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Prompt Post 3
norsekink
norse_kink wrote in norsekink
Welcome to norsekink .

Keep up the awesome, folks.

Announcement: All new and continuing fills for Round 3 should be posted in the Overflow Post.



THIS ROUND IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.








Format of Prompts

  • Alphabetize pairings/threesomes/moresomes. (e.g. Heimdall/Loki/Thor).

  • Put [RPF] before RPF prompts. (e.g. [RPF] Chris/Tom)

  • For crossover prompts: "[Crossover], Thor Character(s)/Other Character(s), [Fandom]" (e.g. [Crossover], Loki/Tony, [Iron Man])

  • No "!" in pairings, only in descriptions. (e.g. Jane/Darcy, Quarterback!Thor, CFO!Loki)

  • Anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Jane/Other)

  • Put [GEN] before GEN prompts.



Names

Thor Loki
Jane Odin
Erik Darcy
Coulson Hawkeye
Heimdall Laufey
Volstagg Hogun
Fandral Sif
Frigga Isabel
    In order to make Delicious archiving easier, please use the following names: Fills

    • Link to NSFW images/videos. Don't embed.

    • Please don't link to locked material. This includes locked communities, even in membership is open.

    • Fills may be posted anonymously or not.

    • Fills can be anything: fic, art, vid, fanmix, podfic, etc.

    • Prompts may be filled as many times as you like. There are lots of really interesting prompts, and if one inspires you, feel free to fill it again even if someone already has.

    • To make sure that your newly posted fic is found and properly indexed, please post a comment to the Fill List using the prescribed format.


  • Patterned after the kinkme_merlin , hetalia_kink  and inception_kink rules.





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Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (1)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:37 pm (UTC)

She is very pretty, the Asgard female. Pretty but strange, with her hair the colour of her armour, and skin full of warmth and pink and cream. Like milk. She sees him, and she smiles at him with white, flat teeth.

“Hello little one,” she says, and when she walks forward, the air around her makes him dizzy. He thinks, suddenly, that he was wrong. She is not pretty-but-strange. Not only, not at all. No, she is the loveliest creature he has ever seen, the most beautiful thing to have ever lived. One of her gloved hands extends towards him. It is elegant and perfect. He stares at in wonderment, entranced – and if he feels as if there is a fog against his thoughts, as if there is a whisper of uncertainty and confusion at the back of his mind, it is only slightly.

“Come,” she says, and he could no more deny her than stop breathing. His hand falls into hers. It is a tight, hot, hard grip, and she pulls him with strength – wonderful strength, not frightening callousness – up to his feet. “You are going to help me, little one. Isn’t that lovely? You and I are going to practice some magic.”

He smiles, and nods readily.

He likes magic.


Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (2)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:38 pm (UTC)

Loki is ill.

This is Thor’s first thought when he looks over during the reinstatement ceremony, the end to the exile of the sorceress Lorelei. He knows little about her, beyond that she is the younger sister of Amora, and was banished during the war for committing some crime against frost giant prisoners. It seems a small slight as compared to her having thwarted a troll invasion of Asgard. Not that Thor believed the trolls would have come very far even if they had made it across the Bifrost – in point of fact, he was almost disheartened at the loss of battle – but it was still a worthy accomplishment, and enough to merit her return. He paid the ceremonies only polite mind, only noting the way his father’s eye tightened at the corners when he looked upon Lorelei; the stiff line of his mouth. Disapproval. He wondered at it, and had only turned to see if his brother had noted the expression.

But Loki is white as a sheet. He is silent, unmoving even when the ceremony’s end calls for applause. His eyes are fixed ahead – they are upon Lorelei, though Thor does not note this – and a thin sheen of sweat has formed atop his brow. It seems that he is barely breathing.

Thor frowns, and places a hand on his shoulder. The touch makes Loki jump. For a few seconds, when he turns towards Thor, his eyes are wild, and Thor is given to the bizarre impression that he is on the verge of fleeing the large audience chamber. Bolting like a frightened deer.

“Brother?” he asks. “Are you unwell?”

Loki’s gaze flits towards Lorelei again. Thor follows it, though the woman is only kneeling before their father, her voice a low murmur as she accepts something he has said. He turns back. Loki swallows, hard, his throat bobbing pronouncedly with the effort of it.

“…Yes,” he replies at length. “I am unwell, brother. Quite… quite unwell, in fact. If you would… I-I need some air. If you would come with me?” he asks, uncharacteristically fumbling his words.

Thor’s already worried expression deepens. But he nods.

“Of course,” he agrees, and then Loki is moving so swiftly from the room that he is almost put-upon to keep up with him. His long legs carry him towards the exit – not the one nearest to their position, which would have taken them closer to father and the ceremony, but the next one back, and further from proceedings. Discreet as ever, Thor thinks, trying to reassure himself that all cannot be amiss if Loki still cares about appearances. But it feels a hollow thought.

Once he is outside, Loki’s swiftness increases, his steps harried as he moves out into the bright air of the courtyard. The sky is only just beginning to turn purple and brilliant overhead, peppering itself with the first hints of stars. The light from the palace is golden and warm, but where it falls upon his brother’s skin, it only seems to make him look hollowed-out and white. He paces forward, gets a fair distance, and then abruptly turns on his heel and stalks back until he is next to Thor again. The process repeats. Thor watches this, his brow furrowed. It is obvious that Loki is in considerable distress.

“Perhaps I should fetch a healer…?” he begins, but it stopped as Loki shakes his head vehemently, coming to a stop at a side once more.

“No!” he snaps. Then, more quietly: “no. I will be fine. I only needed some air. This is helping.”

That is what he says – Thor does not think it is true. Both he and his brother have their pride, and he marshals himself, ready to drag Loki off to be seen to if need be…

His brother lets out a heavy, ragged breath, lacing his fingers and staring up at the sky above them as if he is looking for something. He darts a glance towards Thor, and Thor finds any words he might have had die upon his lips. There is no steel in him strong enough to resist Loki’s eyes when they look upon him so beseechingly.

“I will be fine,” he repeats.

Which is how Thor spends the rest of the evening watching his brother pace, hoping that he does not faint, and wondering what in all the nine realms is going on.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (3)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:39 pm (UTC)

It is past midnight by the time Loki is willing to retire. Thor leaves him but once, when the celebratory feast begins, and while he greets Lorelei – who looks at him with appraising eyes, a quirked smile upon her lips, a comment of “my, how you have grown since last I saw you” coaxing a reflexive smile from him – he does not linger, worry prickling at the back of his mind. Instead he gathers enough feast food to sate them both, should Loki feel like eating. His father asks where Loki has gotten to, catching him as he makes for the door, and putting the question to him as a whisper. Confused, Thor nevertheless responds in kind.

“He has taken ill,” he replies.

His father’s face turns grave. Thor’s stomach drops with it, but Odin is not in a forthcoming mood – he nods, and releases Thor with only a quiet instruction that he see to his brother. Which is unnecessary, as that was precisely what Thor had intended to do on his own.

When he returns to the courtyard, he at first is given to the impression that Loki is left. He cannot spot him where he left him, sitting on one of the far benches, hunched over and quiet. But before he can call out, Loki is at his elbow. The flow of his magic falls away, and Thor realizes with a start that his brother had been invisible.

“Are you sure it is wise to be practicing your tricks right now?” he asks.

“You brought food,” Loki deflects, and though Thor attempts to persist, successfully distracts him into setting up a temporary picnic for them in the open night air. Though he seems eager at first, Thor does notice that his brother barely picks at his food. Instead he sits, his face long and drawn, and when he thinks he is not being watched, there is something dark which creeps into his eyes. Lingers behind them while he stares at nothing. It is unnerving, to say the least, and for the first time in a long while Thor finds himself thinking on Loki’s unique heritage.

