teaat2am:

itsachance:

teaat2am:

“You intend to keep me here as a slave?”

“I intend to keep you as a brother”

“… but you keep me nevertheless.”

The young Jöten crouches on the luminescent marble floor, a soft gray imperfection in an otherwise perfect hall. He is not much to look at; pale, thin, with a patch of ink-black hair on his head and covered by only a rust-red cape clutched tightly to his breast. This one looks ready to topple over before Thor would even have a chance to do the job himself. 

But it is those eyes, those brilliantly crimson eyes, luminescent yet dark with something other, foreign and ancient and alive, which stays his hand. This one is different. He knows it, can sense it as one true predator to another can. This one,of all, can be his equal. 

The thrill of it sends a chill down his spine. 

He steps forward, crossing the hall to stand before the other boy. His heart pounds, anticipation and the thrill of the game making his palms twitch for a blade, for a fight, but he does not strike. Won’t strike. Not when he finally has this. 

This young boy who watches him with his strange crimson eyes, who catalogs and calculates each of his movements before making any of his own, says nothing at his approach. He has been bound by the most powerful sorcerers of Asgard; his magic stripped away, his body broken through battle and the price of war. He cannot hurt Thor, not now as he sits just beyond the young Aesir’s reach. But as he stares into those foreign, baleful eyes, he knows what this boy is capable of.

For the first time in his life, Thor truly feels the first tendrils of true fear.

It is a heady, intoxicating brew.

He leans forward, unable to help himself. Fear sparks along his nerves, setting his mind alight with thoughts of battle and blood. This one will give him a fight. This one will give him what he needs, what he craves with all his being. Thor is a simple creature; passion and desire and fire in his veins and his soul. He loves war with all of himself, craves the taste of conquest in his heart and spattered across his skin.

This one is no different; he can see it in his eyes. He is calm and dark and ice, but they are same at the core. This one craves victory, craves blood and the fight and the thrill. He will fight Thor through every step. He will parry and block and move. He will not yield, nor bend nor retreat. This one is Thor’s equal, his enemy, his brother. This one is the same.

And this boy knows it too.

“You intend to keep me as a slave?” He asks, soft and gentle, though his eyes fall to the Aesir’s throat. His tone is coaxing, questioning, as if he truly does not know. Thor can only smile; a narrow, blade-like thing.

“I intend to keep you as a brother.”

The boy’s eyes flick upward, crimson eyes arresting his own. There is no nod of understanding; no spoken words. They are brothers already, in spirit and soul. This is nothing new.

“But you keep me nevertheless.”

The boy’s tone is chiding; they both know what will happen. Neither will suffer the other to live. Neither can survive without it.

Thor’s smile only widens, predatory and dark.

“What else is there to do?” 

oh oh Oh OH OH.

teaat2am:

itsachance:

teaat2am:

And the bible didn’t mention us, not even once

what if Loki didn’t let go and he was charged with being a traitor etc etc

would Thor be the one to punish his brother and bind him.
Would either of them cry at their goodbye

what

what do you mean I have to study for an exam

((I’m so sorry! I think I have a bit of an addiction to your AUs. This one just wouldn’t leave me alone (and also went off in a different-ish direction that your original prompt. Sorry!) But I hope you like anyway! Good luck on your exam!))

“Leave us.”

The guards hesitate, casting quick glances at each other before looking back at him, clearly torn. Thor would understand, truly he would, but he has no patience for them now. Not when his brother sits in chains just beyond, his gaze fixed to the floor and his shoulders slumped in submission. 

“Leave,” He commands, and they do, hurriedly moving to stand at a safe distance. Thor is no fool; they will give them a semblance of privacy, nothing more. It is not enough, but it will have to do.

Loki sits on the marble bench just inside, his body wrapped in chains as thick as Thor’s wrists. They were forged by the best blacksmiths, spelled by the greatest magicians of their father’s court, and Thor knows without a second of doubt that if Loki wished to, he would escape them in a moment.

Loki is the Trickster, the Deceiver, the God of Mischief, the sorcerer with the silver tongue. The one who lies his way through the nine realms; known far more for his use of words than any true weapon. He is the one who allowed the Jotun into Asgard, who deceived his people and took his father’s throne as he slept; the one who lied to him and almost brought his death.

