A long time ago, there was a newborn prince cursed with a body made from ice. An old king passing by took pity on the prince and cast a spell to give him a body of flesh and blood. So long as the prince’s heart burned with fire, his body would be warm and he would never again return to ice.
One day, a great betrayal struck the prince. He learned a dark secret which made him doubt the love which kept him warm. His heart ran cold, and the prince’s body became ice once more.
Snow fell over the entire world, bringing a deep and unending winter. Rivers froze over, and oceans chilled. The entire surface of the planet turned white with ice and snow, and the prince’s body became the great glacier which encased the old kingdom he once lived in.
Many years later, a golden-haired boy was born. Though the world was still in winter, the snow around the boy melted, and plants grew along his feet. He was the herald of spring, there to banish the winter.
The world gathered together and pleaded for him to save them from the prince’s curse. The boy thus set off on a journey to the old kingdom, a trail of spring left behind him. Yet the closer he came to the frozen heart of the prince, the colder the boy felt. Even he could not withstand the freezing chill of the prince’s barren heart. The boy pressed on courageously. Eventually he stood before the heart of the prince, the blue core of ice at the center of the frozen kingdom.
The boy was told to destroy the prince’s heart to break the curse. He held in his hand a mighty hammer which would smash the ice to pieces, leaving the prince’s heart in shards. Yet the boy found that he could not bring himself to injure the prince’s heart. He found its deep blue color beautiful, and he stared into its depths. The boy looked into the prince’s heart, and what he saw was a sadness so profound that it made the boy weep.
The prince had only wanted to be loved. He loved others fiercely, but he had become so deeply afraid. He could not believe in the love of others. His heart closed, and because of that, he became ice.
The boy wished to save the prince, but he did not know what to do. He cried for the prince’s pain, his warm tears falling.
The boy became the companion to the prince’s heart. He journeyed to the prince often, speaking and sharing stories to the ice. He listened to the voiceless sorrow and shed tears for the pain that the prince had not been able to speak.
The boy’s tears were always warm. After many years, these warm tears formed cracks in the ice, and slowly but surely the glacier began to melt. The fire in the prince’s heart would once again rekindle, ignited by the love the boy gave so freely, and as the prince awoke with a body warmed by compassion, the long winter would finally come to an end.
(Twenty-fifth of my entries to my self-inflicted challenge, 100 Lifetimes.)
Loki sighed. He extracted his fingers from the leaves of the aconite flowers and said, “How many times must I tell you? I’m not a witch.”
“Then why do you dress like one?” The young boy trundled out from the edge of the trees, disregarding all the signs – the skulls, the bog, the line of thorns, and the poisonous plants that Loki had circled around his home to warn people away.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Loki said. “Haven’t the villagers told you it’s dangerous?”
“My mum says you’re alright,” Thor said. He came close to Loki, grinning, and held aloft the basket in his arms. “She made scones!”
Loki looked at him as if he were particularly daft.
Thor stood in a dark and shadowy part of the forest, where the trees grew spindly and grey. The grass grew in black patches, often with nettles that caught and scratched at one’s legs. Wolves prowled its boundaries, and the only birds which nested here were ravens and crows which cawed ominously in the daytime.
Loki’s cottage was the one spot of green, hidden far and deeper into the forest than any sane and self-preserving person should venture. Loki’s home was the one place where the trees grew lush and green; where the grasses swelled with flowers and ferns. Berries grew from the bushes, and Loki’s garden of herbs and flowers prospered, painting subtle colors around his small and cozy wooden abode. This was the one place in the deep forest where sunlight broke through the trees, and the light illuminated Loki as well as Thor, when he approached.
Thor, in every lifetime, was never particularly self-preserving. It was for this reason that the boy came to stand beside Loki without any care, not minding the glare Loki set upon him.
Thor flipped open the cloth covering the basket. The smell of fresh and warm baked goods wafted into the clearing. Inside the basket were an array of beautifully-baked scones, golden brown and speckled with nuts and dried fruits. They were enticing enough to make any mouth water, including Loki’s. Thor grinned up at Loki. “I told you I’d bring you some, right?”
