Am I supposed to be alive? Am I dead? To tell you the truth, I do not know it for sure,…I only know I’m here. I have always been here, and I will always be, laughing at the dark destinies of those who have summoned me.

Cheap writers have turned their attention to me, and have thought to tell my story through talking images …nice trick, fun, nothing to say. They summoned my name, my body, my voice, claiming to know the events, to be able to scrutinize Gods’ souls,…you foolish presumptuous!

But all they were able to do was telling my story through the pungent words of my brother, the cold gaze of my father, the harsh and free sarcasm of those who had labeled me since childhood. I watched them, these people, playing with my name, using it for their stories, to enchant and entertain, like the barking bards in my father’s Hall.

Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, Silvertongue, God of Chaos, the Deceiver, Sower of Discord. Some of the names with which men know me do not belong to me, …they have been given to me like fleas that a steed picks up along the way.

Only a few knew how to hear my soul go painfully shattered, the awful moment I understood the mountain of lies that my whole life was made of. 

They called me God of Mischief, but who had been the greatest deception? Who has deceived a child, misleads a boy, rejected a son, denigrated a God? The One whom the Nine Realms call with his endless, pompous names, he, the Old egocentric bastard: Odin, the Allfather… may Hel devour him!

He has turned my life into a vile and painful lie from the very beginning. Since his pathetic tale about how he had saved my life, when I was just a baby, in Jotunheim. This is what has been told, this is what people believe.

Yet I have always wondered if it was not just another well-designed lie to cover himself with glory, at my expense. What if I had not been abandoned at all, as he always made me believe? What if he had simply kidnapped me, instead, like a bird of prey does with a hare?

I lived eons of time with this doubt that tore my mind and soul. Despite this, I was stupid enough to love my father with a deep visceral love; I wished for years to be his worthy son, but he already had Thor and he didn’t know what to do with me. I would have given my life for a nod of approval, to know that he was proud of me … but when, perhaps, the events were making us get closer it was too late, and dark ghosts of our past had got in the way. I, who craved the love of my family as the dry land begs for water I suddenly understood that I was nothing but a lonely soul, which belonged to nothing and no one. 

I was raised in deception and resentment, and for a while I also became what others had decided I should be. Just for a while.

Now I’m tired of hearing my life told by voices that aren’t mine, like the one, always sweetly arrogant, of my brother. I hated him with burning rage, then I desperately loved him as the most devoted brother, … I betrayed him but it was a deception too. 

In truth, behind his idiotic smile as a savior of the Realms, there was always my help, my skill, my presence. While he saw nothing but himself reflected in everything.

They told my own story using Thor’s words, Odin’s actions, the distorted image of a Frost Giant among the splendid Gods of Asgard. They took my name and then covered it with their malice, thrown it in the mud, exposed, humiliated and trampled for everyone to laugh at me. Suddenly I became Loki, the Jester, the unreliable and annoying brother. The buffoon who plays with knives and snakes, and who enjoys watching obscene shows of his own death, like a disgusting, depraved soul.

They evoked my name and presence as if I were a pawn to play with. I would have to disappear soon, their plans were very different and I was not part of it. Nothing that I didn’t know already. Loki was supposed to be nothing but the rough copy of himself, a banal stereotype, the villain of those legends that Midgardians like so much.

My purpose was to exalt Thor, because nothing could affect his glittering figure of hero of the Nine Worlds. They called me “murderer” but when he almost decimated my kin, a thousand voices rose to cheer him. They said that I betrayed him and yet it was him (along with my father) who denied me to attend at the funeral of my beloved mother; him who tortures me with a painful witchcraft of an alien planet, … leaving me alone, twitching on the floor waiting to die, while a stabbing fire devoured my blood made of ice. And that braggart knew it. Just as he knew that I would still come to his aid when there were no more ways out for him.

Nonetheless I could still be bullied and mocked, because I was “just Loki”, the second son, the adopted, the skittish, the deceiver, the jealous, the one who doesn’t deserve anything. I had to remain quiet, in my place in the background, mute, predictable in my unpredictability, plotting in the shadow like a Dark Elf, while the Nine Worlds melted in love for my precious brother, untarnished and invincible. But these sturdy storytellers didn’t summoned Balder the Sickly-Sweet, the accommodating Balder the Young; they wanted me, Loki God of Mischief and Chaos, so I have satisfied them.

And I messed up their plans, bringing that chaos they had tried to silence, and that they had deluded themselves to be able to control. I came out of the background, out of my place. Broken their rules. Rewrite their story, my story. I spoke aloud with my voice, and i touched deep and painful chords in those who knew how to find Loki Laufeyson among the bluster of the God of Thunder. People who understood my pain, saw the abyss of despair and self disgust where I had been thrown, heard my cries of suffering, touched my bleeding heart… and they were never the same anymore. They embraced my tragedy and tied it to their lives, recognizing themselves in my looks, in my silences, even in the sentences that were to serve to undress myself of all my dignity.

There’s a sentence that sums up all this, and it is the only truth that, in the end, has smeared the sheets on which they write. A phrase that opposed my phantom “army” to a green muscled monster who grunts like a primitive ape. He had to make people laugh, emphasize my inadequacy, highlight the uselessness of my supposed “plan”.

“I have an army!”, “We have a Hulk!” … I heard them, the mocking laughs at me. Yet now, that army exists and screams my name.

Proudly. Like Odin’s chosen warriors, who hails his name in the middle of battle. They’re people made of flesh and blood, and this thing amuses me and makes me proud at the same time. MY PEOPLE.

They are the last ones, those who have always remained in the shadows, in silence, voiceless; those who bitterly cried in the darkness of their rooms, all alone, scared, misunderstood; those who suffered,…no matter what, no matter how much. No one is competing, and no one can measures the pain. They called for the God of Mischief to belittle him and make fun of him, but without realizing that I am not the submissive puppet of whom they wanted to move the wires.

I am a God. And a Frost Giant.

I am powerful magic and ancient spells.

I am devouring fire, and a shape-shifter.

I am the shining God of Mischief in the golden citadel of Asgard, and the Lost Prince in the frozen land of Jotunheim.

I am a God, not a knife-thrower, a stupid buffoon. Nor I am the dark well to be filled with dung for my brother to shine.

Am I supposed to be alive? Am i dead? It doesn’t matter, it never had.

I’m Loki Laufeyson.

I am there since the beginning of time, and I’ll always be because a God rides life with no fear and laughs at death’s face.

Because even death, between my magic fingers, becomes deception itself, like the mist that hides the horizon, …a fleeting laugh on the wings of the wind. Maybe it exists, maybe not …

Or maybe it is me, who laughs at those who have summoned me to throw me into the mud of humiliation,…of those who now cringe in front of a growing army of voices that scream my name for vengeance. 



This is my contribution to Loki’s Army. I’d like the idea that is Loki speaking, for once, telling things through his eyes as he had lived it.

I’d like to tag some of Loki’s Army amazing people here on Tumblr @lokiloveforever @leenalee  @vesperazylra @lucianalight @the-lokis-queen @hisasgardianangel @latent-thoughts @mastreworld @whitedaydream @le-chat-sur-mars @nightcrawler0213 @nooo-body @mylittlesunshineblog @juliabohemian


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