He prefers not to dwell on what his brother is, or is not. He is Loki; that is enough. But he was old enough to remember when his father brought him home, a scrawny, blue-skinned youth who shied away from Thor for weeks, until Thor finally learned to coax him like a reluctant horse into conversation and company and play. Jotun born, his father had called him. And though there are miles of difference between Loki, who often seems like he must belong to a species particular entirely to himself, and the frost giants of stories, he cannot help but think that this may be some Jotun illness. Perhaps that was the reason for their father’s concern? He observes his brother as discreetly as he is able to – which isn’t very discreetly at all – and thinks. If it is a Jotun illness, then perhaps the cure for it might lie in Jotunheim. Thor could go there. He could get it. Even – or perhaps especially – if he had to fight a hundred monsters for it.

“What ails you, brother?” he asks at last, when his food has been eaten, and Loki’s has been deposited secretively behind a nearby bush.

“Nothing,” Loki lies as easily as breathing, before standing.

A childhood spent with a skittish foundling for a brother taught Thor some modicum of patience. So, though it is in him to press, he does not. Instead he only sighs, and stands, and walks his brother to his rooms. Not the healer’s, as he would prefer. Merely to the quiet, subtle warmth of familiar corridors, where Loki’s dark green chambers await in peaceful silence.

“I hope you are well by morning, then,” he says, lingering only a moment, to see if he might get more of an answer.

Loki nods, still ashen-faced. It seems a goodbye. But when Thor turns to leave, a hand abruptly closes over the edge of his ceremonial cape. Pale fingers crinkle the red fabric. Hold tightly, fiercely, and then seem to let go again just as quickly as they shot out.

He gives his brother a questioning look.

“Loki…?”

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (4)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:40 pm (UTC)

Loki’s mouth opens, and then closes again – as if he would say something, but is biting it back. He shakes his head slightly.

“Forgive me, brother. I only thought I might lose my balance for a moment,” he says, his lips making a faint attempt at a smile. It does not survive long. “Good night.” Then he steps back, and before Thor can speak, all but slams the door in his face.

He blinks at the engraved surface in front of him.

Obviously, there is something amiss. He sighs, his shoulders falling heavily, and after some internal debate, turns and heads off towards his own rooms. If it persists in the morning, he decides, then he will have it out with Loki. Never a pleasant experience for either of them. But in the meanwhile, he will allow him his peace. Some rest.

Once he is in bed, worry chases sleep from his mind until exhaustion claims him. He wakes but once, before dawn, to the muddled feeling that he is not alone – the indistinct dream-though that he has brought someone to bed with him. But when he wakes properly he is, of course, alone. The dawn light fills up his room, and he allows himself to soak it in for a moment before he dresses with some haste, and makes his way to the breakfast hall, eager to check upon his brother’s progress.

A few signs of revelry from the night before linger.

Volstagg has fallen asleep at the table, as it occasionally his custom. Thor allows himself an amused smile as he sees that the servants have endeavoured to clean around him, rather than try and move him. He walks down towards the slumbering bulk of his friend and slams one hand too-loudly down on the table next him. The snoring is replaced by a startled flail as Volstagg starts awake. He blinks in the familiar way of a man with too much of a hangover for morning’s light. Worry makes Thor obnoxious – and in fact, so do boredom, friendliness, and his own general nature, though he will deny this if pressed – so he adds a hearty clap to the shoulder to the rest of his rude awakening.

“Good morning, my friend!” he booms.

Volstagg turns vaguely green.

“What’s good about it yet?” he asks, before sliding down to rest his head against the bench he has been sitting up. Then he opens one bleary eye, and aims it towards Thor. “Where were you for last night’s revelries, anyway? Ought you not be as laid up as the rest of us?”

Thor shrugs. “Loki took ill,” he says.

“And what?” Volstagg grumbles. “You are no nursemaid.”

“And you are no interrogator. You know how stubborn he can be – he would not go to the healers,” he lightly replies, his gaze casting about the hall. His brother is generally early to rise – earlier than anyone else, in fact – but he is nowhere to be seen. Then again, the first spread of breakfast is only just being lain out. With another unnecessary clap to Volstagg’s shoulder, Thor determines to go and see if his brother is still in his rooms. It is as he is leaving that he sees an approaching figure, and turns sideways to avoid collision before he notes who it is.

“My lord Thor,” Lorelei greets, tilting her head demurely.

“Lady,” he replies with a nod. He moves to carry on, but she opens her mouth, draws in a breath to catch his attention and stop him.

“Tell me I have not missed the opportunity to dine with you,” she asks. “I was hoping we would get to speak more. You disappeared so quickly last night.”

Thor smiles. “I fear I have some matters to tend to, Lady. Further conversation must wait until they are seen to.”

“Pity,” she replies, pursing her lips in an attractive pout. But she lets him go, and Thor is grateful for the reprieve, heading on determined legs towards his brother’s chambers. When he arrives, he forgets to knock, and opens the door to his brother sliding on the last layer of his clothing. A long jacket which falls down to his knees. Ordinarily, Thor would expect a reproachful glance for his lack of manners. But when Loki looks at him, something more akin to gratitude flashes across his face.

He looks away quickly, straightening his collar. His skin is still pale, and there are ugly, purple smudges forming beneath his eyes – the sign of a night ill-spent. But he is not sweating, and seems less on edge when he walks towards Thor, and spares him a smile.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (5)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:41 pm (UTC)

“Really, brother. It isn’t like you to fret,” he teases, half-heartedly at best.

Thor levels a long look at him.

“It is not like you to take ill, either,” he points out. “But… you do look a bit improved.”

“You see?” Loki replies. “I told you it was nothing to worry about.” He draws in a breath, and straightens, as if he has resolved something. But when Thor moves back into the hall, he finds his brother close beside him. Hovering almost, he would think. He glances towards him, but says nothing. If Loki feels he might become dizzy, or faint, he will spare his pride and not force him to mention it. Not when it is a sincere affliction, as opposed to a drunken bout or some passing jest. They make their way together towards the breakfast hall. Halfway there, Thor leans over and closes an arm across Loki’s shoulder. He stiffens briefly under the touch. But he does not protest the sign of affection – the offer of support disguised as casual closeness.

To passing eyes, just Thor bothering his brother, as usual, even if Loki looked more tired than he should.

They clear the doorway, and Thor opens his mouth to ask if he should have a servant send for lighter breakfast fare, given that his brother did not seem to take to food the night before, when Loki’s feet root themselves to the ground. Thor keeps going, and almost drags them both into a stumble before he can think to stop.

“What…?” he begins to ask. But Loki is not looking towards him.

His gaze is fixed within the hall, instead – ashen-faced and staring at the table, where the Lady Amora dines in quiet discussion with her sister.

Lorelei. Whom Loki had gazed at the night before as well, though at the time it had made sense. She had been the center of attention, after all. Now it is a bit more baffling. And if his brother had looked less like someone of Thor’s own strength had punched him in gut, he might suppose that he was smitten. That most common affliction for men who stop dead in their tracks or walk into walls at the sight of a pretty woman. But Loki looks nothing less than horrified, and so, instead, he assumes that some bought of knowledge or pain has overtaken him.

Thor squares his jaw.

