fell between them, heavy with the memories that hung in the balance. Loki, once the harbinger of chaos, now found himself in the eye of a storm of emotion he had not anticipated.

“Saoirse,” he said, his voice a low thrum that resonated with the frequency of the universe around them, “your strength is a beacon that not even the darkest void could smother. And it seems to have been forged in your mother’s crucible of courage and tempered by the care of those around you.”

Saoirse turned to face him, “Yes, her fire is a part of me. A legacy that burns within, and oh how I wish she had learned to control it for much longer than she did.”

Loki reached out, a hand hovering as if to touch a star too distant, too faint. “And I,” he said, “am here to listen, to learn, and to finally understand the narrative of the life you led, daughter. Tell me more…”

With a vacant look on her face, Saoirse began telling her father the most vivid memories of those years without him.

***

Within the labyrinth of steel and echoes that was the Avengers compound, a 7-year-old Saoirse sat huddled against the cold, unyielding wall outside the medical bay. Her small frame shook with the silent sobs as the harrowing sounds of her mother’s anguish sifted through the fortified doors. The sterile lights of the hallway painted shadows that danced with the rhythm of her trembling. The episodes of pain seemed to have gotten worse over the years, leading them to take up residence at the compound in between musical tours.

Clint Barton, known to the world as Hawkeye, but to Saoirse as an unspoken guardian of sorts, paced the hall with a furrowed brow. His steps slowed as he approached the weeping child. Kneeling to her level, his voice was gentle, yet tinged with the gravity of the situation, “You shouldn’t be here, sweetie.”

At his words, the air around Saoirse crackled with an energy that belied her tender years. Her eyes, a stormy hue of amethyst, flashed with a ferocity that startled even the seasoned warrior. From the ether, a dagger materialized, its blade reflecting a purple glint – an echo of the power she had inherited from her absent father and had yet to understand. The weapon trembled in her small hand, aimed instinctively at Clint.

His reaction was not out of fear but of concern. His hands raised in a gesture of peace, his gaze locked with hers. “Saoirse,” he said softly, his voice a lullaby amidst the cacophony of her fears and her mother’s screams. “It’s okay, I’m only here to help you.”

The tension held for a heartbeat, two, then dissipated like morning mist as Saoirse’s grip on the conjured blade wavered. The dagger vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the trembling girl and the man who crouched before her, his eyes never leaving hers.

Clint reached out, his hand steady and warm against her arm. “Let’s find you a better place to wait,” he suggested, “somewhere you can still be close to your mom, but not where you have to hear…”

He didn’t need to finish; they both understood the horrors that lay beyond the door. Saoirse nodded, her tears still flowing but now mingled with a child’s trust in the face of Clint’s protective resolve.

He stood, offering his hand, which Saoirse took with a fragile trust. Together, they walked down the corridor, away from the sick bay, to a small alcove filled with cushions and the quiet murmur of a fountain. Here, the world seemed to soften, the harshness of reality cushioned by the hush of flowing water.

Clint settled beside her, his presence a steadfast sentinel. “Your mother is strong, Saoirse. She’s got the best people looking after her,” he reassured her, his voice firm with belief.

Saoirse nestled into the cushions, drawing her knees up to her chin. “I know. Uncle Bruce helps her every time, but it hurts her so much,” she whispered, her words barely audible over the fountain.

“It does,” Clint acknowledged, not one to shy away from the truth. “But she fights, and she has you, which is the best reason to keep fighting.”

Wrapped in the soft embrace of cushions, murmured a question that had haunted her heart for as long as she had the words to consciously think about it, “Why isn’t he here? Why isn’t my daddy here for her? She needs him…”

Clint’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting a sorrow too deep for words. “Some questions don’t have easy answers, kiddo. But you’re here, and that’s what matters to her.”

They sat in silence, the compound’s hum a distant thrum. It was no place for a child, but here she was with one of the world’s heroes, wishing for a father who always seemed to have something more important than her and her mother. Saoirse’s eyes, once alight with conjured fury, now watched the water’s dance, finding a measure of calm in its predictable rise and fall.

Clint’s gaze never wavered from the girl beside him. He saw not just the daughter of a powerful yet enigmatic friend, but a burgeoning force in her own right. He saw the flickers of her potential, the nascent strength that would one day be a torrent to reckon with. The way she wielded a blade was a natural skill and it would only be a matter of time before she would best him in combat. The skill of a friend he once knew…

Time passed, marked only by the shifting of light as it streamed through the high windows. Saoirse’s sobs had quieted, her initial fear giving way to a wearied exhaustion. Clint remained, his vow of protection unspoken but as tangible as the bow he often wielded.

Eventually, the door to the medical bay opened, and a hush descended upon the alcove. Saoirse tensed, her eyes darting toward the sound. Dr. Banner emerged, his expression one of cautious optimism.

“Your mom’s resting now,” he told Saoirse, his voice kind as he stooped to look into her eyes. “She asked for you.”

Saoirse rose, her small hand slipping into Clint’s as they made their way back to the sick bay. The door swung open to reveal Melara, pale but smiling faintly at the sight of her daughter. Saoirse rushed to her side, her earlier fear forgotten in the wake of relief. She climbed onto the bed, her place by her mother’s side a natural fit.

Clint watched from the doorway, his heart a mix of pride and sorrow. He had seen too much of pain and loss, but in moments like these, he found hope.

Melara’s own hand, noticeably charred, found Saoirse’s, their fingers intertwining. “I’m okay, my brave girl,” Melara whispered, her voice a tender caress.

Saoirse nestled closer, her world once again righted by her mother’s touch. “Mommy…” she whispered, nuzzling into her mother.

“Baby girl, sing to me. You know that always makes me feel better,” Melara said as she smiled weakly in her daughter’s direction.

Saoirse knew just the song that would calm her mother.

I am my mother’s savage daughter. The one who runs barefoot, Cursing sharp stones. I am my mother’s savage daughter. I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice.

My mother’s child is a savage. She looks for omens in the colors of stones, In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers, In the dancing of fire, In the curve of old bones. Though she was weak, Melara joined in as Saoirse sang.

We are our mother’s savage daughters. The ones who run barefoot, Cursing sharp stones. We are our mother’s savage daughter. We will not cut our hair, We will not lower our voice.

The next verse, Saoirse sang alone once more, in a whispered hush.

My mother’s child dances in darkness. She sings heathen songs, By the light of the moon. And watches the stars and renames the planets, And dreams she can reach them, With a song and a broom.

Melara closed her eyes gently as a tear fell from her eye. She was exhausted and still in pain, Saoirse could sense it, but she knew that her mother tried to hide it. Still, Saoirse continued to sing until she felt her mother’s tension seep out from her muscles.

I am my mother’s savage daughter. The one who runs barefoot, Cursing sharp stones. I am my mother’s savage daughter. I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice.

And with the last words, Saoirse placed a gentle kiss on Melara’s cheek, whispering the words, “I love you, mommy,” before she climbed out of her mother’s bed in the dimly lit sick bay. There were so many questions she dared not ask.

***

“I feel like that was the beginning of the end for her,” Saoirse said softly, an emotionless expression on her face. “She started to lose control of the fire and I know you had something to do with it, Loki.”

Unable to look Saoirse in the eye, Loki’s voice quivered as he said, “I…I don’t even know what to say to that.”

---

taglist: @mischief2sarawr

#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki

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mischiefandmedicine · 16 days

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Very Full - Chapter 12: End of the Dream

Summary: Tragedy strikes requiring Loki to seek help from enemy acquaintances.

Word Count: 4,152 words.

Chapter Warnings: Implied nudity, fire, hospital, health problems, injury/trauma.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

End of the Dream by Evanescence

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: As per usual, I just want to say that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. I did, however, imagine that Melara wrote this song, because the lyrics fit so perfectly into hers and Loki's story.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

In a time not bound by the linear march that mortals call chronology, there came a calm. Melara, with a newborn Saoirse cradled in her arms, found a semblance of peace. It was a fragile time, woven from the silken threads of lullabies and the steadfast presence of Loki, who lingered just long enough to ensure the safety and care of his daughter and the love he had left behind in the mortal realm.

Loki had duties and they required him to keep his strength. Projecting such a strong connection to Melara’s timeline for months on end cost him strength and energy that he could not always spare.

Evelyn, a beacon of support, would often step in when Loki was called away to tend to his throne. The nights were long, and Saoirse, colicky and restless, would cry into the wee hours, her wails a stark contrast to the serene stillness of the multiverse. Yet it was in the embrace of music that both mother and daughter found their solace, their shared strength. Melara would hum softly, melodies weaving around Saoirse, calming the tempest within her tiny form.

Time, ever the fickle stream, flowed on, and Melara, with her little star in tow, began to traverse the country, her music making her own body stronger with each passing day. Her voice, her music, touched the hearts of many, and soon her journey expanded, crossing oceans and borders, until the whole world became her stage. But with the spotlight came shadows, and odd occurrences began to weave themselves into the narrative of Melara’s life on the road with infant Saoirse. Power outages at concerts, instruments that burst into flame of their own accord, and more such peculiar happenings that left audiences both bewildered and entranced.

Melara shrugged these things off, assuming that her daughter, a princess, and heir to the god of mischief’s throne, had been passed her own magic and mischief that was uncontrollable. It was a theory that was not without merit, but the reality was that little Saoirse was not the cause.

But in the tapestry of one particular night that draped over upstate New York, Melara’s latest performance had seemingly cast a spell of enchantment. Her voice had ebbed away into the velvet darkness of the countryside. Once Melara had returned to the hotel, her place of respite in between performances and appearances, the words of her songs etched into her heart as she felt a longing for Loki to be by her side once again.

High above, in the penthouse suite, Melara took refuge on the balcony, having just nestled her daughter into the cocoon of a portable crib. The city below was a lattice of light and shadow, a mosaic of the mundane and the magical, unbeknownst to the brewing tempest of fate. As the cool breeze nipped at her skin, Melara felt the stirrings of a familiar sting to her nerves.

The suite was a realm of silence now, save for the soft breathing of her sleeping baby. Melara, her body weary from the night’s exertions, felt her body succumbing to the call of pain threatening to overtake her body once more. Yet, as she sought refuge in the solitude of her room, a peculiar heat began to unfurl within her, a companion to the pain that clawed underneath her skin. It was a heat that bore no kinship with the warmth of the stage lights she so often basked in. It clawed at her senses, urging her towards the cool solace of a shower, where the water ran like rivulets from a winter’s thaw.

Stripping her clothes off in a flash, Melara found herself doused in cold water, but steam poured from her skin as though she were molten lava reaching the ice-cold seas below a volcano. As the cold streams cascaded over her flesh, Melara’s thoughts swirled like the steam around her – a frenzy of longing and solitude. She chastised herself for the stubborn pride that made her decline Evelyn’s company, her mother’s foresight now seeming like a beacon of wisdom in the haze of her fatigue. The independence she sought now felt like an albatross around her neck, a self-imposed exile. She had insisted on carving her own path, a lone figure silhouetted against the daunting expanse of her dreams.