He is the one who killed Laufey, King of Jötunnheim, at the cost of almost everything.

He is his brother.

And he is wrapped in chains.

“Loki,” He says, quiet, and nearly gentle, “Brother. What have you done?”   

His brother stirs but does not look up, his chains clanked ominously as he shifts in his seat, “Leave me, Thor. Such questions are pointless. Or has your time on Midgard ruined what little mind you possess?”

Thor feels his face contort, a snarl threatening to form, “Do not speak like that. Do not lie. Not to me; not again. You are my brother, Loki, I deserve know why—”

“You are not my brother!”

Thor stops, stunned, as Loki glares at him, his brilliant green eyes dark and wild, a snarl twisting his face.

“You are not my brother,” He repeats slowly, his gaze fixed on Thor’s features, avidly searching them as if this is his last chance to see them. It is. Loki is to be banished; cast out of Asgard with his magic bound. His actions nearly destroyed them all, and the All-Father’s word is law.

Thor moves forward to stand directly before his brother and sinks to his knees in front of him.

“How can you say such a thing?” He asks softly, reaching to cup his brother’s face with one hand. Loki stares at him, eyes glassy and tries to jerk away, but Thor’s grip tightens and he refuses to let him, “Why do you think so?”

“I am a Jötun,” Snarls his brother, teeth bared and ferocious, as angry as he has ever seen, “Is that not enough?”

Thor searches his face, eyes darting over his features, searching for the truth. His brother is a master of deception, truly one of the best, but Thor knows his brother better than anyone else.  He knows when his brother lies; when what he truly wants is not something he will ever speak. Loki is his brother, and that will never change. Not even if they are no longer bound by blood.

“You know it is not,” He whispers, coaxing his brother’s head down to rest against his own, “You know it. You are my brother, Loki, my brother. Blood does not matter here. It never did.”

Loki snorts derisively, but presses his forehead against his, closing his eyes, “You are a fool.”

Thor can only offer the barest hint of his former gregarious grin, but it is something nonetheless, “Then I shall continue to be so. Better to be a fool with a brother, than a man without.”

A tremor runs through Loki and for a moment Thor wonders perversely, ridiculously, that his brother has begun to cry. But as he draws back to look at his brother’s face properly once more, it is only to find him biting his lip against laughter; as if Thor had said something so amusing he is unable to contain himself. Thor frowns, for surely nothing he has said could possibly be taken as amusing, but as his brother looks at him again, his green eyes dark with pained amusement, he knows that it is only because his brother is trying to remain strong.

They stare at each other for one long moment; searching each other’s features once more for comfort, for strength, for the knowledge that both cannot prevent what has happened and what will, though both wish more than anything it had not ended like this. Finally, Loki drops his head forehead to rest on his brother’s once more, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Take care of Mother,” He murmurs, so quiet Thor almost cannot hear, “And take care of Asgard. You will be a fine king one day, brother. Never doubt that.”

Thor sighs shakily, and rubs his thumb against his brother’s cheek, grief making his throat tight and voice thick, “I will, brother. I swear to you I will.”

Loki nods once and draws back, settling himself back onto the bench, “Then go. Now. The All-Father will be here shortly. I do not want you here for that.”

Thor shakes his head, reaching out to clasp his brother’s arm, “No, Loki. I will stay. Until the end.”

Loki only looks at him, eyes glinting wetly in the lamplight, “Very well.”

And so he does. Until Loki is gone.

And a long time after. 

can you just

write me stuff forever

please?

this is so perfect I can’t even

is this my birthday? What did I do to deserve the two most perfect fics….

imperialimpala:

lolloki:

professahluketriton:

dangjeremyrenner:

Man of the year award <3 

house part-ay

hiddlessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss<3

(via nobodyputsloki-inthecorner)

teaat2am:

John Watson is a hit with The Plastics, the A-list crime fighting clique in London, until he makes the mistake of being booby trapped with explosives by the ex-boyfriend of alpha Plastic Sherlock Holmes

To get back at Sherlock for all his crazy antics, John cuts off all the chest fabric on Sherlock’s shirts.  Drawing stupid prints for conventions.

teaat2am:

asgardian rites

(via assvengersassemble)

(via buymorialand)

ironfries:

i literally cannot with chris evans’s mom oh my god

(via lokii-d)