“Enough,” he says, and Loki’s face snaps towards him in chalk-white surprise. Using the arm still about his shoulders, Thor turns him from the hall, and guides him towards the corridors which lead to the healing rooms. His brother is unresisting. “I am taking you to get looked at, and do not say no – I gave you the night, but clearly, you are not well enough to be about.”

Shame flits across Loki’s expression, and he feels a sting of his own at the sight of it. But it is surely a sign of how far-gone his health is that he makes no protest, only nods once in acceptance and then allows himself to be led, pale and silent, towards the still and calm rooms where the magic of life is wrought. The healer attending the rooms greets them pleasantly, and clucks her tongue at Loki, asking him if he ate anything inadvisable at the revelry the night before.

“He ate little to nothing at all,” Thor answers for him. “He felt ill well before then.”

Loki does not protest being spoken for. Not even with a glare. Even odder, when the healer moves to shoo Thor away, he stops her.

“No,” he says. “My brother may stay.”

She gives him a reproachful look, as if she thinks he is humouring Thor. But that is all she gives them before acquiescing, and with one last worried glance at his brother, Thor fetches himself a chair and sits to wait through the diagnostics being performed. He feels as though he is on pins and needles, and at any moment he expects the healer to look up and exclaim something awful. That Loki has been poisoned, perhaps, or infected with some dark magic, or contracted some rare sickness. He folds his arms atop his knees, and as every change in her expression seems to send his nerves jangling, he fixes his gaze upon Loki’s face again. Perhaps it is only his imagination which places the twinge of blue beneath the surface of his pallor.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (6)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:42 pm (UTC)

The healer sighs.

Thor immediately thinks of getting their mother and father, of gathering his friends, finding a solution, setting off to gather the necessary ingredients for a potion to cure whatever affliction has consumed his brother-

“Stress,” she says. “I know not what you have been over-extending yourself in, my prince, but I recommend rest and calm as your curatives. Have you been having difficulties sleeping?”

Loki shakes his head.

“Only last night,” he quietly answers.

The healer shrugs. “Well,” she says. “You have my prescription. If the trouble persists or if you begin to feel worse, then please return. You are not ill yet, but as you are, I would not be surprised overmuch if that changed.” Then she shooed them from the chambers, providing Thor with only a harsh look and instructions not to pester or overtax his brother, as he is renowned to. He only just has time to bristle at that before the door has closed behind them, and the only person he could possibly direct his ire towards is, at present time, the least deserving target. Instead, he merely make a mental note to ask for a different healer next time, and sets to dragging his brother back to his quarters. He does not believe for one moment that this is simple ‘stress’.

Jokes aside, his brother is no delicate blossom, and would not be so fatigued by something as minor as that. He can still recall when they were teenagers, and Loki spent day and night, it seemed, obsessing over the trials for his magical tests, competing with Thor for who could be in the worst mood possible as Thor had his combat trials at the same time.

It seems that Loki only realizes the direction they are heading in once they have arrived, because he takes one look at his door, and then whips around to face Thor. His hands are raised in protest. It is almost heartening to see him finally show some sign of his normal self.

“I have already finished sleeping, brother,” he says.

Thor sighs, getting ready to dig in for a fight. If need be, he decides, he will call upon the ultimate trump card – their mother.

“The healer said your cure would be rest, Loki,” he replies.

Rest, not confinement. I will be bored to tears if I am expected to laze in bed all day.” There is a strained quality to his voice, still, and he darts a gaze down the hall alongside them. Thor follows the look, but it is only one of their mothers handmaidens, on her way to the royal chambers. “Please, brother. At least let me accompany you. I can… observe your routine.”

That claims his attention. Thor blinks at him. There is a strange, silent plea in Loki’s gaze.

“You hate watching me practice,” he points out. “If you must be about, would you not rather curl up with some book in the archives?”

His brother laughs, joviality failing him again. “Ah, brother, you know me. Left to intellectual pursuits, I will get caught up and fail to rest at all. Your training may not be the most enthralling of shows, but it is still a better sight than my bedroom walls.”

He wants to press the issue, in truth, to ferret out whatever secret it is that he knows is hiding beneath the surface of things. But there are always secrets with Loki. So instead he relents, and, baffled though he may be, finds himself heading to his rounds with no breakfast in his stomach, and a brother in his shadow. It has been many years since this was the case. Loki stays close, as he did before, and he seems to startle whenever they pass by someone unexpectedly in corridors, to flinch whenever a door opens at their passing. They are minor expressions on him – twitches more than cringes – but Thor knows his brother well. He frowns. But he cannot solve the puzzle with the pieces at hand.

“Brother-”

“It is nothing,” Loki insists, quiet rather than resentful.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (7)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:43 pm (UTC)

The quiet undoes his resolve. Thor lets him be, and does his best to showcase his excellent skills in practice, the prowess he has gained since last he and his brother sat in joint lessons. Loki has kept up his training with the spear and some swordwork, he knows, but more as a formality (and, on occasion, necessity of being in Thor’s considerably adventurous company). His true skill is magic, and Thor wonders if much of what he has learned over the years is as unfathomable to his brother as the tricky spells he produces are to Thor.

He does not dwell on it for long. Loki resists the idea of eating the dining hall for the midday meal – “too much excitement”, he claims, though apparently the busy practice field was calm enough – and so Thor finds himself humouring him yet again and with uncommon patience, retrieving food for them and then dining in his brother’s room. Loki spends a great deal of time simply staring out of the window.

“The skies here are very beautiful,” he says, just when Thor has just about had enough of eating in awkward silence.

He blinks.

“…Are they not beautiful elsewhere?” he asks, before he can think the better of it. He has some experience with talking to people who latch upon apparently random topics of conversation out of the blue. It comes with being a prince, though he has been assured on many occasions that experience and aptitude are well and far away from one another.

Of course his brother knows of other skies. But he almost never mentions it. Thor had almost thought that he had forgotten, or chosen to forget, burying the memories of his past beneath all the layers of the new ones they’d built up ever since his father had come home with the little brother he kept asking for.

Loki swallows, and sips his drink.

“In a way,” he replies. “Clear days are rare in Jotunheim, but when there are no clouds to block it, the sky falls into the ice and it can look as if neither ever really end.” His eyes are distant. His voice is far, far away, and Thor does not like it.

“But you like Asgard’s sky better?”

His brother blinks. Then he looks towards him, and smiles. It does not reach his eyes.

“Yes,” he replies. “I like Asgard better.”

“Good.”

Loki says no more to him as they fall into silence again, and before either of them attempts to break it, there is a messenger knocking at the door. Loki jumps at the knock. Thor answers, resolving to finally just ask his brother what has jangled his nerves so, but he does not have the chance.

“The All-father sends for you,” the messenger says, craning around Thor’s considerable frame to clearly address Loki.

“Only my brother?” Thor nevertheless asks.

“Only him,” the man agrees.

He frowns at that, though he is not certain why. It is rare for their father to ask to speak to only one of them and not both – and when he does, he generally wishes to speak with Thor. But Loki has been ill, and perhaps, he thinks, it has to do with that. His brother nods curtly to the messenger, an acknowledgement. Then, when they are alone again, he rises ramrod-straight from the room’s small table.

“Do you know what this is about?” Thor asks.

Loki shakes his head.

“No. But… come and find me, when it’s over?” he requests.

It is an odd request. Then again, perhaps it is an olive branch – an offer to share whatever their father says with Thor once it has been said. He determines that that must be it, and accepts with an inclination of his head. His brother walks from the room on a short, clipped stride, his hands clenched tightly into fists. After only a moment’s hesitation, Thor glances back into the rooms behind him – as if they might offer up some answer to what is going on – then closes the door, and follows him.