The silence of the suite was stark in contrast to the disharmony of her inner turmoil. She missed Loki – his presence, which was both comforting and confounding, had become an anchor in the tumultuous sea of her life. The whisper of his name against the tiles of the shower was a prayer, a wish, a conjuration she half hoped would summon him to her side. But the only solace she could find was to turn off the shower, wrap herself in a towel, and retreat to the confines of the oversized bed.

Her dreams were not comforting either. She found herself lost in the same nightmare she had every night. The burning strands of the infinite timelines in Loki’s grasp. She would feel her limbs tangled within them, pain searing through her flesh as she fought to break free. Loki, commander of ice would put the fire out, but at a cost to himself and many of the timelines for which he had sacrificed so much. He had the choice to save her or the strands of time, but he could not offer refuge to both. He would always choose the timelines. Every time. The look in his eyes when he had finally made the heartbreaking decision to put the fire out, all at the expense of Melara tangled within them as she screamed in agony.

A sudden cracking in the air pulled her from the dream, gasping for oxygen, but not able to find it. The sounds that had pulled her from her frantic dreams seemed alien to the rhythm of the night. It began as an undercurrent, a whisper beneath the threshold of hearing, growing to an insistent sizzle that set Melara’s already pained nerves on edge. The air turned acrid, a prelude to the scream of alarms that soon shattered the quiet.

Melara’s heart lurched as she tore herself from the bed, a robe her only armor against the unfolding chaos. The suite had transformed into an inferno, the flames a ravenous beast devouring the walls that had once promised her rest. Saoirse’s cries pierced the roar of the fire, a clarion call that galvanized Melara into action.

Barefoot and hair still drenched from the cold shower, she raced through the flames, her only thought of Saoirse, her little star in peril. The fire licked at her heels, a predator snapping at its prey, but Melara was undeterred. Her arms ached to hold and comfort her daughter, to shield her from the fury of the blaze, but it had burned too bright and too hot for her to reach the door to the room where her daughter lay.

Separated from her crying child by walls now licked by fire, Melara’s heart was seized by terror. With her voice, raw and powerful, she called out, a name that was both a plea and a summons, “Loki!”

As if conjured by the sheer force of her frantic will, Loki materialized amidst the chaos, the god now a savior in the searing heat. With the fabric of his cloak unfurling like the wings of a raven, Melara watched, calling out between coughs as he traversed the inferno, an ethereal figure against the consuming flames. His heart, often shrouded in enigma, now beat in tandem with the mortal dread of losing what was most precious.

Breaking down the door in a flash of green, Loki found Saoirse enveloped in a cocoon of purple shimmer, her cries muted by the roar of the fire. Scooping her into his arms, he further shielded her from the embers’ wrath with a mantle of energy unmatched. Through smoke and flame, he carried her, the heir to worlds lost, to safety, her tiny heartbeat a drum against his chest. Seeing Melara, now sputtering in the smoke and flames, he ushered the family out of the burning building in a flash.

Outside, the night air was a cold shock to their senses. Melara, escaping just moments after Loki, smiled as she met Loki’s gaze, seeing him rocking Saoirse, attempting to shush her cries as they watched the building burn. Overcome, Melara collapsed to the ground, her strength failing her just steps away from the blaze of the hotel. Her voice, which had called upon gods and enchanted mortals, now faltered, a mere whisper carried by the wind.

In the aftermath, as the first responders tended to the flames and survivors, the onlookers whispered of miracles. Loki, with Saoirse safe in his embrace, knelt by Melara’s side. Her skin, once kissed by the spotlight, now lay pale in the moon’s ghostly hue. The night air was filled with the sounds of distant sirens and the murmurs of the gathering crowd, but Loki’s focus was solely on Melara, her shallow breaths a counterpoint to the pounding of his immortal heart.

With a tender gentleness that belied his chaotic nature, he handed Saoirse to a paramedic, reaching to cradle Melara in his arms. His voice, a soft incantation, called her back from the brink, “Melara, hear my voice. Follow it back to me, to Saoirse. We need you.”

There, in the shadow of the smoldering hotel, under the gaze of a silent cosmos, Loki conjured the essence of Asgard’s healing magic, a luminescent thread woven from the fabric of the universe. It danced upon his fingertips, a ballet of light seeking to mend and restore.

Melara’s eyelids fluttered open, her spirit grappling with the tether that pulled her homeward. And as her eyes met Loki’s, there was an unspoken understanding that passed between them. He had answered her call, he had saved their daughter, but the night’s ordeal had exacted a price – a debt that would shape the destiny of all three.

As she came to full consciousness, Melara coughed again, attempting to express words of gratitude to Loki, but as the air hit her vocal chords, so did the realization of the level of anguish she was in from the attack that she had tried to avoid. Her back arched, her ruby lips parting, eliciting a piercing scream so treacherous as it fell from her lips, it shook the ground surrounding them.

***

Loki’s gaze was a tempest of green, swirling with the power of ancient magic and the depth of his despair as he watched Melara wrestle with the pain that gripped her. The hospital room, bathed in the sterile light of necessity, was a haunting reminder of the last time the pair had been in this situation. Machines beeped and hummed, a discordant symphony to the rhythm of Melara’s heart – steady, yet fragile.

Loki stood there, a god amongst men, feeling the weight of his own helplessness. His magic had always been his ally, his weapon, his shield, but now it hung uselessly at his side, unable to soothe the agony that wracked Melara’s body. He had already tried to heal the burns and smoke inhalation, to weave the threads of restoration through her with his magic, but the pain she now faced was a different beast – one that his powers could not quell.

Saoirse, innocent to the gravity of the situation, lay in his arms, her small hand reaching out towards her mother, grasping for a connection that, for now, was just out of reach. Her coos were a balm to the cold dread that had settled over Loki, a gentle reminder of life amidst the sterile echoes of the ICU.

The doctor’s voice broke through the quiet, a solemn timbre that carried the weight of his words. “Mr. Odinson,” he began, an address born of formality in the face of the inexplicable. “I’m afraid we need to place Melara in a medically induced coma. Her metabolism is incredibly high and she is burning through medication to keep this pain at bay. It’s the only way to allow her body to rest, to try and get past this episode.”

Loki’s heart clenched; a visceral reaction to the words that threatened to sever his hope. A coma. The word hung in the air, a specter of the unknown. He looked down at Melara, her once vibrant face now a canvas of pain and exhaustion. Nodding slowly to the doctor, he granted the silent assent they needed to proceed.

Melara, the woman who had captivated his ancient heart, lay before him, her vitality ebbing into a void with each excruciating scream. The doctors, these mortals vested with the knowledge of healing arts, spoke in hushed tones, but their words were a tangled lexicon that grated against Loki’s ears. They spoke of comas, of metabolic cascades and analgesic thresholds – of pain so profound that even their most potent of medicines faltered in its wake.

As the medical team worked with quiet efficiency, preparing Melara for the deep sleep that would, hopefully, be her respite, Loki’s mind raced. But as the medications were administered, the heart monitor picked up. It was like her body was fighting the very efforts to stop her insides from burning. Melara’s bloodshot eyes snapped open, her face contorting in agony even worse than it had outside the hotel. Tears streamed down her face before another cry of anguish escaped her lips, so loud, so penetrating that the medical staff collapsed to the ground, holding their ears to mute the onslaught of wails as the glass windows of the tiny room shattered around them.

Loki’s mind went wild, every thought a shard of ice, sharp, cold, and desperate. To see Melara in such torment was torture greater than any punishment meted out by his brother’s hand, the Allfather’s decrees, or even what he’d experienced at the hands of Thanos before being sent to take New York. It was the agony of a soul, a test of his very essence.

He had tried, gods, how he had tried. With the whispered incantations and the force of his will, he had sought to weave a tapestry of healing around her, to mend the burns, to soothe the hurt. But the malady that had gripped her now was a menace that danced just beyond the reaches of his magic – a flame that no spell could quench. What good would all the power of the universe be if he could not save her?

In the communion of their intertwined hands, he felt the fevered heat of her skin, a glaring contrast to the chill of his Frost Giant flesh. It was a heat that seemed to burn him from the inside, a reflection of the fire that raged within her, unseen but deeply felt.

It was obvious to Loki that the love of his life, the mother of his child, was experiencing no ordinary pain, no ordinary illness. There was another place, a place where science and magic danced in a delicate duet – a place where the best scientific minds and the most advanced technologies converged. It would be dangerous for him to travel there, but it was a place that would likely be the only hope to ease Melara’s supernatural affliction. The Avengers’ compound.

To take Melara there was to risk everything. His pride, his secrecy, his very being could be unraveled by those who had every reason to distrust him. Yet, as he watched the rise and fall of Melara’s chest, each breath an echo of the vibrant life she once embodied, he knew there was no other choice.

With a heart heavy with trepidation, Loki made his decision. He took Melara’s hand, her skin nearly burning to the touch. He enveloped her with his magic. “Hold on, my heart,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “I will not let this be the end of your song. There is yet one more haven we have not sought. I will take you there no matter what the cost.”

In a shimmer of emerald light, the boundaries of space and time bent to his will. The walls of the ICU, the machines, and the world he had come to know as Melara’s refuge from the stage, all dissolved into the ether. They were traversing the fabric of reality of her timeline itself, moving through space in a way that only Loki, the god that he was, could command.

They arrived at the Avengers compound, a place that was a nexus of heroism and home to some of Earth’s mightiest protectors. The air crackled with power and in the wake of their arrival, a hush fell over the compound.

The heroes, ever vigilant, ever ready, were taken aback by the sudden appearance of the Asgardian god of mischief, an infant in his arms, and a woman whose pain was written in the lines of her face, the pallor of her skin, and the cries escaping her lips. But this was not the Loki the original team had fought in New York, certainly not the adversary they had once known. This was a man whose face had been twisted with the torment of seeing the woman he loved suffer.

“Help her,” Loki implored, his voice carrying the command of royalty and the whispered plea of a man whose entire universe hung in the balance. “I know you all are ready to fight me, but she…she has fought with the courage of the mightiest warriors, and now she needs your strength, your knowledge. Please…”

A man, wearing the same colors as Captain America once had, stepped forward, to take Saoirse from Loki’s arms, smiling at the baby and greeting her gently to gain her trust. Once his arms were free of his squirming child, Loki gently picked Melara up to cradle her in his arms. An exhausted Melara, just moaned, tears streaming down her face as Loki carried her through the compound to the medical bay.

By Melara’s side, he remained, a sentinel against the dark tide of her pain, with Saoirse being cared for by other members within the compound. And Bruce Banner – who had been moved by Loki’s sincere pleas for help – worked tirelessly, blending his knowledge of science and some of magic. The night gave way to the promise of dawn quickly.

