#mjolnirswielder

The First Dance: "The Waltz"

"I've always hated these events. They insist I go if I wish to receive further funding, though." Loki played absently with one of the buttons of his shirt, eyes fixed on Thor's, which were, in turn, fixed on the button with which he played. The man's heavy gaze stretched onward, even as he offered a reply. 

"You like the attention." The man lifted his head, striking ice blue freezing Loki to the place where he sat. The trickster allowed the thawing, warm buzz of a purr, a chuckle, to radiate from his center. He leaned back in his chair; Thor remained upright.

"Not from them. They are vile." It wasn't an exaggeration, and the knowing look in Thor's eyes meant he must've understood, if not felt the very same way. The same. How... fascinating disturbing. 

"From those you deem worthy then? Is that it?" The light in Thor's eyes was striking, reading very clearly to Loki: 'because that's how I do it too'. The doctor's swallow was a tad too forced to have meant anything but careful consideration, and the other man's grin was positively feral. Loki almost reached for something to ground himself - his walking stick, the table, anything. Thor didn't hesitate, not wanting to lose himself to that thought either; his hands fisting in the sheets of the bed upon which he was seated. 

It was too quiet. Loki licked his lips and nodded, though in recognition of what exactly, Thor did not understand. The killer remain puzzled, watching as the man hobbled across the room's width - injured, and Thor was waiting, impatient, desperate for the taste of...

He shook his head as Loki picked up the phone.

"Get me the director of facilities, please." The operator could be heard clicking buttons at random on the other end, more than likely new to the position, and most definitely clueless. The psychiatrist groaned and spat into the receiver: "It's line 502, you imbecile." A muffled 'sorry' was audible in the deafening silence of Thor's room, and the blond actually huffed a laugh at the doctor's impatience. 

"Yes, hello? This is Dr. Loki Laufeyson. I'l like to apply to take one of the patients out of the facility... yes, he has a perfect behavioral record... Thor Odinson. Odinson, yes..." Several long moments passed, but Thor didn't push; he knew what he wanted, and being brash would be no way to receieve it. Not from Loki. 

"Excellent... oh no, thank you." Loki's grin held far too much mischief for Thor's displeasure. The man replaced the phone, and took another glance at his patient. "I'll need to take measurements for your suit..."

The Second Dance: "The Quickstep"

"No suit?" Thor grinned at Loki, brows raised as he pressed into the matter further. "I could've sworn that I was supposed to go with-"

"You are."

"It'd be too suspicious if we both left in a tux. Right." The blond's laughter didn't cease, though it was breathier, more mischievous now than openly mocking as it'd been before. Loki stiffened at the sound, Thor's positive giddiness somehow always... unnverving. It marked the beginnings of chaos, of terrifying self-discovery. He wondered if that was how it had been for all of his victims, and he smiled instinctively at the thought. The self-loathing, mere seconds later, he could bear.

"You'll come with me to the terrace house. You'll get dressed, and we'll go from there." The psychiatrist practically swaggered across the room, and for a brief moment, Thor was lost in the other man's sheer confidence - as it has been before, the first time they'd met in Loki's home office. Loki seemed busy with the phone again, and so Thor took more time in his observation the second time around.

The predator saw too much of himself in his prey - that was what had made this so needlessly complicated. Thor could recall a certain set of words perfectly, remembered them as mantra of sorts:

              {Always have an objective                                           Know you endgame before you lift a hand     Keep a clear head, emotions make you sloppy-                   -and the most important thing: understand your motivation.                               Always know what it is you want.}

He was having a hard time keeping track of who'd said them.

                             The predator?                                                       Or the prey? 

The Third Dance: "The Foxtrot"

"It looks... good on you." 

Thor didn't miss the slight tilt of Loki's lips, an echoed smile of the pride burning in his own brain. He didn't have time to retaliate, his partner-in-crime (fucking hell) already turning sharply, heading for the door. Thor was on his heels much more quickly than either of them would care to admit. 

