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NorseKink! MiniFill That Got Out Of Hand, Part 1
So yeah, I have a thing for genderbending and genderblending, plus Marvel Norse gods and monsters. And family drama, hoo boy, do I love that stuff. This, once again, started as a mini-fill that got out of hand. I have no idea where it ends or what to call it, but here 'tis for those that would enjoy it.
Fandom: Marvel's Thor, Movieverse AU w/elements chucked in from the sides.
Genre: Call it family drama
Title: You're kidding, right? I'll take suggestions.
Summary: Based off a prompt on the Norsekink meme, in which Laufey leads a rebellion and fights Odin to a standstill. The first thing demanded at the negotiation table? The return of the Jotun-king's dearly wanted firstborn, Loki...
The thunder of battle has been dimmed for hours now. At Asgard’s very gate, the howling of giants has ceased, even the great bellow of the scarred commander that has called out the name of Odin a hundred times since the coming of the dawn. He has shouted his demand, ordering the Allfather to face him king to king, through fire and spears and broken stone. Over the bodies of a hundred warriors Laufey-king had come raging, and still cried out his enemy’s name while striking down each one.
There are hundreds of frost giants, and their mammoth mounts that have crushed and tangled every siege-weapon set against them. The great dead tree that had smashed down the first of the gates lies where it has fallen, still smoldering. Worst of all, are the smallest figures still scurrying about the battlefield, clothed in furs and scarlet- the sorcerers of Jotunheim, usually kept hidden and protected far from the eyes of other realms. No more- it is them more than anything that has turned the tide in this battle, where once the war-band would have come, naked of magic, but with all the winds of winter at their command.
After thirteen years of peace, the broken Jotun had risen- crawling from their icy, desolate world, massing in numbers never seen and taking the shadow-paths between the realms to besiege mighty Asgard, that has held their grudging submission. And now, with the match deadlocked and the ravens gathering, the two kings face each other down the length of Odin’s throne room, each with an honor-guard of hundreds.
The one is armor-clad and cloaked, a golden shield where piercing blue once shone, wreathed in furs and sunlight. The other is tall and scarred and nearly naked, dark as a winter’s night, long limbs roped with muscle and skull ridged with king-scars. They are each alien next to the other, yet both are proud and harsh as eagles.
Laufey has heard that the Midgardians say the Allfather traded his eye for knowledge, and the Jotun supposes this is true, after a fashion. That little love-bite he’d given him had certainly taught the old man a lesson in Jotun forgiveness- one he’d taken to heart and returned in kind.
The hall is as stone, a ringing silence deep and wide and hollow, at the word of Odin-king. In his own shattered audience hall, there is always the wind, low and chill over ice and teeth of basalt rocks- but here it is Laufey’s own voice that filters through the silence, echoing here and there and everywhere.
There are two princes beside Odin and his wife, kept in pride of place. One is gold as his bearer, beardless and barely held at her restraining hand. Laufey ignores him, ignores his father, ignores all courtesy and addresses the pale shadow in his wake-
“Child. You are the reason I am here.”
The Allfather scrambles to intercede, voice rising with a new and growing desperation. “Laufey-king, you are here to negotiate with me-“
Laufey cuts him off with a sharp gesture. In his own hall, before his own men, Odin’s importance is relegated to the privy-pit. There is a speech to be made, accusations to be leveled like spears, but in this one moment, he can only address the missing piece of himself that stands shivering at the foot of Asgard’s throne.
“I carried you in my belly,” he says, watching as the young changeling’s eyes go green as deep-ice, green and wide at the craggy, rumbling voice he has forgotten since infancy. “Small you were- so small I grew afraid for you, and lay you nearest the Cask of Winter, that all your ancestors and all their strength might make you more my own. The heart of Jotunheim, in the most holy sanctuary, and safe- I had thought.”
The Jotun-king does not need to elaborate. All know of how the Asgardians fought their way to the steps of the last bastion, and how Odin himself, bleeding and one-eyed, had breached the final walls and stolen into the heart of Jotunheim as Laufey lay defeated, his power broken. After, the All-father had returned to Asgard and retreated with his wife to soothe the hurts of a long and bloody conflict, emerging months later with a second son in arms.
On the dais, the younger prince is staring, frozen between his golden brother and pale mother. The giant looks up at Loki, big and scarred and scarlet-eyed. Frigga has her hands on his shoulders, but he is falling forever into the pools of blood and blackest fear presented to him…
The Jotun host stands at attention, but their king is alone before Asgard’s ruling family. He does not move, merely stands and looks back at him (him! The lesser prince!) with a weary tension to his hunched shoulders, as the crowd explodes. There is a sea roaring in his ears; the gathered aesir, shouting incomprehensible things, Thor howling lies!, the boom of his father’s voice-
Frigga’s grip tightens, so hard it hurts, and when he looks back her knuckles and face are white.