The compound, once a battlefield, was now a cradle of hope, and in its embrace, Melara, Saoirse, and Loki found the strength to face the coming day. For in the hearts of heroes and gods alike, the power of unity and the will to protect the ones we cherish transcend all differences, forging alliances in the crucible of necessity. The compound became a testament to this newfound accord, as each Avenger lent their expertise to the effort.

In the medical bay, a symphony of technology and expertise buzzed around Melara as she came in and out of consciousness, body contorted to its limits in insurmountable excruciating pain. Banner and Loki, side by side, worked with a focus that belied the underlying urgency of the situation. Each monitor, each device, was a lifeline that hummed with the promise of healing. They were the best of two worlds – Midgard and Asgard – and they pooled their knowledge, seeking a way to pull Melara back from the precipice on which she precariously stood.

Loki, often with Saoirse still in his arms, watched the Avengers move with precision. He saw them not the warriors of old but as allies in the fight for Melara’s life. It was an unexpected solidarity, born of the very love that had once made them adversaries.

The man who had initially taken Saoirse, now having introduced himself as Sam Wilson, Captain America’s successor, approached Loki, his expression solemn yet kind. “We’ll do our best for her. She’s in good hands now,” he said, clapping a supportive hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Just don’t try anything,” he warned.

Loki nodded, his usual façade of aloofness shattered by the gravity of the moment. “I…can only thank you on her and our daughter’s behalf.”

Sam wordlessly raised an eyebrow in Loki’s direction, training his eyes between Loki and Melara, almost as if to question what this woman was doing with the god of mischief. He walked away before speaking another word in judgment or condemnation.

As the hours passed, the compound’s resources were pushed to their limits. The magic that Loki had provided mingled with Earth’s finest medical advancements, creating a bridge between methods old and new. The Avengers, each in their own way, stood vigil with Loki, a silent oath shared among them to see this battle through to its hopeful end. Many of them, however, used sitting with Loki as an excuse to play with Saoirse who was a beacon of hope to all those who checked in on Melara. Loki certainly also used this opportunity to tell their story in the hopes of casting a different light on himself, an urgent plea for redemption in their eyes.

The sun rose, casting its first light upon the compound, and with it came a change. The machines that had been monitoring Melara’s vitals began to reflect a positive shift. Banner, monitoring the readings closely, let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. “She’s stabilizing,” he murmured, allowing himself the faintest smile of relief.

Loki’s eyes, which had been pools of fear and desperation, now shone with a glint of cautious optimism. He looked down at Saoirse, her presence a comfort and a reminder of all that was at stake. “Did you hear that, little one? Your mother is a fighter,” he whispered eliciting a smile from Saoirse.

In the days that followed, the compound became a haven for the small family. Melara’s condition improved steadily, her body responding to the care it was given. The Avengers watched over her, their respect for Loki growing as they witnessed his devotion. Of those who frequented the compound, Clint Barton resolved to avoid Loki, having been under his control in New York, he thought it best to avoid the triggers of the past in the god’s presence.

Many of them watched as Melara finally opened her eyes for the first time, taking in her surroundings. “Loki?” she asked, as he ran to her side with a smile.

“You’ll be okay. I brought you to some…acquaintances that could help you,” he explained, his voice hushed. He grabbed her hand, brushing a hair away from her face as she lay on the gurney.

Her voice transitioned into a hushed whisper as she smiled sheepishly, singing the words:

I’m not afraid, I pushed through the pain. And I’m on fire. I remember how to breathe again.

A look of bewilderment crossed Loki’s face. “Melara? Your…your hand.”

Melara looked down to see a small fireball cradled gently in her free hand. She gasped in shock, looking as she played with the fire, wide-eyed. “Did…did I do this? The hotel? Oh my god! Saoirse!”

Loki shushed her, using a burst of ice to put out the fireball in her hand. “Saoirse is here, she’s just fine. She’s even made a few new friends.”

At that moment, Banner entered the room. “Miss Brandt? My name is Dr. Bruce Banner. You’re at the Avengers compound. We don’t know what’s going on, but we will get to the bottom of this while you recover. And you are welcome to stay until you do.”

Melara nodded, turning her attention back to Loki. “I have to see her, Loki.”

“Let’s wait until you get a little stronger and can control whatever is going on with you,” Loki whispered.

“Loki…,” her voice trailed off as tears fell. Each one evaporated from her hot skin before they could be wiped away. Melara nodded in agreement, realizing that she had been a danger to her daughter without even knowing it and began singing again to calm her nerves. It was what she knew would give her strength and keep these burgeoning powers over fire at bay.

As much as it hurts, ain’t it wonderful to feel? So go on and break your wings, Follow your heart ‘til it bleeds, As we run toward the end of the dream.

Realizing that Melara was likely foreshadowing an untimely demise – her powers of observation were keen – Loki dropped his head into her lap, hiding the fact that he felt helpless in the face of Melara beginning to burn out of control. They both wondered if this was what had ailed her for all these years, a deadly magic raging beneath the surface. It explained the pain, but they could not reconcile why music, her singing, but nothing else seemed to quiet the storm and give her strength. Though some questions seemed to have been answered, at the moment, more rose to the surface, silently treading water.

-----

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mischiefandmedicine · 18 days

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mischiefandmedicine · 22 days

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Very Full - Interlude: Far from Heaven

Summary: Loki contemplates how he should keep telling his story.

Word Count: 1,425 words.

Chapter Warnings: None that I can think of.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Far from Heaven by Evanescence

Very Full MASTERLIST

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A/N: As per usual, I just want to say that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. I did, however, imagine that Melara wrote this song, because the lyrics fit so perfectly into hers and Loki's story.

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From his vantage point at the end of time, where the very fabric of the universe seemed to converge into an intricate tapestry of fate and chance, Loki, once known for his mischief and cunning, found himself caught in a moment of profound introspection as he considered what to tell his daughter. He sat, the echoes of a timeless chamber resonating with the murmurs of infinite realms and the timelines cocooning him and Saoirse, each whispering a reminder of the paths he had trodden, and the ones yet taken.

Before him, shimmering like a mirage, Saoirse’s face seemingly frozen as she waited expectantly for Loki to continue. Her eyes, so reminiscent of Melara’s, held the fierce determination and the nearly imperceptible vulnerability that defined her mother. His daughter’s request was so simple yet seismic – “Tell me everything.” – that it gave him pause, internally recalling one of Melara’s songs from the dark years. The years in which he was forced to stay away.

Give me a reason, Make me whole again. Wounds should become scars, But I’m cracked instead. Can’t risk believing, That I would stand a chance. Frozen in the doorway, don’t wanna leave the past. One more night, What I wouldn’t give to be with you for one more night…

He would have died for this young woman, his daughter, if she had asked him to sacrifice himself. To prove his loyalty and his love. But could he really tell her everything? The time with the love of his life was too short…too precious. It was time that helped him to see the inherent value of mortal life. How could he tell Saoirse everything if it would give away the secrets shared between lovers? And the song played on in his head.

What if I can’t see your light anymore? ‘Cause I’ve spent too long in the dark. And I’m on my knees without shame begging to believe. But I feel so far from heaven.

As the silence stretched between the father and daughter, Loki’s mind wandered back to the night he had first encountered Melara. It was not mere chance, but a call of fate that had drawn him to her. Amidst the chaos of the cosmos, her voice had pierced through the cacophony of dreams as he slumbered on the throne. Her voice had been both a beacon and a sweet, calming lullaby that seemed to lure him inexorably towards her.

Melara had been different – not merely in power or spirit but in the very essence that composed her being. She radiated a kind of raw, unfiltered vivacity that was both intoxicating and daunting. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he had sensed that she was meant to teach him something profound, something about the nature of connection or perhaps the elusive truth of love. However, the depth of their entwining stories was something he had not been prepared for. The loneliness without her at his side broke him as he could hear her sing about their love from the ever-growing timeline that housed her essence. She would sing the words of his own heart as if she could hear his thoughts across the universe.

Wake up to a new day, Break my heart again. Dreaming makes for sweet escape but I can’t forget. I’m back at the edge now, I never needed you more. Staring down the emptiness that I can’t ignore. All my life didn’t wanna dream I could lose you. But you just smiled. What if I can’t see your light anymore? ‘Cause I spent to long in the dark. And I’m on my knees without shame begging to believe. But I feel so far from heaven.

He offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Norns for intertwining his path with such a remarkable soul, even if the pain was heartbreakingly unbearable at times. Her dreams, it seemed, held glimpses of a future, a prelude to a rich life with the enigma and might that rivaled his own aspirations. The nightmares she suffered, foretold the abrupt end of their story and she often pushed him away. Perhaps she thought she was saving Loki from her mortality. Even so, it did not stop him from pursuing Melara. She was a woman whose mystique was woven with threads of superior potency, enchanting him with the possibilities of what they might become, no matter how long it lasted.

Is anyone out there? Did you give up on us? Break this silence, I’m crushed under love. I don’t wanna lock down, but we’ve lost so much. Will you forgive me if I can’t see your light anymore? ‘Cause I’ve spent too long in the dark. And I’m on my knees without shame begging to believe, But I feel so far from heaven.

As he reflected on their journey together – from the exhilarating highs of passion to the devastating lows of angst and loss – Loki realized that each precious moment with Melara had reshaped him. She had opened doors to parts of his soul that he had long since barricaded, challenging his notions of who he could be beyond the labels of trickster and deity.

Losing himself even further, Loki found himself and his thoughts adrift, pulled back through the tides of time to the golden halls of Asgard – long before all of this – where his parents, Odin and Frigga, once sat in judgment and wisdom. He pondered, with a mind burdened by the complexities of his existence, whether they would have seen Melara, this mortal woman from another realm, with eyes of approval. Would they have gazed upon their granddaughter, Ssaoirse, being born of interwoven destinies, with the same warmth they offered him, despite his being the frost giant among Aesir?

Under the quiet cloak of the stars that hung over the secluded perch at time’s end, he mused over Frigga’s kindness, her gift for seeing the good hidden within. She, who had taught him the subtleties of seidr and the value of understanding, might have seen Melara’s dreams – a connection to the future, a profound gift – mirroring her own mastery. Perhaps Frigga would have embraced Melara, guiding her, nurturing the raw, untapped potential that Loki had found so captivating.

And Odin, Allfather, whose vision often pierced through the veils of realms and hearts, might he have recognized the thread of fate that bound Loki to Melara as something inevitable? Or would he have eyed it with the suspicion of a strategist, wary of any entanglement that might sway his adopted son from the path of a god’s grand designs? Perhaps the old man would have softened once he had seen the product of their unlikely union and welcomed his granddaughter with open arms, offering her a place at his side? Would his union with Melara, so untraditional and untamed, have been a source of contention, a deviation from Asgard’s regal lineage? Or in the forging of Saoirse – a new link in the chains of legacy – might they have seen an opportunity for redemption, a chance to mend the old rifts and write a new story for the House of Odin?

Loki imagined that the story he and Melara shared was not just about the love they shared, but also about the lessons wrought from their union. Each encounter with her had peeled back another layer of his complex persona, revealing vulnerabilities that he had dared not acknowledge. Melara had seen through the façade that Loki had presented to the world. She knew of the Loki who had taken New York and still had inexplicably and unconditionally fallen in love with him. A love that transcended the distances between them.