Oddly enough, a common acquaintance was the first to greet them once they'd entered the ballroom, his eyes blown wide in shock. "Th-Thor?" Fandral seemed equal parts terrified and relieved, and he wasn't having an easy time settling himself in either plane of emotion for much longer than a few seconds. Thor turned stoic all too quickly: a pity, in Loki's eyes - he'd been hoping to pick another layer apart, dig just a little-                                                                                        d                                                                                         e                   {There's still that damnable light                       e                            Vitality in his smile, his eyes                   p                     As though he no longer fears                        e                          It will need to be remedied.}                       r.

"Didn't you hear?" Loki boasted, waving a hand dismissively. "They've begun allowing him time of leave. He can accompany me, in fact, wherever I will it. Isn't that spectacular news? They're even working to clear his name now." Most of it was a lie. Benefactor dinners and ballroom dances were quite different than what the mental ward had in mind, Loki was sure. They were bent on relaxing walks through the park, perhaps the occasional visit to a run-down diner: nowhere where Thor might attract unnecessary attention. 

And that bit about clearing his name? Thor almost chuckled; he restrained himself, however, finding himself in the face of the fox once more. After a long, strained exhale, the blond allowed a lilting smile to cross his maw - and that seemed to solidify everything.

Fandral was downright horrified. 

"I'll leave you to your dinner, then. Good luck with your speech tonight, Loki." The man tipped his head in a little bow, and then darted off into a shadowed corner. Thor didn't miss which of the four it was.

"You have to make a speech?" Thor asked, eyes unmoving. 

"At the end of the event. The dinner and dance come first. It's not a very long thing - some tidbit the drug rep threw together no more than ten minutes before this all started-"

But Thor's mind was already gone, long since tuned out to the doctor's musings. He didn't need long at all. He found himself being reeled back into reality only after Loki paused, and uttered four short words.

"...care for a dance?"

The Last Dance: "The Tango"

                             {The Argentine Tango is a violent dance.}

The fingers of Thor's left hand were wound with Loki's, his head dipped into the hollow of his partner's neck. He could feel the pulse point's rapid pounding, lips close enough to taste the life essence flowing through those perfect, elevated veins. Thor did recognize the beauty in this particular dance, and he shared the doctor's immaculate fascination - if only for the few moments the two were interlocked. 

Loki was graceful, and shameless, and so open that Thor was stunned into abnormal silence. It seemed a comfortable one - but it was not one he foresaw. 

And suddenly Loki's leg was about his waist, the doctor arching heavenward, and then sliding into a impossible position, suspended by a mere hand between Thor's legs, and goddamn, how was he that flexible? 

The black tux did Loki's slender form more than justice, but Thor imagined he'd look even better in red. The thought was a mere ghost of what it once was, however, and-                                     {That's a shame, isn't it?                               Or is it a good thing?                                           He honestly can't tell.}

The sinuous, sensual dance carried them the length of the floor, and no one seemed to mind much, apart from Fandral - but only one of the pair cared at all about him. Thor pivoted once, performed a perfect back-step, and then Loki was leaning into his arms, fingers knotting in golden hair as they earned applause from the crowd: a perfect, lithe, downward spiral, and Loki was bent so near to the floor that Thor could've simply toppled over upon him, pinning him where he laid. He found himself incapable of ignoring the gentle roll of hips against his leg, the damnable smirk seeming to Thor... an offering. 

A part of him desperately wished to take the doctor up on that, but there were more important things to attend to.

The dance ended, and the time had come for Loki's speech.                                         Thor's second dance of the night began.

It too was a tango, this partner decorated most stunningly in the red he'd craved to see. His left hand was wound through Fandral's, his right clenching painfully, rhythmically about the man's throat. The dance was so painfully short - there wasn't enough time to truly enjoy it, in Thor's mind...