Loki relaxes marginally once they are side-by-side.

Thor feels like he should say something, but other than barking demanding questions at him – which he is at least aware enough to know would only devolve into a fight, or maybe something worse, given how odd Loki is behaving – he has no idea what. It is a remarkably frustrating feeling, not least because he knows that something is wrong, but he doesn’t know what to righteously smite in order to fix it.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (8)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:43 pm (UTC)

They walk in silence until they reach the door to their father’s chambers. Then, despite the fact that he is not and never has been the type of person to wait, Thor leans against the wall, lets his boot-heels dig grooves into the floor, and settles in. He cannot eavesdrop. Not with the doors closed. But he optimistically almost imagines that, perhaps, if he listens carefully enough he might, and so he rests his hands behind his head and strains his ears into the silence. A low breeze sweeps down the corridor.

There are a million other things he could be doing.

He stays where he is, even as the minutes drag into an hour, and then one hour drags into two. Two and then some. Three.

Three, and then some, and he’s just about to conclude that this conversation – whatever it may be about – will take at least until the beginning of the evening meal when the door swings opens again, and Loki stalks out.

His head is low, his shoulders stiff.

At first, his brother does not see him. He paces back and forth for a few steps, keeping his head low, his mouth stretched into a thin, furious line. Then he moves, and looks up, and his eyes widen as he spots Thor against the wall.

For a few seconds, Thor has absolutely no idea what to make of the look on his brother’s face.

Loki’s fingers twitch. He reaches out a hand, closes it around Thor’s wrist, and then, with a surprising amount of initiative, begins dragging him down the corridor. Thor lets him. There seems little else he can do, and he is almost surprised when he realizes that they are not heading for Loki’s rooms, but rather, his own. Still, he makes no objection as his brother pushes open the door, pulls him inside, and then, with some energy, all but slams it shut again. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as he seems to simply stand there for a moment, still holding onto Thor, still staring at the doorway.

Sometimes, in his peculiar enigmas, Loki reminds Thor terribly of their father.

He waits. Loki licks his lips, and when, after a long moment, he speaks, he seems as if he is half within a trance.

“If I needed you to,” he says, “would you kill someone for me?”

Thor stares.

A chill trails down him, but when he looks, Loki’s skin is still pink and pale from fingertip to fingertip.

“Why do you ask such a question?” he wonders aloud.

Loki’s fingers slip from his wrist, and he slumps, the sudden bout of energy apparently reaching its end. The chill does not abate in the least. If anything, Thor only feels worse. He swallows, his mouth dry, and his eyes search his brother’s face. He is not certain what he is looking for. He thinks, abstractly, that it might be the Loki who vanished yesterday, only to be replaced by this strange, hunted shadow.

“I would kill to defend you,” he says. He wants to grab Loki, turn him so that they are facing one another, and look him in the eye. He wants to know what is going on. And after a moment, he decides that he has been careful enough, and so, reaching out, this is what he does. He is not ungentle, but his grip is firm as he turns his brother towards himself, lets his hands move from shoulders to face, and forces his gaze. He stares into eyes that he knows almost as well as his own reflection, and hopes his words carry as much weight, right now, as his actions generally do.

“You are my brother,” he reminds Loki. “Tell me what is wrong, and I shall right it. What did father say?”

Loki looks at him. Does his own searching. Then he lets out a breath, and a smile that is as close to genuine as he has come of late. His own hands drift up Thor’s, and he leans until they are near to embracing.

“He said I am not to tell you a thing,” he replies.

But part of me wishes to, goes heard yet unspoken.

Thor finishes the motion, grabbing his brother and pulling him into his embrace. Loki goes willingly. He rests his head upon his shoulder, not stiff and rigid as he usually is for such displays, but slumped and almost clinging.

“Tell me anyway,” he asks.

Loki sighs, long and gusty.

“Ah, brother,” he replies. “If I loved you less, I might.”

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (9)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:44 pm (UTC)

That is the most that Thor can get out of him, try as he might. No form of asking works. Not even when he attempts to shout, as Loki merely sits in placid silence, and waits out the storm of his rage with a confidence that says he knows Thor is more bark than bite. Finally, he storms from his own rooms in a fit of frustration. His feet find their way back to the training grounds, and he takes his anger out on mannequins and anyone foolish enough to spar with him. By the time he has finished, his anger has reduced itself to a simmering resentment, aimed largely at the situation, and at his father.

Thor glares at Odin all through the evening meal – which Loki is nowhere to be seen for – but if his father notices his pointed attempt to visually burn a hole through his skull, he gives no sign of it. Thor would not have left it at simple glaring, but for the fact that his father has chosen to sit with his advisors this meal, surrounded in a crowd of Thor’s elders, and he has no chance to approach and let his complaints be verbally known.

Instead, he finds himself seated next to Amora and her sister. Some men would consider this an enviable position. Thor is not one of them. He has never liked Amora – she is presumptuous and petty, and he finds that any natural beauty to her form is heavily undermined by the way she twists her expressions, simpering and cooing in one instant, snapping and snarling in the next. For one who wields manipulation as a weapon, she is remarkably clumsy with it, tying it all into her magic and beauty and expecting them both to carry her through. At best, she underwhelms him. At worst, she is a terrible nuisance, for there are days when she seems to think that it would be a fine idea to become Queen of Asgard, and that Thor is stupid enough to fall for her charms.

Her sister, he does not know. But she holds herself in a similar way, if somewhat more subtly, tilting her head to look up at him and batting her eyelashes prettily while he speaks. It is flattering, and in some cases might be enough for an evening or two of fun. But Thor is too preoccupied for that, and even if he were not, he would be much more interested if only she spoke of her thwarting the trolls more than her apparent interest in his physique.

“I knew you would make a fine man of yourself one day, even when you were small,” she tells him. He thinks this is meant to be alluring. In truth, it only reminds him that she is not inconsiderably older than he is.

“Would that I could recall you from that time, Lady, but alas, I must have been too young,” he politely replies.

“Oh, I do not know. You are older than your brother, after all,” she enigmatically replies, before smoothly changing the subject. But her talk puts a feeling of unease into him which refuses to abate, and finally subdues the last of his ire beneath it. He excuses himself shortly, and, upon a hunch, takes a small plate of food with him as he leaves.

Loki is not in his rooms.

In fact, he is still in Thor’s – sitting silently upon one edge of the bed, his head shooting up as Thor enters, but otherwise seeming as though he has not moved at all since his brother left.

Thor feels a pang of guilt. Though he does not why he should. He never told Loki to stay.

Swallowing it down, he raises the plate in offering.

“I did not see you at dinner,” he says. Diplomatically, in his opinion.

Loki accepts the offering, but does not meet his gaze.

“I was tired,” he replies. Lies. Thor has never been the best at telling when his brother is lying – actually, he usually falls for anything he says, even when Sif and Fandral and Hogun and Volstagg are all shaking their heads in the background and dropping their faces into their hands – but when he knows to start looking for it, he can see it.

That doesn’t help when he can’t do anything about it.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (10)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:45 pm (UTC)

So instead Thor merely sighs, and while his brother eats, changes into his lighter clothes and lets himself tumble onto his bed. He lies face-down, burying his head into his pillow and wondering why, out of everyone in his family (adoptive members included) he has to be the only one who did not inherent the Unnecessarily Cryptic and Secretive trait. Not that he wishes to be more secretive. That just seems like it would cause more problems than it solved. But it might give him some better insight as to how his brother’s mind worked.

If I loved you less, I might, he had said. Thor had no idea what that even meant.