With a sigh that seemed to echo through the ages, Loki decided that honesty, no matter how painful, was the only gift worthy of his daughter. He would offer her the story of that would show their connection, fraught with challenges and imbued with magic. The tale itself had ultimately sprung a legacy of strength and resilience. The words he would choose must be careful, crafted with the same care with which he once weaved illusions, but this time, they would be constructs of truth, designed to build rather than beguile. As he prepared to speak, the shadows of the chamber seemed to pause to listen, the very air poised for the revelations of a god who had loved a mortal and changed the fabric of time itself.

And so, with the universe as witness, Loki drew in a deep breath while Saoirse stared wide-eyed waiting for him to speak.

----

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#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki

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mischiefandmedicine · 24 days

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I LOVE THIS! 🥰

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Glorious Purpose

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mischiefandmedicine · 30 days

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Very Full - Chapter 11: Asgardian Lullaby for Saoirse

Summary: Loki recounts a tender moment between him and baby Saoirse.

Word Count: 2,437 words.

Chapter Warnings: Kinda fluffy, kinda angsty.

Soundtrack Link

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: Please don't hate me for taking a chapter to grow Saoirse's angst a bit rather than going on about what is going on with Melara. Just a little liberty with the storytelling.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

The ethereal quietude draped the end of time as Saoirse perched upon the armchair conjured by her father, her eyes reflecting the ancient light of distant galaxies. Loki had quieted once he recalled the weakness Melara had displayed, his gaze reaching across the expanse of existence. Their surroundings pulsed with the echoes of cosmic symphonies like a living museum of time that flowed around them.

“I never knew that she struggled so deeply and so early on,” Saoirse’s voice broke the celestial silence, her words hanging like a mist. “Her songs…they always seemed so full of life. So full of strength. She always seemed…okay…at least for a while.”

Loki, with the faintest of smiles, turned towards the strands of timelines hanging behind him, seemingly looking up at his throne as if it had the words he sought. “Your mother’s resilience is the melody of her soul, one that even the stars have whispered about. Her music…it was more than sound and silence. It was her essence…her vitality.”

With a puzzled look, Saoirse leaned towards Loki, “What does that even mean?”

Loki regarded Saoirse with an expression of reminiscence and sorrow. “To understand your mother, you must look beyond what is heard. Each note she sang was infused with her spirit; her songs were like the air her lungs craved. In her music, she found a sanctuary, a place where her strength could flourish, even when the shadows crept into her life.”

He paused, his fingers brushing against the fabric of reality as if to coax forth a melody from the very ether. “When you know Melara as I have, you will see that her struggles never dampened her…fire…Instead, they fueled it, giving rise to the powerful music that enchanted the hearts of those who listened.”

Saoirse’s brow furrowed. “But…,” she trailed off, the words catching in her throat.

Loki leaned closer, his form casting a sudden green glow. “The Melara you knew – the star that shined brightly on every stage – was the truest part of her. The weakness, the trials…they were but fleeting shadows. Her music? That is what endures. That is what defines her.”

He reached out, placing a hand on Saoirse’s shoulder, “And you…carry that same light within you. Her strength, her resilience – they live on in the very core of your being.”

Saoirse sat back, shrugging off her father’s touch yet absorbing his words, a mix of emotions playing across her face. “Then why does it feel like I’m only now discovering who she truly was?” Her voice was a whisper, yet it carried the uncertainty and her longing to connect with the mother she thought she knew.

Loki’s smile returned, tinged with the wisdom of ages. “You came here seeking the truth and I gave it to you. Understanding the essence of a person is like unraveling an infinite melody. You must come prepared to hear the lighter keys and the darker ones if you seek the truth. And sometimes, it is in the quietest and the darkest of notes that we find the greatest truths.”

Saoirse’s eyes hardened, the celestial reflection in them flickering like the flames of a star about to supernova. “Cryptic words and riddles, Loki,” she snapped, her father’s name laced with a biting edge. “I’ve traveled here for answers, not to be shrouded in more mystery. You speak of truth, but cloak it in enigma!”

Loki’s gaze did not falter; it held the calm of the cosmos and the storm of knowledge yet to be shared. “It is not my intention to vex you, daughter. The truths of the heart and the soul are complex. They cannot always be delivered simply.”

“Enough,” Saoirse cut in sharply, standing up so swiftly that the armchair dissolved into stardust behind her. “I am tired of chasing shadows. You say her music is her resilience, her vitality. But where was that vitality when she lay weak, when her light dimmed? You speak as if you were there but I don’t remember your voice in the night, only hers. I remember the songs she sang to me, the strength she wrapped me in. Not yours!”

Loki’s countenance, usually a mask of composure, faltered slightly. “My absence is my regret,” he admitted, “but know this – every note Melara ever sang, I felt as if it was I who breathed them to her. I was absent in form, but never in spirit. Your mother and I…we are bound by a song that transcends realms, a duet that even I cannot fully comprehend.”

Saoirse’s stance was defiant, her voice rising as she clenched her fists standing over Loki. “You speak of duets, yet I’ve only ever known the solo. Her solo. If you were there in any form, why does it feel like a piece of my history is missing?”

A flicker of green light danced across Loki’s eyes, betraying a hint of his own frustration. “Because, Saoirse, there are melodies amongst the strands of time that are meant to be felt, not heard. I am the god of mischief, of stories, but also of unspoken truths. I was there in the whisper of the wind, in the protective circle that music cast around you, in every lullaby.”

For a brief moment, Saoirse’s anger seemed to wane, replaced by an aching confusion that echoed a longing for her mother’s comfort. “If you were there, then why-“

“Because some truths,” Loki interjected, the green in his eyes now a soft glow, “are too heavy for young shoulders. I could only watch and hope that one day you would understand. The sacrifices…”

In the silence that followed, the distance between them was palpable. Saoirse, a daughter caught between realms, between the love for her mother and the rage against her father, stood at the precipice of understanding. Loki, the god shrouded in immortality and enigma, sought a bridge across the chasm of years apart and silence.

“You claim to be a god,” Saoirse’s voice had softened, but the sternness remained. “Yet you hide behind the veil of your duty to the multiverse. If you were there, show me. Show me the truth of all that time.”

Blinking with an eerie sense of calm Loki answered with a question. “Do you recall, daughter, the lullaby I used to sing to you?” Loki’s voice, a soft murmur, was delicate as it played against the cosmic orchestra behind him.

Saoirse’s eyes, hardened once more, like forged steel, she did not waver. “I remember a lullaby, yes,” she retorted sharply. “She sang to me every night when I was little, but what does that have to do with anything?”

Loki, unfazed, continued, “It was an olden tune, steeped in Asgard’s heritage, long lost by the time you were born. It was a charm of protection I bestowed upon you.”

Saoirse bristled, her voice rising like a tempest. “Stop. I know the songs of my mother, not the fairytales of a father who claims moments he never lived.”

With an arched eyebrow and a sly grin, Loki looked up at Saoirse. “So, you do acknowledge that I am your father?”

Before Saoirse could respond, Loki extended his arm, and with a flick of the wrist replaced the chair that had been disintegrated in her anger. With another wave of his hand, Loki used his magic to push Saoirse back into the chair, eliciting an angry huff. Undeterred by her frustration, Loki hummed the melody of a compellingly beautiful tune, piercing the silence between them.

“That song,” Saoirse breathed, a storm of emotions clouding her face. “That’s what she sang to me.”

Loki’s smile was a saddened crescent in the starlight. “No, it was I who first sang it to you, here on the throne. Your mother kept the memory alive.”

The echoes of his voice tapered off, leaving a palpable tension. “Lies,” Saoirse hissed, gripping the armrests of her chair. “I was there, in the very fabric of your absence. You were never the figure in the story, the shadow by my bed. You were never the one to brush away the nightmares.”

Loki’s expression grew somber, the galaxies in his eyes flickering with regret. “I was there, more than you know, more than I could ever show.”

“There you go again,” the air between them crackled, charged with Saoirse’s indignation and the raw power of the magic inherited from the god seated before her. “You are the god of many things, Loki, but a father? Ha!”

Loki’s gaze drifted into the void, a solitary figure before the vastness of time. “Amidst all my tales and trickery, you, Saoirse, remain the one truth I cannot disguise.” Thinking for a moment, Loki extended his hand, and the fabric of time seemed to pause, awaiting the will of its master.

“Then see, daughter,” he spoke once more, this time with a resonance that vibrated through the very stars. “Witness the past as I lived it.”

The cosmos around them shifted, stars and galaxies blurring as if caught in a celestial storm. Images began to coalesce – Loki himself, cradling a baby Saoirse on the throne, his voice soothing and hushed as the baby’s cries echoed off the swirling onyx marble. Shushing her gently, Loki rocked her gently, “I know, love. Your poor mother needed a break from her duties. But fear not, you are under the watchful eye of Loki, the grand architect of stories and weaver of fates. Your cries, they are but the opening notes of the grandest tale yet told.”

An image of Loki smiled at baby Saoirse as if seeking her approval, but her wailing only continued louder as she kicked her little legs and feet against his chest. Rocking her softly, the god of mischief and stories transformed his voice into a soothing cadence. “Princess Saoirse Freyja Runa Lokisdottir, your name commands the respect of the stars and the curiosity of the multiverse. Now shall we hush the night with a spell of slumber?” And so he began to sing:

Close your eyes, my precious one, In realms of fire and ice, you’ve spun. Dream of flames that dance so high, And frost that paints the winter sky. Stars alight in fiery hue, Ice crystals gleam just for you. In this world of contrasts bold, Your story, my dear, will unfold.

As Saoirse’s cries softened under the soothing baritone of her father’s voice, Loki’s eyes twinkled with an impish charm as he continued to rock her gently in his arms.

Fire and ice they both entwine, In a heart that’s purely thine. Sleep, my child, in realms so vast, In your dreams let these wonders last. With flames of passion, hearts aglow, And ice that tempers, soft and slow. You’re my light, my guiding spark, In this world, and realms beyond the dark.

With his final words barely above a whisper, a now-sleeping infant shivered before snuggling into her father’s embrace. Loki adjusted her in his arms, a playful smirk gracing his lips. “Now, my love, rest. One day, you’ll wield the powers that will have even the mightiest of deities looking over their shoulders. But for now, little one, let’s content ourselves with a more benign form of bedlam – like charming your father into carrying you through the stars.”

Loki kissed her forehead gently, brushing a dark curl out of her face. “If only your uncles Mobius and Thor could feast their eyes on this,” he whispered

***

Tears, unbidden, welled in Saoirse’s eyes as the memory faded around them. “I…I’ve been here? I never knew,” Saoirse breathed, the anger replaced by a dawning sorrow.

Loki subtly nodded, waiting for his daughter to process what she had seen.

“That better not have been a trick…another one of your lies, I swear, Loki. I will end you right here.”