“You did,” Loki said, “despite my clearly telling you that you should not venture here again until you were older.”
“I am older,” Thor rebutted. “By a week!”
Loki rolled his eyes heavenward. “You never do what’s best for you, you silly boy.”
“It’s not like you’ll hurt me.”
“I could eat you.” Loki bared his teeth in a wicked smile.
“Why would you do that when you could be eating these scones, instead?”
Loki stared down at Thor. Thor stared back, so utterly trusting, and so utterly determined. The only thing that could stop him would probably be Loki throwing him into the bog. “Fine,” Loki conceded, sighing. He opened the door to his cottage with a flick of magic. “Then come inside. We shall take them with tea.”
(Second of my entries to my self-inflicted challenge, 100 Lifetimes.)
thor and loki uhhhh trapped in a very confined space and all they can think about is their bodies flush against one another and each other’s panicked little breaths. trying to shift around to free themselves, or at least make things less awkward (because this is definitely, totally a situation they want to get out of as soon as possible) but freezing, horrified when they realise they’re both hard. eventually they can’t help themselves but they can barely move at all so they just grind into one another until they come
“In!”
“There’s not enough ro-”
“In!” It was the last escape pod, and Loki dragged his inconveniently large brother in with him, crammed together chest to chest. The pod sealed, and ejected, only moments before the ship exploded.
They were both silent for long moments, hearts pounding, adrenaline still racing through them, as they slowly calmed, slowly realized they were out of danger. Their ship would be along to pick them up soon. It was now only a waiting game.
Thor shifted, and every inch of it rubbed them together. “Sorry.” he murmured.
Loki tried to pull away, to create a little space, or at least find a way that didn’t fit them quite so… intimately together.
He turned his head, to at least not be staring directly at Thor, but that only left him empty space to look at, and he jerked his head quickly away. Thor’s shoulder was safe to look at! A perfectly good shoulder! Quite an excellent shoulder, actually!
Thor put a hand on his hip, trying to rearrange them, and Loki could barely jerk away. “Hey!”
The computer dinged, and announced that with twice as much life support to maintain, it was going into emergency power saving mode. The lights cut off.
Loki gasped in horror, at the now inescapable sight of space, surrounding him, empty and vast and cold and-
“Loki?” Thor’s whisper was uncertain, his hand on his shoulder. Loki realized he had grabbed onto Thor, and buried his face against his chest.
Humiliating. But when he tried to pull away, panic overtook him again.
It was so big. There were no words for it. There was nothing, nothing, noth-
“Loki?”
He tried to answer. It came out as a whimper.
“It’s fine! We’re fine! Valkyrie will be picking us up in a few hours.”
Hours. Years. Time. Meaningless. Nonexistent, in such a void. He tried to scream and there was no sound there was nothing there was-
“LOKI!” Thor slammed against him in their tiny pod, jerking him against the solid, real metal at his back. Loki stared at Thor, lit dimly by the awful stars, and it finally occurred to him that his screams had made a sound this time, that he was not drifting completely alone. He tightened his grip on Thor, still horrified.
“Real?”
“Yes.” Thor was solid and warm and strong. “Yes, I’m real.”
Loki kept his eyes fixed on him, desperately, like looking away would end this hallucination. “Thor!”
“Yes. Shh, brother, you are safe.”
Thor held him – not that he had much of a choice, as pressed together as they were – and stroked him and made soothing noises, and Loki slowly relaxed, slowly let panic seep out of him. He let his brother’s hands, massaging slow circles on the back of his neck, and the small of his back, hypnotize him. He let himself be lost in the pure creature comfort of body and touch, drank it in, and felt Thor relax as well.
He wasn’t sure when they became aroused. He simply gradually became aware that they were both, unmistakably, hard. He could feel a tension in Thor, as Thor tried not to press it so directly against him, and he flushed, and tried to squirm his hips away.
There really wasn’t an away to go to. They could trap their dicks tightly between them, or loosely.
Nor could he distract himself. Thor was his only anchor to sanity. Any time he caught a glimpse out the corner of his eye of… he felt himself start to unravel. He kept himself focused tightly on Thor, on the reality of Thor touching him.