“You cause me no end of headaches, I hope you know,” he grumbles into his pillow, as he hears his brother finally finished the slow, steady bites of food he had consented to eating.

There is a pause, and he wonders if he was heard, or if the words were too muffled.

“I can say the same for you,” Loki replies.

“Well. At least there is that.”

He hears a shuffle of fabric, then, and after a moment, the mattress beside him depresses. Loki lies down face-up on top of the blankets, his hands folded over his chest as he does so. It reminds Thor of when they were small enough that he used to build forts out of the sheets and yank Loki beneath them with him, playing games of siege and exploration. For a long time back then, his brother used to flinch whenever he touched him. Thor had thought it was because his skin still tended to turn blue from time to time, the change not holding well, and he had been worried about giving him frostbite. He thought that because that was what Loki told him. But, thinking on it, it is not too different from the way he is acting now.

He turns his head to regard his brother, who is so silent that he almost might be asleep. But Loki is staring up at the ceiling, wide awake if silent.

“I do not mean to cause you such trouble,” he says.

Thor blinks.

“Since when has this been true?” he asks, raising one skeptical eyebrow, and keeping his tone light and teasing.

Loki snorts.

“Alright,” he concedes. “I do not mean to cause you such trouble right now.”

“Ah. That makes more sense. You worried me, for a moment – I almost thought you had been replaced by a doppelganger.”

“No. It is too late in the day for such a spell.”

“Bite your silver tongue, brother. I know full well that there is no daylight restriction upon your magic.” After a moment’s thought, he adds: “Now.”

The ghost of a genuine smile quirks his brother’s lips. “It certainly took you long enough to work it out,” he replies, and does not flinch when Thor takes the pillow out from under his head, and smacks him in the face with it.

The silence which falls between them after Thor wrestles his pillow back – Loki’s grip is half-hearted, at best – is easier, and he feels some small modicum of worry unclench from his chest, because his brother is acting reasonable like himself again. At first. But when some time as passed and he looks over, once more, to see if Loki has fallen asleep, he notes that a pensive mask has fallen over his face once more.

“You know,” he says, in the same long, slow voice he had used to talk about the sky earlier that day. “The first time I met you, I thought you were absolutely terrifying.”

Thor stares. Under different circumstances he might find this a flattering assessment of him, if, perhaps, he and Loki had met upon the field of battle, whilst he was busy being a destructive whirlwind of death. Or even if they had met only years ago, in some official ceremony wherein Thor was clad in his full armour and regalia, a true sight to behold (if he does say so himself). But Loki met him when he was eight. Not eighteen, not eighty, just eight, which is barely more than a babe by Asgardian reckoning. He has gained enough distance from that age to know that the only creatures which ought to have found him threatening were interesting-looking beetles and little girls with double braids in their hair.

“Terrifying?” he flatly asks, not liking the way his stomach lurches.

Loki turns his head so that he is facing him, and nods.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (11)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:46 pm (UTC)

“I found all Aesir terrifying,” he replies.

“What, even Father?”

Loki barks out a surprised laugh. Shakes his head at him. “Brother. Our father has taken me in, sheltered and fed me, named me a second son, been kind and fair to me more oft than not, and I am still terrified of him,” he replies. “As any sensible man ought to be.”

Though there is a note of mockery, of joking to his tone, there is some truth underneath it as well. Thor doesn’t like the sight of it. He is not frightened of their father. He could ill-afford to get into shouting matches with him if he were. The confession of Loki’s that he is… that is unsettling, and after a moment, he says as much.

His brother shrugs. “I have never accused you of an excess of sensibility,” he replies.

Thor frowns, and rolls over so that he can see Loki better.

“You are not still terrified of me, are you?” he asks, and while a prickle of doubt strums at the back of his mind, he thinks he knows the answer.

“No,” Loki replies with a snort. “For a long while I could not fathom why you behaved as you did. But I had an epiphany after one of Tyr’s hounds gave birth.”

Confusion replaces his apprehension, and Thor waits for some further insight, a skeptical look upon his face.

Loki glances towards him and grins. “I realized that you were, in essence, an Aesir-shaped puppy,” he explains, and then, with an utterly sincere and earnest look towards him, “they even had your floppy golden hair.”

Thor hits him with the pillow again.

“Was all that conversation orchestrated entirely so that you might compare me to a dog?” he demands, as Loki returns the pillow by throwing it into his face.

“It was well worth the look upon your face,” he replies.

Thor sighs, his dutiful, required, ‘oh-woe-is-me-to-have-such-a-younger-brother’ sigh, but the evasive end to their conversation does not satisfy him. He thinks on it a moment, reluctant to let things lie where they have landed.

“I suppose,” he says, at careful length. “That on Jotunheim, they would have told stories about Aesir warriors – as we tell stories about the giants?” He tries to imagine a Jotun mother sitting with two tiny blue children on her knee, filling their heads with tales of terrible Odin and his band of fearsome warriors. But he cannot quite manage to get there.

Loki goes quiet for a moment. Then he shrugs.

“Most likely,” he agrees. “I would not know firsthand.” The bitterness returns to his expression. “There are few Jotnar who would invest anything of themselves into a runt. Tales, time, resources, care – they are all scarce things in Jotunheim. What is the point in spending them on a child who will likely not live to adulthood?”

Thor stares at Loki. He does not know what to say to that.

“…Then that is their loss,” he settles on, at length, and does not like the way his brother’s eyes dart towards him, shuttered and unconvinced.

“I doubt they would count it a terrible blow,” Loki softly informs him.

It is unnerving, and solemn, and Thor does not like the leaden feeling it puts into his chest. So he reaches over, scoops an arm around Loki’s shoulders and drags him into a half-hug, running his hand across the back of his head and intentionally messing up the neatly combed strands of hair.

“You are the best frost giant I have ever known,” he intones, with as much gravity and solemnity he can muster.

Loki snorts.

“I am the only one you have ever known,” he shoots back. But some of the tension drains from him, and Thor ‘hmms’ a response.

“You are the best brother I have ever had, then,” he attempts, as if they are children playing some odd game now.

He cannot see Loki roll his eyes, but, in truth, he does not need to.

“Again, you limit yourself to a remarkably small selection of persons,” he points out.

Thor taps his chin, by all appearances pondering this matter seriously.

“You make a good point,” he replies. Then he shrugs, and releases Loki enough so that his brother can, as he will, struggle free from his grip. Once he has, Thor meets his eye.

“Best friend I have ever had, then,” he says.

Loki stills.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (12)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:47 pm (UTC)

Then he presses a hand to his chest, looking at Thor with big, wide, too-meaningful eyes, and says, utterly deadpan:

“Why, Thor. I am touched.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, really. I had no idea you felt that way.”

“Loki.”

“Are you going to begin to weep? Manfully? Because I could avert my gaze if it would help.”

“I do not weep!”

“Shed a poignant tear, then. Worry not, dear brother, your gentle secrets are safe with me.”

“Argh!”

Loki opens his arms.

“Do you require another hug?” he asks.

Thor forgets his worry long enough to kick him off the mattress, where Loki lands in a tangle of limbs and a soft, heartening chuckle.

“You are also the most infuriating soul I have ever known,” he mutters.

Loki is, of course, unrepentant when he re-emerges. They are drawn into odd reminiscence for the rest of the evening, until Thor drifts off, and wakes at dawn to find his brother sleeping on the opposite pillow. Too tired to have stumbled back to his own rooms, then. He throws another blanket on top of him, and leaves him to sleep while he takes advantage of the crisp, clear morning air to go for a run. There are a few others out at this early hour. He speaks briefly with Fandral, who is waxing poetic upon the beauty of the newly-returned Lorelei as compared to the enticing quality of her sister’s appearance. Sif is out as well, though she is intent upon her exercises, and only nods to him in acknowledgement and delivers a brief question as to Loki’s health before she is on her way again.