His posture sinking, Loki spoke, “There is much we both have yet to understand. But know this – neither time nor realm can sever what we are to each other.”

Saoirse’s gaze softened, her anger giving way to a reluctant vulnerability. “I came here to confront you,” she admitted, her voice faltering. “But now…now, I’m not sure what I’m fighting for anymore.”

Loki stood and stepped forward towards his daughter, offering a hand that shimmered with the stardust of ages. He regarded his daughter with a father’s heart, one that had too often been cloaked in the shadows of his myth and legend. It was at this moment, he chose to speak of the lessons he had learned that brought him to the throne. “The fight you seek,” he said, his voice as soft as the light of a distant star, “is not with me, but within you. It is the struggle of understanding who you are and reconciling the past with the present.”

Saoirse, her defenses faltering like the walls of a long-worn fortress, exhaled a sigh that carried the burden of her journey to the end of time. She searched herself for the words to respond to her father standing before her. “All my life…I have been shadowboxing, fighting an image of you painted by absence and silence.”

Loki took another step forward, the space between them closing yet still charged with the energy of emotions unspoken. “And now you see, daughter, that image was but a single yarn of a much bigger story. I have loved you, cared for you, protected you – it was always there, just beyond the veil of your reality. And she knew.”

Saoirse’s eyes, no longer flinty with anger but seeking clarity, locked onto Loki’s. “You say I carry her light within me,” she spoke, accusation and yearning in her voice, “but what of your shadow? Is that not also a part of who I am?”

The god’s smile was wistful, and for a moment, it seemed as though the universe itself held its breath. “Yes,” he acknowledged, “you are both the dawn and the dusk. The light of your mother and the shadows of your father. You are both her fire and my ice. It is a legacy that you must wield with care, daughter.”

She nodded, the fight draining from her spirit as understanding began to dawn. “I am the balance. But…”

Loki stepped back to his seat, hovering over it as he waited for Saoirse to finish her words. “Yes?”

“You say you were there for us. So why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t save her? For her? For me?”

“You still don’t know anything. Daughter, we have only scratched the surface…” Loki said, his voice taking on a more somber tone.

Saoirse’s eyes darkened, “Then tell me everything.”

“As you wish…”

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki

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mischiefandmedicine · 30 days

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Thank you! I love these characters soooooo much. I'm currently trying to find a way to keep writing them...;)

Very Full - Chapter 10: Lay Me Down

Summary: Melara gains some perspective as her powers grow.

Word Count: 2,860 words.

Chapter Warnings: Kinda fluffy, kinda angsty.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Lay Me Down by Sam Smith featuring John Legend

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: As per usual, I just want to say that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. I did, however, imagine that Melara wrote this song, because the lyrics fit so perfectly into hers and Loki's story.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Months had passed since Melara’s poignant encounter with Loki in the dim light of the studio. The world outside her window had subtly shifted; the once-distant dream of a music career was now blossoming into a vivid reality. Gone was the time when she felt like just a karaoke bar and a shower singer. Now, the songs she had poured her heart into, born from the depths of her experiences and encounters with a certain god of stories, were now resonating with a wider audience than she had ever imagined.

The first hint of change came quietly, almost unnoticeably, with local independent radio stations playing tracks from her demo. Then, like a ripple expanding across a still pond, her music began to reach further shores. One song, in particular, a haunting melody that spoke of love and loss in equal measure, caught the attention of a national radio network. Its lyrics, imbued with the pain and beauty of her time with Loki, seemed to strike a chord with listeners, drawing them into her world.

Each day, Melara found herself navigating this new reality with wonder and apprehension. Her once-routine visits to the local coffee shop turned into impromptu meet-and-greets with fans who recognized her voice from the radio. Invitations to play at larger venues and interviews with music journalists became a regular part of her schedule. Her world, once confined to the four walls of her apartment and the small stages of local bars, was expanding in ways she had not dared to hope for.

Yet, amidst the whirlwind of her budding career, Melara could not shake off a sense of solitude. The growing life inside her was a constant reminder of her connection to Loki; one that was both a source of strength and a wellspring of longing. Each night, as she lay in bed, the faint stirrings of her unborn brought thoughts of him – thoughts that were a bittersweet reminiscence and aching absence all at once.

The apartment, once her sanctuary, now felt too large, too quiet. Even with frequent visits from her friends or her mother. The walls, adorned with framed lyrics and photographs from her performances, echoed with memories. She would look at each fondly, often studying the photographs in the hopes that she would catch a glimpse of Loki in the audience watching her. The lyrics though were like a vocal manifestation of their complicated relationship – so close, yet an entire universe apart.

As Melara navigated the unfolding chapters of this new life, one aspect that continually left her in quiet amazement was the warm embrace she received from the public, not just as a musician but as a soon-to-be mother. It was a blend of identities she had worried might clash but instead harmonized beautifully in the public eye.

Fans and critics alike seemed to celebrate her pregnancy, viewing it as a symbol of authentic life experience, enriching her music with layers of depth and emotion. The way her growing belly was received as part of her artistic image, rather than a hindrance to it, felt like a refreshing departure from the norms she had anticipated. Each performance, interview, and public appearance where her pregnancy was not just accepted but celebrated, bolstered her confidence. It was as if her personal journey of love, creativity, and impending motherhood resonated with an audience far broader than she ever imagined.

But as her due date drew nearer, the reality of her situation became more pressing. The nights were longer now, filled with a restless energy that kept her awake, her mind racing with plans and worries for the future.

During the day, she would often find herself staring out the window, lost in thought. The cityscape, with its bustling streets and towering buildings, seemed both familiar and alien. It was as if she were viewing the world from the other side of a veil – a part of it, yet separate, caught between the life she had known and the one that was unfolding before her.

In these quiet moments of reflection, Melara found herself thinking about Loki’s projection. At first, it had been a source of frustration, a painful reminder of what could not be. But as time passed, she felt a shift. The projection, with its silent presence and watchful eyes, had become a comforting ethereal presence that was her link to Loki. Even though he had promised to keep his distance, Melara continued to experience passing moments where she could sense his presence, but could not physically see him around.

As the autumn leaves began to fall, painting the city in hues of orange and red, Melara felt a change within herself. There was a growing sense of acceptance, a realization that while her life was taking an unexpected path, it was one she was ready to embrace. The music, the pregnancy, the connection with Loki – they were all threads in the tapestry of her life, each one essential to the pattern that was emerging.

And so, as the season turned and the chill of winter began to creep into the air, Melara prepared herself mentally for the next chapter of her story. This particular evening’s air was cool, carrying the scent of the approaching night as Melara stepped into her apartment, her feet and back aching from the long day. The rehearsal, a duet she had been practicing for weeks, had drained her more than usual. Her body, adapting to the growing life within her, demanded rest, a plea she could no longer ignore.

Melara moved through her home with a familiar ease, shedding the layers of the day. The apartment, once a quaint vessel for her modest aspirations, had transformed along with her life. Where there had once been space for her to dance and sing without restraint, there were now stacks of fan mail and gifts from admirers, as well as a crib in the corner gifted to her by her mother. Her coffee table, once cluttered with lyric sheets and old guitar picks, now held glossy magazines with her face on the cover. It was all so surreal, like living within a dream she had conjured in some distant, hopeful night.

Melara stood by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, watching as the streets below filled with passersby on their way to dates, dinners, and errands. She sipped slowly, the warmth of the liquid doing little to ward off the chill that seemed to have settled in her bones. The lights dimmed, casting soft shadows against the walls, as her phone dinged with a message from the studio technician she had worked with for the day. Checking the screen, she noted the words from the technician as they flashed across her screen:

Today’s session was magical! I’ve attached a file of what we got.

In her sanctuary of solitude, Melara’s fingers danced across her phone, connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker. The living room, a witness to her solitary evenings and silent tearful reveries, now hummed to life with the first tender strokes of a piano. She cradled her belly as the melody rose like a gentle tide, flooding the space with its calming presence. And then she heard her voice. It sounded hushed, yet passionate as it told of every sentiment held within her heart.

Yes, I do, I believe, That one day we will be where I was, Right there, right next to you. And it’s hard, the days just seem so dark. The moon, and the stars are nothing without you. Your touch, your skin, where do I begin? No words can explain the way I’m missing you. Deny this emptiness, This hole that I’m inside. These tears, they tell their own story. Told me not to cry when you were gone, But the feeling’s overwhelming, it’s much too strong. Can I lay by your side? Next to you? You. And make sure you’re alright. I’ll take care of you. You. I don’t want to be here if I can’t be with you tonight.

As the notes swirled around her, her eyelids grew heavy. A strange sensation, like a gentle tide pulling her under, overtook her. This was no ordinary fatigue; it felt as though the very essence of her being was being drawn into a realm beyond the confines of her apartment, beyond the constraints of time and space. While she lay there, it was not the voice of her song partner she heard, she pictured Loki on his throne projecting the next verse in her mind.

I’m reaching out to you, Can you hear my call? This hurt I have been through, I’m missing you. I’m missing you like crazy.

In the depths of her slumber, Melara found herself standing at the edge of infinity in a music-fueled haze. A vast, star-studded expanse stretched out before her, a cosmic ocean sparkling with the light of a billion distant suns. And there, amidst the celestial beauty, was Loki’s throne, a construct of unimaginable majesty and solitude.

The throne, a masterpiece as if wrought from the cosmic dust of bygone nebulas, perched regally upon a dais that commanded a view of the celestial infinity. There, enthroned in majesty, was Loki, the aura of his godhood undimmed by the eons. His eyes, those deep wells of enigma, once more held the starlit dance of the universe’s deepest secrets. Yet, in the gaze of Melara’s approach, the sharpness that so often underpinned his gaze melted into a tender warmth, a silently shocked recognition of her presence in this place beyond the march of time.

Melara stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. The air around them was alive with the whispers of the ages, voices of the past and future mingling in a symphony of eternity.

“Loki,” she whispered, her voice echoing in the void.

“Melara,” he replied, rising from his throne. His form, both imposing and graceful, moved towards her with a fluidity that defied imagination. “H-…how are you here?”

She reached out, her hand trembling as it met his. The contact was electric, a current of connection that transcended the timelines themselves. “I-…I don’t understand. Is this real?”

His hand cupped her face, moving to rest gently on her belly, and in that moment, a warmth spread through her, a sensation so real and profound that it bridged the gap between their present circumstances. Loki at the end of time and Melara resting on her timeline, yet somehow impossibly projecting herself outside reality as she knew it. She could feel his presence, his concern, his love. It was as if the very essence of her being was reaching out to him across the expanse of time and space.

“What is real anyway?” Loki said with a grin.

Melara looked down at Loki’s hand connected with her rounded abdomen wide-eyed with a gasp. “Loki,” she began, her voice laced with wonder and awe. “I can feel you. Like, I can really feel your touch. This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“No, ‘Lara,” he replied, his voice a blend of warmth and sadness. “You seem to have blurred the boundaries of the possible. We are both as real as the heart beating in your chest. The warmth of your skin.”

