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Entry tags:
- au weirdness,
- fic,
- laufey,
- loki,
- thor
NorseKink! MiniFill That Got Out Of Hand, Part 2!
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...
Loki is a strange little thing; this is known by all. He practices magic better done by a sorceress or a dark elf- beings that do not stand and fight as men, but change things to their own advantage. Even now, when he should be putting away his childish toys and taking up the sword and the spear, as his brother and father, he weaves with light and shadow like his mother.
Mother.
Mother.
Loki stares down from the battlements, at the ripped and torn land and bodies, and tries to reconcile word with word. The word of she who has tucked him into bedat night, guarded his secrets and combed his hair- and the word of a scarred, hardened giant, who has looked at him with such a terrible grief in blood-red eyes that he can still taste it on the edge of his own terror, bitter and metallic.
It is not possible. Giants are not even of like kind with the Aesir, how could he be-? A foundling, taken in the aftermath of battle, maybe, but why would his father Odin even do that-?
He keeps looking down, at the scurrying ants mopping up the field in gold and black and blue and red. All this destruction. All this death, all this chaos, on account of him- and he doesn’t even understand why. Doesn’t want to.
Loki is a strange little thing, and practices the magics of a sorceress. But he is untrained- he is wildly talented, but taught only by his own amusement. And that is how the tall, blue man with the frost-white hair sneaks up on him, attracted by the scent of wild magic and the sense of a nothing where an empty space on the battlements ought to be.
This is their king’s prize, their pride, their lost little child returned from the dead. Nál has tasted of his blood-brother’s pain, the warrior-king laid low in what should have been worthy defeat, made foul and unclean by the theft of heart’sflesh. And so the tattooed hand that descends on the slender shoulder is very gentle around the capture-spell.
“Little prince-child- I think it is best you come inside now.”
……
The hall holds its breath to see the disputed prince in the arms of the Jotun-king. This is it- the moment talking fails, and the blood begins to flow all over again, because the enemy has what he wants- why, then, should he remain to negotiate for what he’s already gotten?
But the ground is littered with dead men, dead jotuns- lightning blasted stumps and ice-shattered boulders decorate the ground for miles, and realms. The remaining soldiers stand here, all here, in this great- but not infinite- hall; this keep-away game has cost much, and both realms will be decades in recovering. Laufey knows this, as does Odin.
And his great, horned hand relaxes, releases the trembling slip of his frightened son’s.
“No one can hold a sorcerer who does not wish to be held.”
Loki tries to slip back to where he wants to be, but he remains stumbling in the middle, pale and panicked, pinned down by the stares of all who see him, watch him.
“Make him understand, Child-Thief. Make him know the cost of his- misplacement, should he return to you before the appointed time. I have nearly destroyed us both for the hope of my child- take that hope and there will be nothing I will not tear asunder, brick by brick, bone by bone, until there is nothing of either Realm left but star-dust.”
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...
Loki is a strange little thing; this is known by all. He practices magic better done by a sorceress or a dark elf- beings that do not stand and fight as men, but change things to their own advantage. Even now, when he should be putting away his childish toys and taking up the sword and the spear, as his brother and father, he weaves with light and shadow like his mother.
Mother.
Mother.
Loki stares down from the battlements, at the ripped and torn land and bodies, and tries to reconcile word with word. The word of she who has tucked him into bedat night, guarded his secrets and combed his hair- and the word of a scarred, hardened giant, who has looked at him with such a terrible grief in blood-red eyes that he can still taste it on the edge of his own terror, bitter and metallic.
It is not possible. Giants are not even of like kind with the Aesir, how could he be-? A foundling, taken in the aftermath of battle, maybe, but why would his father Odin even do that-?
He keeps looking down, at the scurrying ants mopping up the field in gold and black and blue and red. All this destruction. All this death, all this chaos, on account of him- and he doesn’t even understand why. Doesn’t want to.
Loki is a strange little thing, and practices the magics of a sorceress. But he is untrained- he is wildly talented, but taught only by his own amusement. And that is how the tall, blue man with the frost-white hair sneaks up on him, attracted by the scent of wild magic and the sense of a nothing where an empty space on the battlements ought to be.
This is their king’s prize, their pride, their lost little child returned from the dead. Nál has tasted of his blood-brother’s pain, the warrior-king laid low in what should have been worthy defeat, made foul and unclean by the theft of heart’sflesh. And so the tattooed hand that descends on the slender shoulder is very gentle around the capture-spell.
“Little prince-child- I think it is best you come inside now.”
……
The hall holds its breath to see the disputed prince in the arms of the Jotun-king. This is it- the moment talking fails, and the blood begins to flow all over again, because the enemy has what he wants- why, then, should he remain to negotiate for what he’s already gotten?
But the ground is littered with dead men, dead jotuns- lightning blasted stumps and ice-shattered boulders decorate the ground for miles, and realms. The remaining soldiers stand here, all here, in this great- but not infinite- hall; this keep-away game has cost much, and both realms will be decades in recovering. Laufey knows this, as does Odin.
And his great, horned hand relaxes, releases the trembling slip of his frightened son’s.
“No one can hold a sorcerer who does not wish to be held.”
Loki tries to slip back to where he wants to be, but he remains stumbling in the middle, pale and panicked, pinned down by the stares of all who see him, watch him.
“Make him understand, Child-Thief. Make him know the cost of his- misplacement, should he return to you before the appointed time. I have nearly destroyed us both for the hope of my child- take that hope and there will be nothing I will not tear asunder, brick by brick, bone by bone, until there is nothing of either Realm left but star-dust.”
Title
Well, I saved it as "You Are The Reason I'm Here" when I first read it. It's the last sentence you used in the first fill and I thought it had a punch to it. Literally the phrase that made me think "Oh! This is good" It also makes more of an impact reading Erosion, like "kid, you're my lifeline"
Anyway, I hope I helped some even if just to show how much I liked your fic.
Re: Title