So "Walk" was penned about a week ago. As I wait for my summer job to begin, I do laundry, clean, and go for the occasional drive. Sound riveting? It isn't. Which is how I keep cranking out these short stories. I'm worthless with chapter stories, so these Oneshots will have to do. This will probably be the last I post for a while, as I wait 24 hours after I "finish" a story to revise and shamelessly butcher the first draft and soon I won't have much time for this. I sold my soul to American Eagle Outfitters for the summer.

I listened to "Fall Behind Me" by the Donnas for inspiration for Sigyn, and "How Far We've Come" by Matchbox Twenty inspired the plot. They are not by any means required, but it gives a little insight into my mood at the time this was penned. Or typed. Whatever.

Btw—I don't own any of this nonsense (spare the plot). Loki belongs partially to Marvel, and Sigyn/Loki to Norse Mythology.

Loki was destructive.

Self-destructive sure, but was he the destructive force his people believed him to be? Could he destroy others as easily as he had destroyed his already limping self-control? He was not entirely certain. His fingers rapped against the gold of the throne. Was it from impatience or frustration? What was the difference, truly? Either emotion meant his mind was in a further state of unease. His actual concern for his brother, who was cast to Midgard only a few days prior, was fleeting. Thor would manage, as he always had. Though perhaps if he angered the humans, they would destroy his mortal body and Loki's troubles would dissipate.

"Ah, but they would not," he mused internally. The seed had been planted and there was no cure. It would merely distract his family, and the people of Asgard, from the devious actions Loki had since orchestrated. Perhaps a distraction was what he needed. He closed his eyes and continued drumming the fingers of his free hand on the arm of the throne. His heart clenched in loathing.

Self-loathing was an entirely new feeling to Loki. In place of his lack of regret, he loathed. The way Sigyn looked at him, defiant and angry, made him question himself and his plan. Questioning himself was unfamiliar and lead to resentment. In the beginning he could not place it, but as Sigyn's heated looks became more obvious and more frequent, he realized he loathed himself. Was it because he was a Jotun? Or was it something deeper…something less obvious and more difficult to divulge. But how could he think such thoughts? He was living the good life; Thor was gone (though he felt a pang in his chest the more he recalled the way Odin had cast him out) and he sat upon the throne as interim king. A small part of Loki realized that this was entirely too temporal for him. When he had become so greedy?

A sigh escaped slightly parted lips. A guard, usually stoic, flinched at the sound. Loki cocked his head slightly. Is this what his destructive nature had done to his people? Did they fear his every action? He shuddered slightly. For a fleeting moment, he feared the monster he had become. He stood and dismissed the guards. As they left, he noted the way they made barely-disguised haste to leave his presence.

Sigyn appeared a few moments later. She walked to the base of the steps and bowed. Loki's eyes narrowed to slits. He knew this was her passive aggressive way of hurting him; presenting herself as so detached that she should need to bow was a stab directly at his heart. Something seemed off when he took in her bowed form as she waited for his acknowledgement. He descended the steps and stopped just before her.

"Rise," he commanded of his wife. The moment his emeralds met the diamonds that were her eyes, he wished he had left her kneeling. If a look was capable of harm, he would have been bleeding on the marble beneath his feet. The look of pure malice with which she met his eyes knocked the breath from his lungs. After a moment of silence, she spoke.

"I am leaving." The moment the words left her soft lips, a new fury rose within him. How dare she leave him? She was his wife, he was bonded to her. She was his.

"Oh? And where are you to go?" His teeth were gritted together and his nostrils flared. Magic cracked audibly between the two. Loki was not keen to admit it, but the look his tiny wife was shooting him, along with the way red sparks formed in her clenched palms, ignited a wave of fear throughout his being. Whether the fear stemmed from losing the one he loved most or her unleashing her unique brand of magic upon him was unclear.

"Midgard. Loki, if you believe I will stand here and allow your mischief to tear your family, our family, apart, you are sorely mistaken." The way Sigyn spat the words was entirely out of character. Sure, she was powerful and strong willed, but she was a woman and his wife. She knew better. Loki grabbed her chin and held her tightly.

He held her gaze menacingly. For a few brief seconds he would inhale as if to speak and his eyes would flicker with an unidentifiable pink glow before he would exhale sharply. After only perhaps thirty seconds, Sigyn shocked him further.

The actual pain caused by the impact of Sigyn's hand upon his cheek was minimal; the emotional pain was something else entirely. Never in his life would he have expected Sigyn to react with physical violence. The shock caused him to drop her chin. Though his face betrayed nothing of his shock and hurt, Sigyn knew she had wounded his pride. She stared at the man before her and marveled at how he had transformed from mischievous to something far more sinister in such a short amount of time. She stood before him garbed in the appropriate fatigues for war. Her sword was slung across her back, his green cloak rested upon her shoulders. It reminded her that he was the only one she would ever truly care for, no matter how deeply consumed by jealousy and hatred he was currently.

"I have been devoted to you for most of my life, Loki. I..." She hesitated, a look of desperation crossed her eyes. The look disappeared as quickly as it had come. "When my husband returns, so will I," she finished softly, turning on her heel.

Loki stood frozen as he watched her turn away. In an act of childish insolence, Loki threw his helmet towards her retreating form. She did not spare the action a glance. By the time the helmet had crossed the great hall, she had already disappeared. Loki looked down to his hand, his eyes widening. On his littlest finger was a small golden band. Her wedding band.

In a display of rage that would have put Thor to shame, Loki let out a roar.

At the Bifrost, Sigyn shivered at the sound. She had been warned what her betrothal to Loki would mean. As a powerful goddess, the fates had shown her pity the night before the wedding ceremony and warned her of the darkness looming in his heart. She was a young, foolish girl at the time and had shrugged off the information and blindly followed her heart. Even the mighty goddess could not change the decision her heart had made and once she was bound to him, she could never be bound to another. And so she had so foolishly sealed her fate with a kiss to the God of Mischief.

Heimdall offered her a rare moment of emotion in the form of a hand on her shoulder. As he opened the Bifrost, she held her breath. Taking a last look to the home of the man she had once held so dear, Sigyn was swept away by the Bifrost.

Loki roared again from his balcony as the Bifrost receded, a tear streaking down his cheek. His teeth clenched together and his knuckles popped and whitened on the railing of the balcony. She was not supposed to leave. She was supposed to support him no matter what he asked. As he turned and walked inside his chambers, he spared a passing glance to the mirror. The man who looked back was unfamiliar. Hair disheveled, green eyes wild with madness, teeth slightly bared, Loki did not recognize his reflection. He finally gave in to the buckling of his knees and knelt before the mirror, tentatively touching the smooth reflective surface to determine if the man it reflected was truly the man who knelt before it.

Was it better to be feared or revered?