Tears welled in her eyes as the emotional weight of his words sank in. “How?! It’s so…real.” she rasped, emotion stealing her voice.

Loki brushed the hair from her face. “I just don’t know,” he said, shaking his head as if to wrack his brain for some explanation as to how a human being might have conjured this level of a projection without training. “It seems you had to experience it for yourself to understand.”

“I’ve missed you,” she smiled softly, her voice just as tender. “I’ve missed…us. I feel like I have been wrong…all wrong…about everything. I’m so sorry.”

They shared a warm embrace, both terrified to utter a word, lest it change the reality that existed before their eyes. As they stood there, at the very edge of eternity, Melara felt a peace she hadn’t known in months. The worries of her waking life, the uncertainty of her pregnancy, the loneliness of her success – it all faded into the background as she basked in the glow of their connection.

But as all dreams must, this one too began to fade. The stars flickered and dimmed as Melara felt as though she were falling. The grandeur of Loki and his throne at the end of time blurred into the soft darkness of sleep. As she faded out of Loki’s view she managed to reach out and speak the words, “Come find me.”

Melara awoke with a start, her body heavy and her mind foggy. The room was quiet and dark, the song having long since finished playing. She felt a dull ache in her bones, a physical reminder of the profound experience she had just lived through. The implications of the experience hit her all at once. As the realization came through to her conscious mind, Melara noticed a familiar face standing over her, smiling fondly. It was Loki.

***

“So fucking help me, Loki, do not…,” Saoirse warned.

Loki laughed. “I will spare you the details.”

***

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and recovery. Melara was pale, her movements slow and deliberate. Sleep came easily, but it was a deep, consuming slumber that left her feeling though as she were recovering from a great exertion. She spent those days wrapped in the arms of Loki’s avatar, fully understanding the strength it took for Loki to be present for her.

But as the cycle of seasons continued to turn and the birth drew near, a discernible change had woven itself into Melara’s very being. The vivacity that once danced in her eyes, the same spark that had captured Loki’s attention amidst the chaos of realms, had dimmed to a mere flicker. Her once robust strength, which had carried her voice to the heights of auditoriums and the intimacy of dimly lit bars, seemed to have been siphoned away, leaving her countenance hauntingly gray and her movements listless.

In the quiet moments, when the world slipped into slumber and left Melara alone with her thoughts, she could feel the vigor that had pulsed through her veins like a relentless river now trickling away to a sluggish stream. She looked upon her reflection, tracing the contours of her face, searching for the woman she recognized – the woman who had stood defiant and radiant before a god and mortals alike.

But the reflection that stared back at her was a shadow, a shell of the once fiery spirit that had drawn stories from the lips of Loki himself. This weary body housed a tiredness that seemed to reach into the marrow of her bones, a fatigue that whispered of more than just the physical toll of carrying a new life. Aware of the looming demands of new parenthood, Melara urged Loki to rest while she slept, echoing the precautions he was taking at the time she first learned his presence was only a projection.

As Saoirse Freyja Runa Lokisdottir made her entrance into the world, a new life forged from the old, it was not just the sleepless nights or the demands of motherhood that weighed heavily upon Melara. It was as if the very core that bound her to the earth and to the stars was slipping through her fingers. The connection to Loki, once a vibrant thread of gold in now felt like a gossamer strand, fragile and prone to breaking.

It was not lost on Melara that the timing of her decline had coincided with the burgeoning of her music career and the life that had grown within her. The songs that echoed on the airwaves, the verses that spoke of love eternal and hearts entwined, seemed to draw from her an unseen price – as if each note had carried away a piece of her soul.

There was a bittersweet irony that in giving life to her daughter and her music, she felt life ebbing from her. And in the depths of her heart, where fear and bravery waged a silent war, Melara wondered if the magic that had once seemed to bless her was, in truth, a curse in disguise, a star burning too brightly, destined to fade.

Even Loki, with his eyes that saw beyond horizons, watched helplessly, his projection a watchman to the unfolding tragedy. The woman who had burned so brilliantly, who had held the chaos of his nature in her steady gaze, was retreating inward, her light withdrawing into some secret, guarded place he could not follow.

It was a cruel twist of fate that as Saoirse’s life began with all the promise of dawn’s first light, Melara’s seemed to be approaching an untimely dusk. And all who watched from near and far, held their breath, waiting to see if the morrow would bring rebirth or the quiet close of a chapter that had only just begun. Little did anyone know that the future was to get brighter in ways that no one expected.

--- Tags: @mischief2sarawr

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mischiefandmedicine · 30 days

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Um....yes, please?

Imagine both Variants fighting over you..

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mischiefandmedicine · 1 month

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This is almost how I imagine Loki watches over Melara and Saoirse…

to the divine, mischievous, spark in you; 🌟

For sure my best Loki piece until now, I'm so proud of it! (and of him of course, we love you lonely god)

( I must specify that this isn't a Loki x Sylvie art, the details of the woman dancing in the illusion was a little reference to an original MCU tales I'm drawing in this period because... hyperfixation. )

383 notes · View notes

mischiefandmedicine · 1 month

Text

Very Full - Chapter 10: Lay Me Down

Summary: Melara gains some perspective as her powers grow.

Word Count: 2,860 words.

Chapter Warnings: Kinda fluffy, kinda angsty.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Lay Me Down by Sam Smith featuring John Legend

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: As per usual, I just want to say that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. I did, however, imagine that Melara wrote this song, because the lyrics fit so perfectly into hers and Loki's story.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Today’s session was magical! I’ve attached a file of what we got.

I’m reaching out to you, Can you hear my call? This hurt I have been through, I’m missing you. I’m missing you like crazy.

Melara stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. The air around them was alive with the whispers of the ages, voices of the past and future mingling in a symphony of eternity.

“Loki,” she whispered, her voice echoing in the void.

“Melara,” he replied, rising from his throne. His form, both imposing and graceful, moved towards her with a fluidity that defied imagination. “H-…how are you here?”

She reached out, her hand trembling as it met his. The contact was electric, a current of connection that transcended the timelines themselves. “I-…I don’t understand. Is this real?”

“What is real anyway?” Loki said with a grin.

Tears welled in her eyes as the emotional weight of his words sank in. “How?! It’s so…real.” she rasped, emotion stealing her voice.

“I’ve missed you,” she smiled softly, her voice just as tender. “I’ve missed…us. I feel like I have been wrong…all wrong…about everything. I’m so sorry.”

***

“So fucking help me, Loki, do not…,” Saoirse warned.

Loki laughed. “I will spare you the details.”

***

--- Tags: @mischief2sarawr

#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki

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mischiefandmedicine · 1 month

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Very Full - Chapter 9: Wasted on You

Summary: Loki remembers Melara recording her demo.

Word Count: 2,767 words.

Chapter Warnings: More angst and anxiety.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Wasted on You by Evanescence

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

---

“Your mother,” Loki began, his voice a soft echo amidst the cosmic symphony, “she asked for space, and I had to respect that. She needed time to process the whirlwind that had become our shared existence. I watched her from afar, hidden amidst the throngs at the music festival. Her performance was a beacon, her voice a siren’s call amidst the cacophony of life.”

He paused, his eyes reflecting the myriad paths of reality. “I kept my distance. Yet, in the sea of faces, I was there, a silent guardian veiled in the mundane. It was important for her to stand on her own, to embrace her destiny without my shadow looming over her.”

Saoirse listened, her gaze fixed upon the god before her. “And then?” she prompted.

“Then, she soared,” Loki replied with a hint of pride. “That performance, it wasn’t just a triumph of her talent; it was an affirmation of her strength, her resilience. It led her to record something called a demo, a collection of songs, many of which echoed our…encounters.”

His voice trailed off as he mentally conjured an image of Melara in the studio, lost in her art, translating emotions and memories into melodies. “In her music, she wove a tapestry through which I saw our story. I saw the love, the pain, the beauty of what we shared in the short time that I had gotten to know her. Even as I remained a specter in her world, her songs kept me tethered, a ghostly presence in her life.”

Saoirse leaned forward, her eyes alight with curiosity and a touch of sorry. “And what did you do?”

Loki’s smile was tinged with melancholy. “I listened, I watched, and I loved. In her music, I found solace, and in her newfound success, a bittersweet joy. For even as she moved on, part of her remained with me…and I with her. Our story was suspended in the timeless realm of memories and melodies.”

There was a pause between them before Saoirse broke the silence. “Why do I get the impression that you are not telling me everything, Loki?” she said with a furrowed brow watching as her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“You should know by now that I can read you like a book. Tell me what you’re hiding, Loki…,” Saoirse demanded.

Loki smirked knowingly, “You are your mother’s daughter…and certainly mine as well.” He laughed awkwardly before continuing. “I visited her.”

“No shit…,” Saoirse scoffed.

***

In the dim light of the studio kitchenette, Melara sat alone, her thoughts a whirlwind as she prepared tea with honey to protect her throat and vocal cords while on break from recording one of the songs of her demo. Each movement was punctuated with a huff, an unspoken dialogue with the emptiness around her. All she could do was stare into the swirling vortex of hot water as she stirred the liquid in her mug. A few moments passed before she spoke, without averting her gaze from the drink, her voice cutting through the silence. “I know you’re there, you don’t have to keep hiding. It's creepy and only pissing me off.”

At her words, Loki’s projection materialized, a faint golden shimmer before fully appearing. “How did you know?” he asked, his voice tinged with both surprise and concern.

“I just did,” she replied, not bothering to mask her annoyance. “I thought I asked you to give me some space.”

“Melara…” Loki began, but his words trailed off, lost in the chasm between them.

“What could you possibly want, Loki?” She demanded, her voice sharp.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he admitted, stepping closer.

Melara gestured to the empty space around her, anger punctuating her movements. “As you can see, I’m just fine,” Melara countered, her tone cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the tea she clutched.

Loki paused, searching for the right words. “Melara, I…”

Melara’s frustration was palpable as she faced Loki’s ethereal projection in the dimly lit kitchenette. “Loki, I don’t know what to say to you. I have said it so many times. How is this even supposed to work? You’re basically a ghost.”

Loki’s form, shimmering slightly, responded earnestly, “But you know that I am here.”

She sighed, her voice laced with a bitter understanding. “You’re not even in a tangible realm of existence right now, Loki. This thing, it’s not you.”

Loki, attempting to bridge the gap between them, insisted, “But this is me. It’s like a complete duplicate of who I am. One who could exist in your realm…on your timeline. Interact with you…,” he paused to close the distance between them. “See you. Feel you. Smell you. It’s all the same.”

Melara’s gaze hardened as she backed away. “It’s not all the same, Loki. I know the difference. I’ve felt the difference.”

A mischievous smirk played on Loki’s lips, only to be met with Melara’s sharp rebuke. “Stop that!”

Loki’s laughter echoed softly, his voice filled with his characteristic charm. “’Lara, you know I cannot help it.”