Again, they both tried to squirm their hips into slightly less horrifically awkward arrangements. Squirming did not at all help.
Oh, but it did! It was a welcome, needed distraction!
In the tiny space they had, Loki embraced this guilty, delicious feeling. He slid his hand slowly from Thor’s shoulder, to his hip, and gave an encouraging press, as he pushed his own hips forward.
Thor froze.
“Loki!”
Loki ground his hips forward, pushed his whole body forward, needy and longing. “Distract me!” he whispered. A plea. A filthy offer. A wicked seduction. It was so dark. So still and quiet, except for the press of their bodies together. Loki’s lips found Thor’s ear, and brushed teasingly over his sensitive skin. “Distract me, brother!”
“Loki….” His voice was a warning growl, but his hips pressed against Loki, matching him.
“You can blame me.” Loki breathed, working his hand into Thor’s hair. “Am I not the god of tricks? Blame me, denounce your ruffled hair and stained clothes as products of my sorcery. Only do not leave me alone with my thoughts. Not here, brother. Do not make me bear the depths of space alone. Not again.”
Thor growled, blaming him already. But his hips pressed closer, his hands firmer.
“Yes, yes!” Loki breathed, urgent in the dark. “Yes, brother!” Air, touch, warmth, solid muscle against him!
“I’m here.” Thor was holding him, gripping him, like he was precious. “I’m here, brother. I have you.” And then, as both their thrusts became frantic, became desperate, he said it again, sounding less like reassurance, and more like a claim. “I have you!”
“Don’t let go!” Orgasm was near; he couldn’t put it off for long. “Don’t leave me! Th- Ah! Thor!” He came, and he dug his nails into Thor, bit into his shoulder, desperate to keep him, as Thor shuddered through his own orgasm, pressing warm and solid against him.
“Don’t go!” he begged. He knew the hallucination would fade. “Don’t go!”
“I’m not. I’m here.”
He waited, quivering, for the reality of cold to rush in.
Loki knew he was adopted since childhood, and that the throne wasn’t his.
On his 700th name day, Frigga entered his study and sat next to him. Holding his hands in hers, the Queen stated,
“You shall live in the shadows, in the shade of Thor’s greatness. However, he can only survive if you will it so.”
With Frigga’s guidance, Loki inherited Asgard’s spy network when he was 1000.
On the surface, the King’s brother is looked down upon as unimportant by many courtiers. He flirts and jokes in court, tells tales of his travels and converses with diplomats. He cannot lead the country like his brother, is not given military power and has little influence. Some call him a parasite in secret, mocking him for his reliance on royal favours.
In reality, Loki is second in power in the kingdom. He plants spies within and without the court, keeping track of any undercurrents of rebellion. Any assassination plots are crushed before the news can reach the court, to prevent giving the impression of an unstable rule. Loki also subtly spreads rumours in the nine realms that ultimately place Asgard at a favourable position in treaties and their negotiations.
His hands are stained with the blood of Thor’s enemies, a place to pay so as to uphold the King’s image as the benevolent ruler.
No one knows but Thor. No one shall appreciate his fidelity but Thor.
Every evening, the King’s brother visits his chamber for a game of chess. Unknown to most, the game involves the King pounding viciously into the Spymaster. Loki holds his brother captive in his arms, whispering into his ears the latest rumours and intelligence he has gathered. In return, Thor gives him brief instructions and desired outcomes, placing his absolute faith in Loki’s ability to carry them out. It is only in his chamber where Thor reveals his true ruthlessness as the monarch striving to maintain his power, and Loki bears witness to the absolute passion of his love.
Loki is Thor’s equal in bed, and the King allows no other to enter his heart.
To most, the King continues to shower his undeserving brother with royal favours and indulge his misgivings.
“The King is a fool”, his courtiers say.
Thor, however, is no fool and knows his brother deserve all the love he can give, and he shall make sure Loki is reminded of this every day.
There’s been a common theme throughout most of these smut fills, and that is “Fucking in Places We Shouldn’t Be Fucking.” I am absolutely delighted to conclude this round of prompts with more and in an official capacity.
