Thaw (MCU//PJO)

Chapter 1

Loki was not the type to tell someone he loved them. He was not the type to tell someone anything at all. The idea of affection had never appealed him- the asphyxiating adoration, the devilish devotion- in fact, it rather bored him. Especially now, in this hall of dancing couples and friends, all laughing amongst themselves as he stood by his dear friend Amora, conversing with her over a glass of wine. By now, he felt the familiar, pleasant tingle of tipsiness upon him, which made things slightly more bearable at the time. However, he figured now that this was most likely the reason for the foolish acts that he committed soon after, and he cursed his incompetence for it.

"There are many lords and ladies alike who'd be glad to dance with you, Loki," Amora told him, a smile on her face as she nodded to the many men and women who were not confined to just one partner, but instead were switching around trying to find someone like them who may be a good match. It was a witless act. "Why don't you go around and see if anyone may be interested in speaking with you? Fandral wanted to meet me in one of the guest rooms, and you know how he becomes when someone is late."

"That's ridiculous," Loki shook his head. "You and I both know that the only thing I'd be asked by any of them is if I have clean bedsheets."

Amora raised both eyebrows quizzically. Her green eyes seemed that much brighter because of the shade of the dress she was wearing, her blonde hair tied in a braided updo that seemed far too complex to have been done without magic. "You say that as though it is a bad thing."

"It is. For me," he protested.

"Hm. Strange"

"What is it?"

"I recall our first meeting being just that," she smirked mockingly, and Loki could feel his face going beetroot red.

"Amora," he warned.

"I'm just teasing, Loki," she said, that smirk still very prominent on her face. "That's where you and I differ, dear. I use love to get what I want, it doesn't affect me. You don't use it at all! it just happens to you, and it affects you very, very deeply."

"That's enough, Amora," he pushed her playfully. Anyone watching would've guessed they were betrothed- at one point, they had been. But things hadn't exactly gone to plan, so they decided to salvage a friendship out of the rubble that was their relationship. Since then, Amora had had countless lovers, all as infatuated with her as she was not with them. Loki, on the other hand, had had none. He didn't like love- how it messed with his head, how it made him feel weak. He was a prince, not a schoolboy. "I don't-"

That was when the world went dark apart from the moon shining down from outside, but even that was limited, Loki could hardly make out Amora in the dimness and it got even harder when the screams started and people started running. Loki found himself being knocked to the floor, hitting his elbow hard and grimacing in displeasure. When the lights raised again, several dead bodies lined to the floor, much to everyone's horror. And, in the middle of the masses of blood and gore stood a man he hadn't seen before.

He had light brown skin and hair the colour of the night sky above. He was tall, perhaps around six feet, and his eyes were so vividly sea-green it was eerie; unnatural. He was standing on a woman's arm as she screamed in agony and, with a flick of the man's wrist, she stopped- stone dead. A gasp came from the crowd, to which he rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up," he turned to the throne, where Loki's father, Odin, sat. "Your majesty," he grinned. "My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail!"

"Leave this place, you are not welcome," Thor, Loki's brother, stood out from the crowd, causing the man to smirk.

"Or what? You'll get your big, scary hammer?" He taunted. "I've been struck down by lightning more times than I can count, darling. It feels good to me now. Try again." Loki squinted at the man and suddenly understood what he meant by struck by lightning. He was wearing a black shirt and trousers, so you couldn't see his arms or legs, but his hands and the back of his neck were covered in intricate, deep Lichtenberg scars.