Loki tries to swallow and cannot. His heart is beating in his throat, harder and faster with every moment. His palms sweat, and Thor’s hand is not there when he gropes after it, he cannot breathe. The frost-giant still stares, Father is calling for silence once again-
-and Loki disappears.
Fandom: Marvel's Thor, Movieverse AU w/elements chucked in from the sides.
Genre: Call it family drama
Title: You're kidding, right? I'll take suggestions.
Summary: Based off a prompt on the Norsekink meme, in which Laufey leads a rebellion and fights Odin to a standstill. The first thing demanded at the negotiation table? The return of the Jotun-king's dearly wanted firstborn, Loki...
The thunder of battle has been dimmed for hours now. At Asgard’s very gate, the howling of giants has ceased, even the great bellow of the scarred commander that has called out the name of Odin a hundred times since the coming of the dawn. He has shouted his demand, ordering the Allfather to face him king to king, through fire and spears and broken stone. Over the bodies of a hundred warriors Laufey-king had come raging, and still cried out his enemy’s name while striking down each one.
There are hundreds of frost giants, and their mammoth mounts that have crushed and tangled every siege-weapon set against them. The great dead tree that had smashed down the first of the gates lies where it has fallen, still smoldering. Worst of all, are the smallest figures still scurrying about the battlefield, clothed in furs and scarlet- the sorcerers of Jotunheim, usually kept hidden and protected far from the eyes of other realms. No more- it is them more than anything that has turned the tide in this battle, where once the war-band would have come, naked of magic, but with all the winds of winter at their command.
After thirteen years of peace, the broken Jotun had risen- crawling from their icy, desolate world, massing in numbers never seen and taking the shadow-paths between the realms to besiege mighty Asgard, that has held their grudging submission. And now, with the match deadlocked and the ravens gathering, the two kings face each other down the length of Odin’s throne room, each with an honor-guard of hundreds.
The one is armor-clad and cloaked, a golden shield where piercing blue once shone, wreathed in furs and sunlight. The other is tall and scarred and nearly naked, dark as a winter’s night, long limbs roped with muscle and skull ridged with king-scars. They are each alien next to the other, yet both are proud and harsh as eagles.
Laufey has heard that the Midgardians say the Allfather traded his eye for knowledge, and the Jotun supposes this is true, after a fashion. That little love-bite he’d given him had certainly taught the old man a lesson in Jotun forgiveness- one he’d taken to heart and returned in kind.
The hall is as stone, a ringing silence deep and wide and hollow, at the word of Odin-king. In his own shattered audience hall, there is always the wind, low and chill over ice and teeth of basalt rocks- but here it is Laufey’s own voice that filters through the silence, echoing here and there and everywhere.
There are two princes beside Odin and his wife, kept in pride of place. One is gold as his bearer, beardless and barely held at her restraining hand. Laufey ignores him, ignores his father, ignores all courtesy and addresses the pale shadow in his wake-
“Child. You are the reason I am here.”
The Allfather scrambles to intercede, voice rising with a new and growing desperation. “Laufey-king, you are here to negotiate with me-“
Laufey cuts him off with a sharp gesture. In his own hall, before his own men, Odin’s importance is relegated to the privy-pit. There is a speech to be made, accusations to be leveled like spears, but in this one moment, he can only address the missing piece of himself that stands shivering at the foot of Asgard’s throne.
“I carried you in my belly,” he says, watching as the young changeling’s eyes go green as deep-ice, green and wide at the craggy, rumbling voice he has forgotten since infancy. “Small you were- so small I grew afraid for you, and lay you nearest the Cask of Winter, that all your ancestors and all their strength might make you more my own. The heart of Jotunheim, in the most holy sanctuary, and safe- I had thought.”
The Jotun-king does not need to elaborate. All know of how the Asgardians fought their way to the steps of the last bastion, and how Odin himself, bleeding and one-eyed, had breached the final walls and stolen into the heart of Jotunheim as Laufey lay defeated, his power broken. After, the All-father had returned to Asgard and retreated with his wife to soothe the hurts of a long and bloody conflict, emerging months later with a second son in arms.
On the dais, the younger prince is staring, frozen between his golden brother and pale mother. The giant looks up at Loki, big and scarred and scarlet-eyed. Frigga has her hands on his shoulders, but he is falling forever into the pools of blood and blackest fear presented to him…
The Jotun host stands at attention, but their king is alone before Asgard’s ruling family. He does not move, merely stands and looks back at him (him! The lesser prince!) with a weary tension to his hunched shoulders, as the crowd explodes. There is a sea roaring in his ears; the gathered aesir, shouting incomprehensible things, Thor howling lies!, the boom of his father’s voice-
Frigga’s grip tightens, so hard it hurts, and when he looks back her knuckles and face are white.
Loki tries to swallow and cannot. His heart is beating in his throat, harder and faster with every moment. His palms sweat, and Thor’s hand is not there when he gropes after it, he cannot breathe. The frost-giant still stares, Father is calling for silence once again-
-and Loki disappears.