18th Century, Historical AU, nsfw, 1300 words (woops)
Also, crossdressing.
When his brother had started down this path, Thor hadn’t understood. But the first time he’d seen Loki standing there in a shift, clinging and sheer enough to leave nothing to the imagination, and silk stockings held in place with garters at his knees, he had gotten used to the idea pretty quickly. “Help me with my stays,” Loki had said, holding out a corset and reaching for his petticoat, but they hadn’t gotten to that until some time later, since Thor had taken it from him, tossed it onto a nearby chair, and then carried him to bed.
But never until Thor had told him breathlessly one day, “I wish everyone could see you like this, and know you’re mine,” taking him from behind over the foot of his bed, Loki’s skirts rucked up in a cloud of silk and lace around them, had they ever entertained the idea of Loki leaving the house dressed this way. He hadn’t so much as set foot out the back door in one of his gowns, even though their garden was lined in high walls and hedges to maintain their privacy.
Loki had cried out and made a mess of his petticoats at that, but it had still taken nearly a year to convince him to try it.
Not one of the real ones, the other. The fake one his father brought with him from
Asgard, the kid with fair hair and fairer skin.
The one that’s now Loki’s same color, because Loki is
a master of magic, and the boy was dying in the harsh winter of Jotunheim.
Loki hates him, because Thor is no giant, just like
him, but no one looks upon him with poorly veiled pity, Thor is not a lithe,
feeble runt. Pure unrestricted thunder flows under his skin, his arms hold a strength
known to no one on Jotunheim.
And Loki hates him, because they should have been
equals, but Thor is so much more in the eyes of their peers, something Loki
will never be, even as the heir of the throne.
Thor is respected not just feared. He’s loved, not just
tolerated.
“Come, brother, night’s upon us already. I’m cold.”
[prompt me] – I have plenty in my inbox now, thank you!
Why, you certainly may!
Jotunn Loki AU because I can’t stop won’t stop, nsfw
Thor had never looked forward to entertaining the delegation from Jotunheim, and though Laufey’s youngest, Loki, had turned up this time instead of Helblindi, the crown prince, he hadn’t seen any reason why this visit would be any different. But then it had become apparent that Loki was as disagreeable as he was beautiful, and Thor had changed his opinion. It was definitely worse.
There have been plenty of veiled and not-so-veiled insults throughout the day, but Thor has remained diplomatic and kept a firm reign on his tongue. His patience is nearing its end by the afternoon, however, when they join the palace guard outside at the training yards to observe a sparring match.
Loki is asked for a small demonstration of Jotunn fighting techniques, and after flinging a handful of icy blades (conjured from thin air) at a nearby target and missing Thor’s face by only the smallest of margins, he says, “Perhaps the god of thunder will grace me with a display of his own skills.”
Thor is only too happy to oblige him.
The blast of thunder and lightning that Thor calls down is more for show than anything, flashy, but not powerful enough to do much damage, and if he’d let it strike close enough to Loki to give him a little jolt, well… accidents happen.
It shouldn’t have hurt him (too badly), and so when he lets out a yelp, red eyes wide and mouth gaping open, Thor panics. Perhaps he’d misjudged… but before he can begin to apologize, Loki excuses himself and rushes back into the palace.
So it hadn’t started out innocently, exactly, but it wasn’t as though Thor had expected this particular outcome.
“Norns, do that again…”
Not that he’s complaining.
He’d tracked Loki down a little while after the initial incident, intent on making sure he was alright (and wouldn’t be sending his older brother back with an invading army), and when Loki had seized him by the arm and dragged him into his guest suite, he’d been ready for a fight.
Loki shoving him up against the wall and kissing him senseless had, therefore, been quite a shock. But Thor had caught on soon enough.
They’ve relocated to the bed now, their clothes strewn across the floor, and for the life of him, Thor can’t think of one good reason for never having tried this before.
“Oh! Oh, fuck—there—”
Loki is tight and hot around three of his fingers, but his other hand is wrapped around Mjolnir’s handle. And while he isn’t the one on the receiving end of the little pulsing shocks he’s administering, it’s clear from the noises Loki is making, the high color in his cheeks, and the slick pooling on his stomach from his dripping cock that this is something Thor should have thought of a long, long time ago.