Her expression softened, yet the stern tone in her voice remained. “Ugh. I’m being serious, Loki…”

In the tense stillness of the kitchenette, Melara suddenly cut off her words, her face turning a ghostly pale. With a swift motion, she pushed past Loki’s projection and bolted into the adjacent bathroom. The sounds of her distress echoed through the room, followed by the rush of water. Loki, a mix of concern and confusion etched on his spectral face, hovered near the door, awaiting her return.

When Melara emerged, her composure somewhat regained, Loki was there, in the doorway, blocking her path. “What’s going on, ‘Lara? Really. I want to hear it from you. You know I will find out,” he pressed, his voice laced with a combination of worry and insistence.

Melara, avoiding his gaze, remained silent, her eyes darting around as if seeking an escape. Loki persisted, his tone softening, “’Lara, please. I just want to make sure that you are okay,” he paused, thinking of her screams the night he found her in the hospital and the way the excruciating pain had twisted her body and nearly stopped her heart. “I can sense that you’re not, so at least be honest with me.”

She moved past him back to the kitchen, her movements betraying a nervous energy. Loki’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a subtle change in her silhouette, a detail that had not registered until now. “Mmmmmm…I think something is wrong with your stomach. It’s bigger,” he observed, his voice reflecting his surprise.

Melara whirled around, her anger flaring. “Oh my god, Loki. That’s not something you say! What the fuck?!” she snapped, her voice scolding in a mix of outrage and shock.

As Loki reached out to offer a consoling touch, Melara reacted with unexpected agility and strength. In an instant, she seized his wrist and flipped him over, sending him crashing to the floor. His groan of pain and surprise filled the room.

Melara leaned over him, offering a hand with an embarrassed laugh. “Don’t touch me without…”

“Without your permission,” Loki finished for her, pain etched on his face as he struggled to comprehend the situation, feeling the pain stretch back across the expanses to his corporeal being seated on the throne. “What in the hell is this?” He dusted himself off, standing up and looking at her with newfound wariness. “You told me that you weren’t a witch…or a Valkyrie.”

Melara straightened up, a smirk playing on her lips. “A lot has happened since I last saw you.”

“I can see that,” Loki said dryly, his gaze fixating on her now-exposed ever-so-slightly rounded belly. The revelation dawning on him brought a mixture of astonishment and curiosity to his expression.

As the hushed confines of the kitchenette encircled the pair, a profound realization sank in. His once playful yet concerned demeanor faded, replaced by an intense solemnity. As he eyed Melara, a constellation of emotions flickered across his face, what little color he had in his usually pale face gradually drained away.

“’Lara, is it…are you…?” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with questions. Hesitation laced his every word, betraying a vulnerability seldom seen in the god of stories. He moved cautiously, a respectful distance maintained, yet his eyes, wide with a mix of astonishment and concern, never left her form.

With a tentative step forward, he sought silent permission, his hand hovering in the air, an unspoken request in his eyes to bridge the gap between them. The air seemed to thrum with the gravity of the moment, a pause in time where the potential of new life hung delicately in the balance.

As Melara gave a subtle nod, Loki’s hand gently, almost reverently, came to rest near her belly. The contact was light, yet it carried the weight of countless fears. In that touch, the realization fully settled within him – the possibility that life might be growing within her. His gaze shifted, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling within. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice carrying a tentative note, carefully choosing his words.

“’Lara,” he began, his tone gentle yet tinged with an underlying uncertainty. “This…what you’re facing now…it’s… extraordinary. But may I ask…?”

Melara paused, a hint of a coy smile playing on her lips, held his gaze a moment before speaking. With a subtle knowing smile, she said, “Let’s just say, some encounters leave more than just memories, Loki. Sometimes they leave…echoes of themselves in the most unexpected ways.”

Loki, taken aback by Melara’s cryptic response, pressed for clarity, “I…beg your pardon?” he asked, voice laced with cautious curiosity. His eyes searched hers, seeking an answer that lingered between them. The complexity of their situation, coupled with the gravity of what Melara implied, hung heavily in the moment, a testament to the unforeseen consequences of their singular union at the end of time.

“Loki, I have not been with anyone since you,” Melara clarified with a shy smile, feeling her skin redden.

The air charged between Melara and Loki was palpable, a mix of revelation and hesitation hanging like a mist around them. As Loki’s ephemeral form stepped closer, he captured her lips with a kiss as chaste as moonlight on water. It was a moment of tenderness amidst the turmoil, a pause in their storm of emotions. But Melara, ever the flame to his moth, gently pushed him away, her voice a soft but firm whisper, “This doesn’t change anything. I’m still lost at sea, Loki, and I’m not ready to find shore yet,” she paused to choose her next words carefully.

Loki smiled hesitantly, brushing her hair aside, longing to express his love for her once more, thinking better of it, given the precarious nature of Melara’s feelings towards his duplicate. He settled for cupping her face with his hands as he watched tears well up in her eyes.

“I…Loki?” her words, though spoken with a gentle smile, were edged with the sharpness of her inner conflict.

“Hmmm?”

“Does this superhuman strength come with carrying the child of a god?” she asked with a hint of seriousness mixed with worry. The silence hung between the two before they both laughed at the absurdity of the question before a hush fell over them both.

Brushing away a tear, he replied with a smile, “Darling, I don’t entirely know how to answer that.”

She blushed once more, thinking before jokingly responding with a giggle, “Well, I would call you if I do figure it out, or once I have an answer for you about anything, but I don’t think you’d get cell service at the end of time.”

Loki’s response was immediate, a soft offer laced with hope, “You know exactly how to get in touch with me, ‘Lara. I do have one request though.”

“What’s that?” she asked softly.

“Let me stay with you while you finish this recording session. Then, I’ll be out of your hair until you need me,” he said cracking a half smile.

“Oh shit, the session! I have to get back,” she finished softly, caressing his face with her hand. “You…this seems different. I don’t know what it is. But you can stay for this session. Just stay out of the way.”

As their epic story unfurls before them, Melara, carrying the revelation and the newly discovered connection with Loki, finds herself back in the recording studio, the warmth of the lights above fusing with the warm burgeoning within her psyche. Loki’s projection, now a silent observer, held space in the shadows, watching as Melara greeted the band and approached the microphone.

The air is thick with anticipation; the engineers and producers in the studio exchange knowing glances, aware of the magic Melara is about to weave, recording another take of her live arrangement. She introduces the final song of the session commanding the room to fall into a respectful hush as she finds her starting note. Her voice is tender yet haunting as she begins, meeting Loki’s gaze.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

In a tender exchange of glances, Melara and Loki felt the background melt away as she sang. They were the only connected souls in the room as the music flowed like electricity, connecting them both.

Love, don’t you remember? We were the ones, Nothing could ever change. And love, it’s easier not to believe we have broken everything, But here we are. Numb my head ‘til I can’t think anymore, But I still feel the pain.

Loki gasped as the band’s percussion picked up.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

Melara imagined herself and the life she had experienced before Loki stumbled into her bar and found himself at her feet as she sang. Her voice was strong then, but now it was airy, conveying the juxtaposition of points in time. She was lost without Loki, but still yearned to find her own way through the darkness, navigating her new tasks: motherhood and a burgeoning musical career. She had grown beyond the woman who happened to enjoy singing karaoke, finding opportunities to appear as a guest with local bands.

Once this was a garden, This was our world, And all of the nightmares stayed in the dark. A little too much time by yourself, And you became the enemy, Just look at us now. Drowning slowly, Just to stay true.

As she repeated the chorus again, she thought of the promises he had made. He would lay waste to the universe to protect her, but what good would those vows be as a hollow image of himself? She thought of the child possibly sensing that he was not a true form, but a nearly perfect copy, a duplicate meant to take his place. A placeholder for someone who had to fulfill a duty to the universe. That damn multiverse, she thought.

Will I ever be the same? Am I strong enough to change? Is it in my blood? Shield my eyes to face the day, Come too far to slip away, But it’s killing me to go on without you.

But Loki could not stay, even if she wanted him to. She watched as her words hit him and his face contorted with the emotions, he felt the impact of her words. She conveyed that she was, “just fine”. Just like that, Loki’s duplicate shimmered into obscurity, concealing that he had lost control of his own emotions and begun sobbing as she sang her song. He had to stay out of the way. He was to let her realize her dreams without his interference.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

With deep breaths to calm herself after the final notes of the song that had spoken to her over the weeks since meeting Loki, Melara resolved to stay strong for the sake of her own sanity. Loki was gone once again and she did not have the power within herself to tear apart the multiverse to claim him as her own.

---

Tags: @mischief2sarawr

#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki

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mischiefandmedicine · 1 month

Text

It’s like that song was written about Loki!

And hold on tight, the angst keeps ramping up. 😩

Very Full - Chapter 8: Beautiful Disaster

Summary: Following their passionate encounter at the end of time, Melara has an emotional performance at a music festival, effectively launching her musical career.

Word Count: 2,523 words.

Chapter Warnings: Lots of angst, anxiety with vomiting.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Beautiful Disaster (Live) by Kelly Clarkson

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

---

The golden hues of the sunrise crept through the sheer curtains of Melara’s bedroom, casting a mosaic of light and shadow across the walls. The room, usually vibrant with her laughter and song, now held a somber quiet. In the afterglow of her celestial encounter, she sat on the edge of her bed, her mind a tumultuous sea of memories and emotions.

Loki’s projection, once a comforting sentinel, now stood at a respectful distance, his form less substantial, more like a wisp of smoke caught in the evening breeze. He watched her with an aching intensity, the silence between them filled with the broken promises and words recently shouted in this room. It was all an echo of their shared past.

Melara smiled as she brushed her lips, remembering the feel of Loki’s upon hers. Her tousled hair floated around her form, tracing her shoulders lightly as she closed her eyes, trying to feel his embrace about her once more.

There was no universe in which the two of them could be together. Melara could not leave the only life she knew to live at the end of time. For what? To be a shadow? To be an Echo to his Narcissus? Loki’s obligations to the timelines were unyielding, anchoring him to his role as their overseer. His duties left no room for a life among the timelines he protected. Their encounter, while brief, was deeply profound, marking a rare moment of convergence between their worlds. It was a singular instance of joy and connection, destined to be cherished but never repeated.

And then there was his projection. The apparition that she had initially thought was the god she loved. He stood watch over her as she reminisced silently. Knowing that Loki was on the other end, controlling the magic and sensing all that this “fake” Loki experienced did not sit well with her. Remembering his presence, she whispered, not daring to look at the specter, “Give me time,” she said, her voice a soft murmur that seemed to pull at the threads of his being. “I need to find my footing again, in a world where you cannot stay, and I just…cannot be where you are.”

The projection nodded, an ethereal gesture that belied the depth of his agreement. “As you wish, my ‘Lara,” she smiled at the subtle pun he had made with her name. “I will watch over you, unseen, unheard, until you call for me again.” His voice, even as a mere duplication, held the warmth of the stars among which they had danced.