When Thor returns from his run, Loki is still in his room.

“You look better this morning,” he observes, despite the fact that his brother had jumped nine feet when he opened the door.

Loki nods.

“I think I have improved,” he agrees, which earns him a grin.

“Good!” Thor exclaims. “Then dress, and we shall go to breakfast together. Sif asked after you this morning. You may sit next to her and embarrass her over her polite concern, if it will further improve your mood.”

His brother pales slightly, but does not protest as Thor shoos him to his own rooms – wondering at his will to linger – and then retrieves him so as to head down to the hall. His brother’s steps slow as they approach the open doorway. The din of the earliest meal reaches their ears. Loki moves closer until they are essentially walking shoulder-to-shoulder, his eyes darting to and fro, as if he is looking for something. But they are ahead of the biggest rush for the meal, and only a handful of souls have taken seats at the long tables by the time they reach them. His brother stares at both of the room’s entryways, and flexes his fingers nervously. Almost as if he expects an attack.

“What is amiss?” Thor finally asks him, as they take their seats. Loki situates himself pointedly between Thor and Sif, and only mutely shakes his head.

Over the meal, he does not tease Sif. He barely touches his food, and instead, sets to watch the doorways intently. One, then the other. One, then the other. Sif sends Thor a questioningly look behind his back, but Thor can only shrug in frustrated bafflement. He does not know. And no one who does know will tell him.

They are standing to leave, Loki’s expression flickering from apprehensive to relieved, when Amora and Lorelei arrive with a new flow of palace ladies and sorceresses to take their places along the tables.

Loki locks up at the sight of them, as if he has been frozen.

Thor turns, and follows his gaze, and is torn between dragging him off and starting another argument, then and there, to know what is going on. But Lorelei spots him, and his attention is diverted as she heads towards them with a small, pink-lipped smile.

“Ah, Odinson!” she greets. “I had hoped that I might see you again this morning. And this is your… brother?”

He is not certain why, but he immediately detests the glint in her gaze as she moves it over to Loki.

Loki does not move. He does not reply. He does not speak, at all, and Thor turns briefly back towards him to see that he is still frozen. Without consciously thinking about it, Thor finds himself moving, putting the length of one of his shoulders bodily between Lorelei and Loki.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (13)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:47 pm (UTC)

“It is indeed,” he replies. “Forgive me, Lady, but I fear you have caught me on my way to other tasks yet again.”

Lorelei makes a soft sound of disappointment. “Oh,” she breaths. “But I had hoped that we might have the chance to speak more. I confess myself dearly interested in getting to know you much better, my prince.”

Sif coughs something vaguely unflattering into her hand. It earns her a glare, fleeting but brilliantly unpleasant, Thor thinks, before he straightens in surprise. Loki’s hand has moved. His fingers are curled about his wrist so tightly that they might be cutting off the blood-flow there.

“Some other time, perhaps,” Thor politely replies, before attempting to disentangle himself from the encounter, and see to his brother. Lorelei lets them go, a slight smile still fixed to her lips.

Loki is white as death and cold as ice as Thor pulls him out into the corridor. Before he can even begin to ask his questions, however, Loki releases him, and in a flurry of sudden violence, sets to pounding the nearest wall with his fist. Thor is so shocked by his abrupt change in manner that he manages to scrape his knuckles raw and red before he intervenes, grabbing his brother by both arms and yanking him back.

“Stop! Brother, stop!” he demands, his tone turned fierce and loud by surprise.

Loki slumps in his grasp, eyes hollow and lost.

“Why?” he asks. “Why am I never strong enough?”

Thor is feeling fairly lost, too.

“Brother…” he purses his lips. Then, reaching an internal decision, he drags Loki back to his rooms. His knuckles are not too badly damaged. He bandages them, and leaves Loki sitting upon his bed – as that seems to be where he prefers to wait, of late – and with a promise to return swiftly, he stalks off in the direction of his father’s chambers to have it out. Doors open and close briskly in his wake. Passersby wisely duck into alcoves and nearby rooms to avoid him, not the least because there is the faintest crackle of ozone and electricity about him. His footsteps thunder across the floor, and he does not seek permission before walking into his father’s rooms.

His arrival merits a glance.

“Thor,” his father greets.

“You will tell me what is going on. Now,” he barks.

His father’s expression is deceptively placid as he gives him a single, reproving look.

“It is not your place to make demands of me,” he reminds him.

“I will make what demands I must, until I have the truth from you!” he snaps back. Then his hand whips out, gesturing vaguely to the doorway behind them. “There is something going on, and whatever it is, you have forbidden Loki to tell me. But I will know it. I will not endure this – this accursed mystery any longer, not when it is leaving my brother as he has been!”

Odin pauses, at that, and takes a step towards him. His good eye closes briefly. “And how has your brother been, Thor?” he asks.

Thor scowls.

“You know the answer to that,” he replies. “Or have you lost your vast sight in some few spare hours between this moment and the day before it?”

There is accusation in his voice, and it is not hard to hear. A spark of temper flits across his father’s expression.

“Do not take such tones with me,” he warns.

“I will take what tones I must!”

“Enough!”

“No!” Thor is not thinking as he feels the solid weight of his hammer fly to into his palm, and a second later, he has flung Mjolnir to the floor between them with enough force to crack the stone.

For one discordant second, they both stare at it, as if wondering how exactly that happened. But both of their tempers are quick to rally.

“You throw fits and tantrums like a spoiled child,” Odin says, badly reigning in his obvious urge to shout. “But even if you knew, there would be nothing you could do to salvage the situation. It is nothing that will be fixed by your shouting through the air and tossing your mightiest gift through some unfortunate’s skull.” He raises his hand, and Mjolnir flies to his grip rather than Thor’s.

A tense silence stretches between them.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (14)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:48 pm (UTC)

Thor is shocked to realize, when at last he speaks, that his voice is not heavy with outrage. Rather, it is closer to pleading.

“He is my brother,” he says.

Odin’s gaze softens, minutely.

“Your love for him does you credit,” he says, before stepping forward, and heavily returning Mjolnir to his grasp. “Right now, it will be worth much more to him than your wrath.”

“You do not trust me,” Thor accuses.

His father sighs, and turns away.

“I trust you,” he refutes. “But you are young and reckless still. I trust you, but I also know you, my son. This is not an issue which violence may resolve.”

Thor glares at his back. “And you think I cannot determine that myself?” he demands.

Odin glances – pointedly – at the crater currently adorning his floor.

“I question your objectivity in this matter,” he diplomatically replies.

Then he throws Thor out, ignoring his objections and protests and demands, no matter how vehement or deserved they may be. He takes a page from his brother’s recent book and pounds a fist into the nearest wall in frustration, tempted to put Mjolnir through it. To put Mjolnir through every nearby surface until someone tells him what is going on. But he suspects that would be more likely to result in his separation from his the hammer rather than the successful delivery of any truths. So he limits himself to the one punch, and then returns to his rooms to tell Loki that he is going to practice. He needs to beat his frustrations out of himself again.

His brother nods, and for the second time, follows him out to the fields.