… And he starts to wonder how else he might apply this.
The groan that Loki chokes out at the first touch of Thor’s tongue to his cock is good, but then he lets the current flow through it, the same as his fingers, and Loki flat out sobs.
“More,” is all he can manage to say, and since Thor is supposed to be entertaining him, he doesn’t see how he can possibly refuse.
Only moments after he closes his lips around the head of Loki’s cock and sucks in earnest, tonguing the bundle of nerves just below the tip and giving him a slightly stronger shock, Loki digs his fingers into Thor’s hair and comes with a shout.
One last little arc of electricity trails off between them as Thor draws back, licking his lips, and he finally lets go of Mjolnir.
“Was that enough for you?” he asks, slightly arrogant, but surely he’s earned that, since Loki is limp against the sheets, chest heaving, lips bitten dark blue.
“Almost,” Loki pants, and Thor frowns—but only for a moment, because Loki adds, “Let me catch my breath. I want to find out if you can do it with your cock, as well.”
Prompt: Friends with benefits. Prompt from this generator.
The first time Loki wakes up in Thor’s bed, he’s not entirely surprised.
He has vague memories of a kiss, of Thor’s arms around him, of the catch of the carpet against his back as Thor drove in to him, the high, wild sound of his own cries. He’s sticky and sore in all the right places and Thor’s back is to him, a wall of flesh covered in cotton and crowned by the pillow jammed in place over Thor’s head.
The light outside is gray. It’s early. Too. And it makes more sense to him to peel out of the sheets and pick his way to the shadows and down the hall to the living room, where his clothes are spread all over the floor. His jeans are halfway under the sofa and his shirt’s buried beneath Thor’s, crumpled in a heap by the front door. He tugs the v-neck over his head gingerly, leaning against the wall for support. That’s right; he’d been leaving. He’d had his hand on the knob and turned to say something, one last semi-drunken bon mot, and Thor had been there, right there, pink-cheeked and smiling, looking like he had a thousand times before at the end of a night when they’d drunk too much and laughed too hard at some dumb movie and spent far too long talking after, both of them pretending they didn’t have to be up early, that they were still young enough to responsible only to themselves; no bills, no job, no professional responsibilities. Days that were long, long gone. There was gray in Thor’s beard now, unwelcome silver, sometimes, in Loki’s hair, and they can’t drink as much as they used to when the worst of their worries was an 8 AM class.
Loki had brought vodka the night before, a couple of fancy flavored bottles a client in Austin had sent him by way of saying job well done . One was peach–Loki could still taste that one–and the other had been sweet tea, and everything had been fine until Thor had had the inspired idea to mix both together inside the same massive cup.
He can’t remember what they’d watched–an odious rom-com or two, probably; it’d been Thor’s night to choose–but somehow, after the credits rolled and he was two steps from leaving, he’d found himself back on the couch, spread across Thor’s muscled thighs, shoving his tongue in Thor’s mouth and lapping up each gorgeous, wanton moan.
Even through the haze of his hangover, of the dim, not quite dawn, Loki remembers that feeling, the overwhelming sense of need and lust and relief. Finally, he’d thought as Thor grabbed at his ass, bit wet, angled kisses into his throat. Fucking finally. At last.
He steps into his loafers and cracks open the door, slips onto the front step as quietly as he can.
His keys are in his pocket and he fumbles for his spare and locks Thor’s home behind him.
Outside, the sidewalk is quiet. There’s a woman running with her dog across the street and a car or two moving sluggishly down the street, their high beams cross cut through the fog. Loki turns up the block and starts walking up the hill towards his building, towards his own bed, back towards sleep.
His wallet’s not there, nor are his sunglasses, and he’ll have to call Thor when it’s more decent, when it’s more day outside than night. He’s not worried; they’re there, somewhere, temporary casualties of their eagerness. He doesn’t remember his jeans coming off, when, but he can’t forget the feeling of Thor’s fingers on the zipper, the promise of it, the sweet of Thor’s breath against his cheek, the soft, happy curve of Thor’s smile.
