hjbender:

We are our own worst enemies, anon. We can be so hard on ourselves, so critical and merciless, especially when it comes to something as inconsequential (and yet so important to us) as our outside appearances. I wish there was some way we could physically look into our bodies and see them for the amazing tools that they are. Complex networks of capillaries, tendons and ligaments holding our muscles together and keeping them attached to our bones. Limbs that transport us with barely a thought, appendages that allow us to touch our world and interact with it, to feel and taste and smell and interpret… it’s incredible. And we really have no idea of it—or perhaps we do, but we forget. Again and again. Sometimes we need to be reminded of it because we are so forgetful, and if we’re lucky, we’ve got a special person or people in our lives who will do that.

I think that Loki is canonically self-conscious in the MCU, perhaps to the point he has a serious inferiority complex. I can see him staring into the mirror and beginning The List. We all know it. The List of Things We Hate About Ourselves.

I hate my hair. It’s so thin and oily. My forehead is too wide. My nose is huge and crooked. My lips are thin. That scar is showing up again—I need to find a longer-lasting spell…

He starts from the top and goes all the way down, until he is feeling so low and miserable and worthless that he can’t even stand to look at himself anymore.

This only gets worse when it’s revealed that he’s a Frost Giant.

As if he weren’t ugly before, now he has to deal with being an actual, real monster.

Once he learns how to manipulate the illusion of his Aesir form (a tricky process that takes him many hours of practice), the first thing he does is strip naked and take a good long look in the mirror.

Oh, it’s so much worse than before. Worse because this is what’s real. These rheumy red eyes. The lines and creases on his face, his leathery skin—so greasy in Asgard’s warm, dry climate—with its corpselike blue hue. There isn’t an inch of him that is even faintly attractive. There never was. He’s an ugly misfit. Even the Frost Giants would consider him pathetic, so small and weak, possessing none of the qualities of a worthy jötunn.

Because I am worthless, he thinks. Not only am I ugly, but I’m a failure as well. I can’t do anything right. My plans always fall through. No one truly loves me. They love the illusion I’ve had cast over me all this time. After all, who in their right mind could love this? I am a horrible, ugly person with no friends and nothing to offer except parlor tricks and silly little—

“You’re beautiful.”

Loki jumps at the voice and turns, covering himself with his hands.

Thor has been standing in the doorway for the last five minutes, watching Loki study his reflection with his face twisted in disgust, wiping away his tears, muttering quiet, distressed utterances with every new flaw he found.

“I know you don’t think it,” says Thor, “but you are. You’re amazing, Loki.”

“I am not,” Loki utters, throwing on a robe but remaining in his jötunn form. He wants Thor to see this hideousness for himself. Maybe that will stop the lies he’s spewing. “I’m awful. I look like an ogre or some sort of demon.”

“But you’re neither ogre nor demon. You’re a prince. You’re a sorcerer. You’re my brother, and I love you.”

Loki glowers. “That makes one of us, then.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Thor walks forward and puts his hands on Loki’s shoulders, guiding him back to the mirror.

“You don’t have to look,” he says softly, “and I’m not going to make you look. But I want you to know that you are more than this body, Loki. The you in here”—he touches Loki’s temple—“and in here”—he touches the center of Loki’s chest, just above his beating heart—“is still the same. That is the you I will always love, no matter what your outside looks like.”

Loki scoffs bitterly, his head bowed. “Even if that outside is your enemy?”

“Your skin is not my enemy, Loki. Nor is it yours.”

“Isn’t it? Am I not a Frost Giant? Am I not a member of that race of monsters all Asgard despises, including you?”

Thor goes quiet, his expression reflecting his shame. “I have been forced to do a lot of thinking since Father told me of your true parentage. I have changed my mind about many things.” He looks at Loki’s reflection and gives him a small smile. “So can you. That is the beauty of it. We can change the way we think and see others, even ourselves.”

Loki finally raises his head and looks at himself in the mirror.

Standing beside Thor, his handsome and perfect brother, he thought he would look uglier than ever before. But he doesn’t. He looks… not attractive, but something about their skins beside one another, pink and blue, and their hair, gold and black—even their eyes, sky-blue and fire-red—looks nice somehow. Complementary. Diverse yet harmonious.

Or maybe it’s just the way Thor is looking at him, his heart and his hopes—and his love—showing clearly in his eyes. That is the most beautiful thing in this mirror. Not them. Certainly not Loki.

“I’m afraid it’s going to take a long time to do that,” Loki murmurs. “Much longer than it took to change yours.”

“That’s alright. I will help you. I am here for you, Loki. I will always be here for you.” Thor gives him a squeeze and leans forward to plant a kiss in his hair—his oily, stringy, smelly jötunn hair, as if it doesn’t bother him at all.

…maybe it doesn’t.

Loki reaches up and grasps Thor’s hand. A thin veil of frost spreads across his warm fingers, but he doesn’t recoil, doesn’t pull away. No, he smiles and moves even closer.

Tears sting Loki’s eyes.

Maybe someday he’ll love himself as much as Thor loves him. It seems unlikely. Impossible, even. How does one learn to un-see this much ugliness? Who could look at this face and think that it—or anything beneath it—could be beautiful?

“I bet you can conjure some impressive ice weapons in this form,” says Thor, turning himself and Loki away from the mirror. “Has your sorcery been affected at all?”

“I don’t know,” Loki says. “I haven’t tried any spells yet.”

“You should. Perhaps they are even stronger now that your true form is no longer being suppressed.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” says Thor cheerfully. “Come on, let’s go to the training yard. I’ve never been stabbed with an ice dagger before. It’s probably quite refreshing.”

Loki can’t quite keep his mouth straight; it curls up at the corners despite his best efforts. He rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot, brother.”

“I’m your idiot brother, forever and ever. Never forget that.”

“I’m already trying as hard as I can.”

Thor grins and pats Loki’s back. “I’ll leave you to get dressed. Meet me in the yard in ten minutes. Oh, and Loki?”

“What.”

“Bring your best game.” Thor wags his eyebrows as he leaves the room. “I don’t want to walk away from this without a scratch.”

Loki smiles at last. He doesn’t even wonder what it looks like on his jötunn face. “You’ll be lucky to walk away from this at all, you pompous fool.” He finishes by putting on a scowl and sticking out his blue tongue as far as it will go. Not exactly mature, but somehow it feels appropriate in this moment.

Thor laughs heartily and points at him warningly. “We shall see about that, little brother!” he declared. “We shall see!”