Thor doesn’t question him this time. He is sick of asking for answers and receiving only evasion, and so instead he broods, perhaps selfishly, and works himself until his arms are sore and tired and half the field is decimated before him. When he is finished, Loki refuses to accompany him to the hall for lunch. So again, Thor finds himself taking a plate back to him. It seems he will have to do the same for the evening meal, as well, as Loki inexplicably stations himself in Thor’s rooms, and will not leave them unless he is in Thor’s company. Will not go near the dining hall. So, with some annoyance, he sits through two meals without him, distracting himself with an argument between Volstagg and Hogun for the first, but unfortunately finding himself somehow trapped between Amora and Lorelei yet again for the second.

“I heard about your… disagreement, with the All-father,” Lorelei tells him sympathetically. “Such a shame.”

Thor scowls at his plate.

“My father is a wise man,” he loyally counters, even though his thoughts are running more along the lines of: my father is a cruel old bastard.

“True enough,” Lorelei readily agrees. “I owe him much for allowing me home again, after so long of an exile. But, there are many kinds of wisdom. I admire a man who is not afraid to argue his point, even against so absolute an authority as Odin.”

Thor shoots his father a glance. He is surprised to see that his father is doing much the same, watching him – or, no. He follows the angle of his gaze, realizes that Odin is not watching him so much as he is watching Lorelei, instead.

He looks back in time to see the woman in question lean closer towards him. A brief whiff of her perfume reaches his nose. It smells sweet. Almost heady, but he cannot quite place the fragrance. “In truth, I have never been one to understand the All-father’s perspective,” she tells him lowly. “And he in his turn has never approved overmuch of me. But you strike me as a man who does not require his father’s approval for his every endeavour.”

“I do not,” Thor agrees, wondering how he failed to notice how very lovely the colour of Lorelei’s eyes is. Perhaps he simply never had opportunity to note them so well before?

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (15)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:49 pm (UTC)

She moves back, still smiling.

He blinks as he the scent of her perfume fades from the air around him, and finds that he has briefly lost track of his own thoughts. On his other side, Amora rolls her eyes.

“Too obvious,” she murmurs. Before Thor can question the odd statement, one of the night’s servers makes his way to their end of the table, and politely ducks his head next to Lorelei.

“It is Odin’s request that you dine with he and his wife for the remainder of the evening,” he says.

Lorelei’s smile freezes, slightly. But she nods her agreement.

“Such an honour,” she demurely note, before extending Thor her apologies, and standing to leave.

“You will forgive my sister,” Amora requests, something like triumph colouring her expression as she sips from her goblet. “I blame her forwardness on a lack of good company for so many years. She has clearly been overtaken by your strong warrior’s appeal, as any woman in her position would be.” One of her hands snakes out towards his, but he is in familiar territory with this particular brand of flirtation. With a sigh Thor evades her grasp, pats her briefly upon the wrist instead.

“Have you considered leashing her?” he asks, half-muttering, and Amora laughs. A slightly more genuine laugh than he is used to hearing from her, coloured briefly by surprise.

It is the single most pleasant conversation he has had or ever will have with her, short thought it might be. It is also strange, because as soon as he makes the quip, he finds himself being plagued by a feeling of regret. Such a pretty face ought not to be unjustly criticized. Such lovely, striking eyes.

He frowns at his plate, and with a hastily constructed excuse, retreats from the meal with no further interaction. His mood is odd – bad, still, but also muddled – and he forgets to bring his brother food before he is already at his door, barely notes his presence before he slumps into the room and finds himself staring at an odd spot on his floor. He shakes his head as if to clear it, blinks, and when he looks up finds (to his surprise) that Loki is standing only inches away from him.

His brother’s face has gone pale again, but there is something else there as well. An intent stare, and underneath it, something simmering and dark and deep and ugly.

Thor’s mouth goes dry.

Before he can speak, Loki reaches out and presses a hand to his brow. His fingers are cool. They tingle against his skin for a moment, and when they retract, Thor finds himself feeling oddly bereft for several seconds. He could not say why. But the feeling passes, and then he is staring at his brother, who stares back with an expression that is almost terrible. There is ice to it, cold and unyielding. And, for several seconds, there is such overwhelming wrath as to take his breath away. He wonders what he has done to merit such a look.

“She…” Loki growls, and he manages to fill that one small word with enough venom that it fairly drips onto the floor, and sizzles where it lands. Then he reaches over and grasps Thor’s face between his hands again, gently pressing against the tops of his eyelids with his thumbs, examining them even as Thor attempts to bat him away.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (16)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:50 pm (UTC)

“What? What are you doing?” he asks, bewildered.

Loki does not let him go.

“Listen to me,” he says, and Thor does, because his brother is still gripping him by the face and looking vaguely deranged. “Stay away from Lorelei. Do not let her close to you. Do not let her near your food or drink.”

Whatever he might have been expecting him to say, that is not it.

“Why?” Thor asks, finally catching up Loki’s hands and managing to move far enough back that he can breathe again.

Loki scowls.

“Because her talents lie in the same field as her sister’s,” he replies. “You should no more let her close to you than you would let Amora close to you.”

Something niggles at the back of Thor’s thoughts, and he frowns, pulling it forward as it resolves into a question.

“How do you know this?” he asks. “Lorelei was exiled well before you were brought here.”

“It is common enough knowledge, in the circles which observe such things,” Loki deflects, but it is too late. The pieces, frustratingly vague, are beginning to slot into place – so neatly, that on another day Thor might be annoyed with himself for taking so long to put them together.

Lorelei was exiled towards the end of the war for the mistreatment of Jotun prisoners. She must have used her magic, of course – she had no warrior strength beside it.

Loki had been adopted by his father ‘to right a terrible wrong’, his father had once said. Thor had always vaguely assumed he referred to some incident involving Loki’s real parents, or something like that.

But Loki had been a runt, uncared for and largely unconnected even amongst his own kin – so whatever wrong had been done, it must have been done to him, not his family.

Loki froze up whenever he saw Lorelei.

He knew what she could do with her magic. That spell, he realizes, which had fogged his mind, which made her beauty seem not like beauty at all, but like perfection.

All at once, with horrifying clarity, Thor sees Loki as he had once been. Small and blue and timid. He sees him standing amidst the snows of Jotunheim, walking towards the beckoning hand of a sorceress with a sleek voice and a cruel heart. One who does not see anything like a person, like a child, in the tiny creature before her. One who sees only an ample target by which to practice her skills.

As a hunter may kill a rabbit before moving up to deer.

Thor’s expression of bewilderment is slowly transformed as he feels a deep, cold fury pool in his chest. He had been angry many times before in his life. Those who have never made his acquaintance know him for two things – star-forged Mjolnir, and the swift fall of his temper. But, a part of his mind which has suddenly been reduced to a tiny, disconnected voice at the end of a roaring inferno curiously notes that he has never, ever been so angry as this before. Never. This is not merely anger.

It is far more murderous than that.

Loki is pulling at him, saying something, and Thor realizes that he has turned towards the door. Mjolnir is resting his hand, fair thrumming against the air around him.

“No,” Loki says. “Brother, listen to me. Her crimes were absolved when her exile ended. You cannot do anything to her – it would not be seen as retribution, but as an open attack. Father forgave her crimes.”

The door is open. Loki is strong – stronger than he knows, at times – but he is no match for Thor’s determination. Not at this moment.

“Have you?” he hears himself growl, distantly, as if it is not by his own voice.

Loki stills.

“…What?” he asks, barely louder than a whisper.