“You want this?” Thor had whispered. “You want me?”
Loki had wound his hands in that long, messy hair and hummed, words beyond him, unimportant, stupid. He’d smothered Thor’s mouth again and arched into his hand and tried to answer with his body, tried to let Thor read everything he needed in Loki’s fingers, the tangle of their legs, the sound he gave up when Thor battled Loki’s zipper down at last and reached in and drawn out his cock.
It stays in his head the whole walk home, that sound: a dozen years of longing, of denial, of stubbornness cast aside in an instant. It had felt so good. That’s what makes him blush now, as he punches in his code and heads for the stairs. His legs feel like lead and his head like a boulder but his hips are twitching at the memory of that feeling, the crush of pleasure he’d known from being bared to Thor at last, from there being nothing left between them.
“Oh, Loki,” Thor had said, his fist hot and too tight and perfect. “Look at you.”
He collapses on his bed in a heap, still wearing his shoes, one hand spread over the space where now it feels like–now he knows–Thor should be.
*****
The second time they sleep together, it’s more of a problem, because Thor’s girlfriend is two rooms away along with a dozen other of their friend, all them yelling at some stupid football game while Thor ruthlessly, beautifully sucks Loki off.
They’re in the half-bath off the back bedroom, two walls away from the party, and Thor’s face is red, Loki’s cock is, red and fat and incredibly hard. They’re supposed to be looking for weed, digging around in Thor’s guest room for a stash Thor swore to everybody was there, that he and Loki would try to find. It’s reckless, what they’re doing, so fucking stupid, that it’s making Loki crazy, how badly he wants to throw his head back and wail, wants to scream loud enough to cut through the noise. He feels vicious like this, cruel, and it isn’t fair to anyone what’s happening. He didn’t mean for it to.
But maybe Thor had. Maybe Thor had known exactly what he was doing, hovering at Loki’s side all night, sitting too close to him, letting their shoulders brush.
It’s been two weeks since the first time and Loki’s been away, busy soothing this client and that, and they haven’t seen each other. Haven’t talked about it. Haven’t been alone.
And they aren’t alone now, Loki reminds himself; they could easily be discovered, and what a shitstorm would that be. What a goddamn calamity. For Thor, anyway. He’s been with this woman, Jane, for almost a year; they’ve talked about moving in together, on and off. Loki thinks she wants a ring, Thor hasn’t been sure, and now they’re jeopardizing all of that for a sloppy blow job in Thor’s tasteful guest bathroom and Loki’s sure he’s never been so hard in his life.
He’s clutching the sink, his hands braced behind him, and Thor’s kneeling straight on the tile. Loki’s tight jeans are peeled open and Thor’s squeezing his hip the same way he did when they were fucking, when he was nailing Loki to the living room carpet and beaming into his face, those blue eyes alight with affection, and he’s looking up at Loki just like that now, like he wants to see everything he’s making Loki feel, wants to watch it play frame by frame across Loki’s face.
The tension in his body is paralyzing, exquisite, painful, and he realizes he’s holding himself back, that’s he’s doing his best not to come. He doesn’t want this to be over. He wants to feel like this forever, like Thor has him tied to the end of a string.
But then there’s a roar from the living room, a stomping of feet, a brush of fingers across the clutch of his hole, and Loki’s coming, hard, a vicious, sweet jerk that has him slamming into Thor’s mouth, his hands scrabbling at Thor’s shoulders, and it doesn’t help that Thor’s groaning, a deep, satisfied sound that makes Loki’s cock twitch again, eager to please Thor again.
They stay like that too long: Thor’s forehead on Loki’s hip, Loki’s hand in his hair, a ragged sort of benediction. And then Thor stands up and kisses him, gentle now, sweet.
“I missed you,” he murmurs in Loki’s ear. “Thought about doing that every night. God, I dreamed about you, Loki, about the noises you make. But no dream’s as good as the real thing.”
Loki shakes his head. He wants to say something, he wants to chide, but Thor’s disarmed his senses, all semblance of reason, and all Loki can do is lean in for kiss and lick the taste of his own bitterness away.
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?”
“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!”
Loki is the Philosopher King 