His projection faded with a bright green shimmer as Melara turned away. Instead, her thoughts shifted to that night’s performance. It turned out that Loki was not the only one she had enchanted with her voice on the night she’d met him. As fate would have it, a local booking agent happened into the bar, mesmerized by her voice as well. Days later, she would receive a call offering to have her open for a renowned band at a local outdoor music festival.

She let her fingers drift across the strings of her guitar mindlessly as she found herself distracted by thoughts of Loki. But she would not relent; she would not let the memory of his intoxicating scent or his fingers upon her skin distract her from the performance that was more about her love for music than a love for calling out to the god of stories…her god of stories.

I am yours, Melara.

The room, still tinged with the echoes of their parting, slowly returned to the mundane rhythm of her world as the day progressed. Melara, embracing the solitude, turned her focus to the strings of her guitar, the familiar weight in her hands grounding her in the present. With each chord struck, her thoughts of Loki began to fade, replaced by the anticipation of the performance ahead.

Evening descended, draping the bustling city in hues of twilight as Melara stepped on the stage to roaring applause as she glowed in the spotlight. The band striking up the first song of the set fired her up as she began. The festival air was electric, pulsating with the energy of eager crowds and distant melodies. A single spotlight carved out her space in the darkness, her silhouette a beacon to the gathering throng as her voice commanded the attention of every attendee.

As the first notes of her second song, this time a fast-paced crowd-pleaser, each lyric spun from her soul, Melara’s voice captured the audience once more, her presence an embodiment of music’s raw power over the human form. Amidst the crowds, she felt alone yet not alone – each word, each melody, a bridge between her and the listeners, a shared journey through the landscape of her artistry.

She scanned the crowd for a familiar face. His face. She had wondered if he would be there, watching over her in silent support once more. Instead, she saw the visages of countless strangers awe-stricken by her powerful voice as she crooned out the final notes of the crowd-charging anthem.

Thoughts of Loki charged her mind as the music stopped and the haze of the crowd’s roar began to fade into the background. It had been mere hours and Melara missed being by his side, the feel of his warm skin, how his eyes reflected the depths of his love for her without a spoken word. The longing for him was agonizing as she panted breathlessly attempting to right herself before the next song of her set.

Sitting at the grand piano that had been wheeled out on the stage, Melara shushed the crowd. “Good evening, folks! How are y’all doin’ tonight?!” Thunderous applause roared from the arena.

“I’m Melara Brandt and I’m here to welcome you to the show!”

The crowd cheered boisterously once more as she began to play twinkling notes on the piano before her, an effort to test the sound balance and hush the throngs of people more as she transitioned into a slower ballad.

“Let’s slow it down a little with a rendition of an amazing song that I have loved for years,” Melara intoned. “I just want to tell you, this song means a lot to me and is a tribute to an admiration of the exquisite chaos that is love. I know each and every one of y’all knows what I mean!”

Screams of agreement came from the crowd. Cheering her on as her enchanting voice hypnotized the people before her.

“I want you to sing with me if you know the words. This is Beautiful Disaster,” Melara’s voice softened as she began playing the subdued arrangement of the song that showcased the range of her voice. But as her fingers struck the notes, she found her mind wandering to Loki again, this time she allowed herself to feel the words and lean into her emotions rather than let them hold her back from this moment.

He drowns in his dreams, An exquisite extreme I know. He’s as damned as he seems, More heaven than a heart could hold. And if I try to save him, My whole world may cave in. It just ain’t right. It just ain’t right.

The crowd lay eerily silent as Melara sang. Her voice echoed the depths of the sentiment she had felt with Loki at the end of time. His emerald eyes wearily pierced her mind, the glow reflected in his crown, and the shimmering gold of his throne etched into every part of her mind as the song took her back to their precious moments intertwined in the bliss of sheer passion.

Oh and I don’t know, I don’t know what he’s after. But he’s so beautiful, He’s such a beautiful disaster. And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter, Lord, would it be beautiful? Or just a beautiful disaster?

The tears in her eyes threatened to overtake her in this moment, but she held on for the moment. It was her duty to their relationship, the least she could do was honor him in this song, even if he was not present to hear her sing her heart out to a near-packed stadium with throngs of people now adoring fans of her magical voice.

He’s magic and myth, As strong as what I believe. A tragedy with more damage than a soul should see. And do I try to change him? So hard not to blame him. Hold me tight. Baby, hold me tight. Oh, and I don’t know, I don’t know what he’s after. But he’s so beautiful, He’s such a beautiful disaster. And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter, Lord, would it be beautiful? Or just a beautiful disaster?

A flash of her kissing his tears away on the throne played at the corners of her memories. It had been just a few short hours for her, but she imagined that her departure had seemed like eons had passed for him as he sat dutiful, the strands of time given life by his touch. Her heart ached for the loneliness she knew he must have felt seeing her leave. She pounded the keys harder, taking out her own frustration and pain on the keys as the bridge of the song approached.

I’m longing for love and the logical, But he’s only happy hysterical. I’m searching for some kind of miracle, I’ve waited so long, Waited so long.

He’s soft to the touch, But frayed at the end he breaks. He’s never enough, And still he’s more than I can take.

The song slowed to a near standstill as Melara looked out at the crowd, tears blurring her vision as she reached the climax of the song. Though she felt weak at the knees, her voice called out stronger than it ever had. She found the strength within to push through though the emotional pain tugged at every fiber of her being, threatening to pull her apart. If she could, she would set the whole world on fire at the unfairness of allowing a soul like Loki to sit alone at the end of time when he deserved so much more.

Oh, and I don’t know, I don’t know what he’s after. But he’s so beautiful, He’s such a beautiful disaster. And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter, Lord, would it be beautiful? Or just a beautiful disaster?

Loki had changed. So had she. The anguish in her voice shone through as she finished the final words of the song in a hushed airy melody.

He’s beautiful. He’s so beautiful. He’s beautiful.

It took all the strength Melara could muster to finish the last song of her set before she ran off stage, vomiting in the closest trash can as she hyperventilated in panic. She did not see how she would live the rest of her life without him, but could not even fathom the idea of pantomiming a life with the avatar of him.

What have I done to deserve this? It’s not fair!

Her skin burned with impassioned anger, kicking the walls of the stage and the equipment around her in rage. Just then, a familiar face pulled her back to Earth. It was her mother, a stage pass dangling around her neck as she smiled proudly in the direction of her daughter.

Melara’s eyes blazed wide, relieved to see her mother, but still feeling her blood boil with a heat reminiscent of the last pain episode that had landed her in the hospital. This felt different though. She felt like she would explode into a pile of ashes if she allowed the anger and rage to progress any further.

Melara ran to her mother with a harrowing look on her face, gripping her mother tightly as she sobbed.

“Darling, what’s wrong? Are you ok? Is it the pain again?” Evelyn comforted her daughter, before pulling back. “Love, you’re so warm. You’re burning up! Let’s get you some water and come stay with me tonight. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

She pulled her mother close to her again, trembling fiercely as she managed to eek out a, “Thanks, mom,” just loud enough for her mother to hear.

As the last notes of Melara’s performance echoed into silence, the crowd’s applause continued to thunder like a storm through the festival grounds. She bowed once more in the direction of the people who could still see her, a gesture both of gratitude and a silent plea for respite from the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. It was then that Evelyn’s voice, tinged with disbelief, cut through the din.

“Honey, isn’t that…?” Her words trailed off, but her gaze pierced the sea of faces, locking onto one that defied reason.

Melara followed her mother’s line of sight, and for a fleeting heartbeat, her world tilted on its axis. There, amongst the nameless faces, stood a hauntingly familiar vision, almost painfully so. It was Loki, or at least the shape of him, half-shrouded in the evening’s shadow, his presence could have been an impossibility, but there he was. Melara refused to contemplate this manifestation further.

“No, mom. It can’t be,” Melara murmured, her voice a mere wisp. “It’s just a trick of the light, a shadow. He’s not…he can’t be here.” Her words were a lifeline thrown to her own reeling senses, a desperate attempt to cling to the realm of reality where gods did not walk amongst mortals. At least the echoes of gods, anyway.

Evelyn, sensing the shift in her daughter, offered a comforting arm. “Let’s get you out of here, sweetie. You’ve done enough for tonight. I wouldn’t want you to overdo it and have another episode.”

Melara nodded, grateful for the escape. “Yea, let’s go.” Her reply was automatic, but her eyes remained fixed on the figure in the audience until the very last moment when the sea of bodies closed around him, swallowing the illusion – or truth – whole.

They retreated from the stage, the clamor of the festival fading into a distant hum as they navigated through the labyrinth of backstage corridors. With every step, Melara’s insistence on the impossibility of Loki’s presence warred with the raw yearning that his supposed sighting had ignited within her. The night air, once a refreshing comfort, now felt heavy, charged with the desires she dared not voice.

As they emerged into the quieter outskirts of the festival, Melara’s gaze lingered on the horizon, where the celestial canvas stretched wide and untouchable. It was a reminder of the distance between her world and his, between the life she must lead and the dreams she held close.

“Melara?” Evelyn’s voice, gentle yet probing, called her back.

“Yes, I’m here,” she said, her voice steady despite the tumult within. “I’m here.” And with a final glance at the night sky, she stepped forward into the unknown paths that lay ahead, the echo of a god’s laughter and the memory of what felt like a dream the only companions to her silent vigil.

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

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mischiefandmedicine · 2 months

Text

Very Full - Chapter 8: Beautiful Disaster

Summary: Following their passionate encounter at the end of time, Melara has an emotional performance at a music festival, effectively launching her musical career.

Word Count: 2,523 words.

Chapter Warnings: Lots of angst, anxiety with vomiting.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Beautiful Disaster (Live) by Kelly Clarkson

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

---

I am yours, Melara.

Sitting at the grand piano that had been wheeled out on the stage, Melara shushed the crowd. “Good evening, folks! How are y’all doin’ tonight?!” Thunderous applause roared from the arena.

“I’m Melara Brandt and I’m here to welcome you to the show!”

Screams of agreement came from the crowd. Cheering her on as her enchanting voice hypnotized the people before her.

I’m longing for love and the logical, But he’s only happy hysterical. I’m searching for some kind of miracle, I’ve waited so long, Waited so long.

He’s soft to the touch, But frayed at the end he breaks. He’s never enough, And still he’s more than I can take.

Loki had changed. So had she. The anguish in her voice shone through as she finished the final words of the song in a hushed airy melody.

He’s beautiful. He’s so beautiful. He’s beautiful.

What have I done to deserve this? It’s not fair!

Melara ran to her mother with a harrowing look on her face, gripping her mother tightly as she sobbed.

She pulled her mother close to her again, trembling fiercely as she managed to eek out a, “Thanks, mom,” just loud enough for her mother to hear.

“Honey, isn’t that…?” Her words trailed off, but her gaze pierced the sea of faces, locking onto one that defied reason.

“Melara?” Evelyn’s voice, gentle yet probing, called her back.

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