Loki's associate crumpled the ground, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, from the side of his head, ring of purple so prettily painted about his neck.

But Loki found him. Loki found them both.                  And at first, he did nothing but stare                                    And then he advanced, fire cast in his eyes                                                   with wickedness, depravity, disease.

The psychiatrist was practically growling by the time he settled his hands on Thor's shoulders, and the taller of the two could feel the heat poring from his frame in waves. They were inches apart. Inches from a kiss, inches from the snap of Loki's spine, inches from pure desolation and sin. Thor's voice was powerful, thunderous. 

"Lock the door, Loki. I have to... clean up."

"You bastard." Even Thor was taken aback by that comment... until he saw the slow, steady quirk of Loki's lips, verdant eyes gazing up at him through fluttering black lashes. "You fucking brilliant bastard."

And that? That was too much. That was the end.

Loki locked the door, and Thor followed him, watching him as he did so. A hand smoothed down the edge of Loki's shirt, palm grazing ribs - he could feel them, quivering, his heart-rate skyrocketing again. The doctor trembled in the killer's grasp, Thor's lips hovering just above the jugular as they had before: a third dance, a tango trifecta. 

"Do it... please."

             ❝ --- - Lady Siiiiiiif! ❞  

     she drawls out,       moving her feet      unto the dark room.       the goddess was      supposedly here.                           but all that greeted                   the princess was                  d a r k n e s s. 

Send me “Book Report:” and the title of one of my threads/fics and I’ll summarize it for you along with telling you why I like(d) it.

Checkmate, by dr-laufeyson and mjolnirs-wielder, is a intricately woven tale of deceit set in modern-day New York City. It tells the story of a serial killer, Thor Odison - who’s recently been arrested after the brutal murder of no less than seventeen people (though the number is actually presumed to be upwards of forty) - and his psychologist, Loki Laufeyson. 

The dynamic between the two characters is something offsetting from the very beginning. Thor seems to challenge Loki in a way that none of the doctor’s other patients have, and it’s almost as though he knows that even before setting one foot inside the doc’s office. Their struggle for power begins with casual conversation, that which quickly evolves into wit so sharp it could cut, and a game of chess - one of the first major symbols of the thread’s title. 

It’s a lying game to them both, and neither of them is fully prepared to face the other - like they exist solely to be each other’s weaknesses. 

1: Funniest thing that’s ever happened to you?

That’s tough. Oh gosh. Hmmm… well, there was this one time that I went to summer camp… and I did have to sleep in a canoe for an entire night…

If you’ve got some time to kill, check out the full story here, along with a bunch of other strange stuff that happened. ^.^

13: Biggest pet peeve?

-gets the grammar hammer- 

Self-explanatory, no? xD

14: Top five things that make you happy?

Nope, no surprises here! ^.^

Alright, so, lemme tell ya little bit about mjolnirs-wielder. Listen well, kiddies, and as soon as you’re done reading, I beg that you’ll go follow her, because of all of the reasons I’m about to list. 

Let’s talk muse. Stacy depicts Thor not as the ‘headstrong oaf’ some have the tendency to label him as, but instead with a refreshing air of sophistication, a perfect blend of intellect and charm. The Golden Prince is most certainly still there, in all his glory - I just think that she writes the character with a canonical depth that we’ve not yet seen from Marvel. Yes. She is that good. 

In our role-play - a serial-killer and therapist AU - Thor is as unpredictable as a storm itself. He works as a machine of deceit and grace, and it juxtaposes the normal muse oh-so-well, and… I must applaud anyone who can effortlessly make both work so brilliantly. 

As for the mun: there are only a select few I’d consider role-play partners, as opposed to those I merely “rp with”, but she most definitely ranks amongst them. She has been both helpful and friendly to me, and she’s done not but improve my experience with tumblr both in and out of character. If kindness killed, I’d be long gone already. :)