“Have you forgiven her crimes, brother?” he demands, moving out towards the hall, pulling Loki along with him. “I care not what father forgives. He forgives too easily, forgets to readily. Her crimes were not his to absolve.” He is roaring, now. There is thunder in his ears. Thunder in his chest. The sky outside turns to grey, boiling with black clouds, and he hears Loki curse. Feels long fingers scrabble at his hand, as if to pull Mjolnir from his grasp. But the hammer does not answer him, of course.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (17)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:51 pm (UTC)

“It does not matter!” Loki is saying. “It does not matter. Our father is Odin King, brother, it is his will to govern our laws. I cannot forgive her.” He takes in a breath, setting himself to grasp Thor’s arm instead of trying to pull at him, to pivot himself around and stare into his face. “How can I forgive what was done to me? What was taken from me? But it is not your right to punish on my behalf! If you do this, if you seek retribution from her, then you will face retribution of your own! There will be no choice. Do you understand, Thor? Do you see, this is why I could not tell you, why Odin forbade me? He will exile you, brother. He will exile you, and I will be left alone here with her!” His voice breaks.

Thor halts.

When Loki speaks again, his voice is rough. Shattered.

“…I want to destroy her,” he confesses. “I want nothing more than to hurt her, as she hurt me. To see her suffer. I want to kill her by my own hand, and let her know it was I who did the deed. But I cannot even move in her presence. I only remember…” Impossibly, his grip on Thor tightens. “I am not yet strong enough to face her, brother. Do not leave me alone to stand against her, even harmed or maimed. Please.” His breath shakes as it passes his lips, ghosting over the side of Thor’s neck.

Thor sees, in that moment, exactly what must be done.

“I understand,” he says. “I understand, brother.” Then he leans in as Loki’s grip on him loosens, reluctant, hopeful, and before his brother can react, he presses a soft kiss against his brow.

Loki shudders in surprise and relief.

Thor loves him so.

With a movement so quick as to almost catch them both by surprise, Thor shoves his brother back into the room behind them. He has only one chance to see Loki’s eyes go wide, one instant, and then he is yanking the door swiftly closed behind him. Holding it against the tugging which immediately ensues, and lowering Mjolnir to the ground before it. The hammer rests immovably against the doors. It will not keep his brother for long, he knows, and even less time if his father chances down this hall, but it will have to be enough. Some of the storm outside abates.

But not all.

He heads on long strides down the corridor, pausing only to retrieve one unremarkable blade from the racks upon the wall. He will have to do this thoroughly, he decides.

Behind him, his brother’s shouts, the sound of fists pounding against the doorway, grow quieter and quieter.

That distant part of Thor notes that he does not know exactly what it is that Lorelei did to his brother. That it could have been any number of things. But he does not doubt the severity of it, whatever it had been – he does not doubt its effects upon his brother, which are plain enough to merit what he is about to do.

It is a great crime for one child of Asgard to kill another.

Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (18, Last)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-22 11:53 pm (UTC)

Lorelei is still within the feast hall. So is his father, so Thor does not waste time with questions or declarations, as he might. He gives no further warning than the ill weather outside, than the heavy sound of his own footsteps. The door he enters by is on the far end of the hall, behind the seats of his mother and father, and those beckoned to sit with them. He recognizes the woman’s hair. Hears her laugh. Realizes all at once why he has never liked it – hollow, cruel thing – and then reaches out, grasping her by the shoulder and yanking her back onto the floor, where she tumbles with a surprised cry.

Thor puts all of his strength behind the blade in his hands as he brings it down towards her heart.

The tip stops just as it breaks her skin. A red bead of blood soaks into the fabric of her dress. She stares up at Thor with wide, terrified eyes, and Thor feels his every muscle freeze, locked in place by some invisible force which takes his momentum and holds it. He strains against it – he cannot fail now, with the deed undone.

His father stands before him, one hand extended into the shocked-silent hall.

“Let me finish it,” Thor grits out, even as he hears his mother’s sharp intake of breath.

“Thor…”

”Let me finish it! You let this viper back in, knowing what she has done, but I will not suffer her to live a moment longer!”

His father’s voice, when next he speaks, booms with all the power of command that Thor has ever heard in it.

“Thor. What you aim to do is a crime against the people of Asgard.”

Thor glares at him from the side of his eye, still straining against the magic holding fast against him.

“I will pay the price of that,” he replies, and as the words escape him, he feels the bounds on his person shatter – hears the scream escape Lorelei’s lips as he falls forward. Underneath the anger, he is almost shocked at what he has accomplished. But the will of Odin cannot hold one who accepts all fault of his actions, cannot protect Thor from his own willingness to destroy himself. The blade sinks so far that it splits the hall’s floor, shouts of alarm, of denial and confusion filling up the hall around him, and Thor watches the life bleed from Lorelei’s eyes before he looks towards his father’s. To his mother’s pale face, her hand clasped around her mouth.

“Thor,” his father says, as the rage begins at last to fade from him. It leaves exhaustion in its wake. A leaden feeling which stretches from his chest to his arms, weighted with resignation. “What you have just done is unforgiveable.”

Thor keeps his silence.

“You have willfully and knowingly murdered an Aesir. A daughter of Asgard. A sorceress unarmed.”

He cannot deny that. Would not even attempt to.

“For this crime, there can be only one action.”

There are the sounds of footsteps, rapid and racing down the hall outside.

“I, Odin All-father, hereby strip you of your rank, privileges, and power.”

His father steps forward, tears the holds on his mantle, and Thor feels the exhaustion hit him full force. He keeps his feet. Meets his father’s good eye, and sees the sorrow in it.

“And I cast you out.”

No!

The shout is Loki’s. It is a wretched, pain-filled thing, and Thor looks towards his brother, sees the horror on his face.

He smiles reassuringly as the air opens up behind him, and he feels himself wrenched through the fabric of existence.

Brother!” Loki screams.

It will be alright, Thor thinks.

But it is too late for him to say.

Re: Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (18, Last)

sarkywoman

2011-08-23 12:32 am (UTC)

I strongly suspect this is my favourite thing on the meme.

And Odin is a dick.

Re: Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (18, Last)

(Anonymous)

2011-08-23 02:29 am (UTC)

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I'm screaming with Loki here, gosh, it's an awfully great ending that leaves me wanting more, sniff sniff it's too sad a destiny for the brothers, snifff sniffff Beautiful story anon, simply beautiful!

I have no words... I am amazed. It was beautifully written and just the exact thing I craved!
I COULD MARRY YOU RIGHT NOW, ANON.

Oh, Loki... and Thor was perfect.

Re: OP (Anonymous) Expand

Re: Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (18, Last)

korilian

2011-08-23 08:44 am (UTC)

What a beautiful, powerful story.

Lorelei has quite a lot of nerve, not only going straight back to her old tricks, but using them on Thor, when it's almost certain Odin is keeping an eye on her.

Re: Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (18, Last)

ingu

2011-08-23 11:35 am (UTC)

I don't think it's possible for me to love anything more than I love this now. Saving it forever printing it out and reading it over and over... the raw strength of emotion that you convey through your words. I have never felt more sympathy and understanding for a character. Brilliantly crafted piece of writing. Possibly the best thing in the fandom to date.

<3

Thank you for such a brilliant fill.

I can't believe someone filled my prompt! I am going to read it just now.
And... and you can have my male and my female first borns!!

Re: Fill - Loki / past abuse, traumatic past, protective!Thor (1)

rei17

2011-11-16 10:16 pm (UTC)

Oh, this sounds exactly like a fic I'd love to read during my train ride tomorrow. <3 Would you mind sending it to me as txt-file or something similar so I can read it on my kindle? Of course I'll comment it as soon as I come back!
In case you wouldn't mind, sending it to me, my e-mail is: freefallin@gmx.de
Thanks in advance and I hope it's not too rude to ask something like that. ^^*

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