THORKI Fan Fictions

Title: Bait

A/N: Post-Thor(2011)

No single being is permitted to traverse the universe.

But even without the sharp detection of Heimdall’s telescopic eyes, Thor is an obvious sight; an entity ambling across the stars with divine purpose, his body extended forwards. He has a general attitude of disregard for the rules, but this plan is poorly executed- and when a cosmic mass comes hurdling out of the universe, he is unprepared. The gaseous ball strikes him down onto the Bifrost.

Letting out a roar, Thor raises his arm and smashes Mjölnir’s head against the meteor.

The force splits the rock in half, breaking it into shards that scatter everywhere. He grunts and pushes the heavy core off him, hurdling it back the way it came. The titan forces mean little to him. He expects to barrel through the realms until he makes it home to Asgard, splintering any obstacles in his path.

It still burdens him how he can tear the cyclopean forces from his chest, and yet one thought, a single conception, cannot be thrust mightily from his body. Loki’s fingernails pry within the cavity of his ribs, and however hard Thor fights, he cannot shake him off.

-

Loki’s body shudders as he awakens on the grounds of Midgard; he feels stripped without the capes and crowns that always served to smother his pride.
Raw and exposed, his mind instantly starts to mitigate the situation. He wants to exonerate, to abolish this absurd feeling that he’s made an awful mistake. He yearns to indulge in the pesky notion of returning home. (Ah, but fact is, the Manor of Odin has ostracized him long since, and he is not welcome there anymore.)

Digging two fingers into the dirt, Loki grinds his jaw and thrusts himself up. The intensity of the movement (for a moment; he relies on moments) alleviates the burning in his ribs. With action, there is no purpose in harnessing childish avidity. He aims to use this as his fuel, realizing his only defense against sentimentality is anger.

Obeying, Loki closes his eyes, throwing his arms into his useless lap. His grasp is full of dirt, and the movement pours soil all over him, making him appreciate the touch of cool Earth and the sting of wind against his flesh. He was made for the cold, after all. His blood runs through veins of disguised ice, of blue blood which is rolling- no, tumbling into the heritage that he now knows doesn’t parallel Thor’s.

Loki weaves his fingers together and leans back, eyelids flickering in feigned peace. He embraces the frost of which he is made and calls out to it, begging for the power his race has coveted in Asgard. And it works; he feels his body dissolving into the air, becoming crystals of phosphorescent ice again. He hears his true realm accepting him, allowing his skin to turn cold.

And then a hot, electrifying mass comes hurdling out of the sky. It grabs him around the torso and stabs him into the Earth, making him gasp in one grand loss of concentration.

The ground rumbles violently, and the two brothers slice through the Earth in an upheaval of plants and gravel, denting the ground with their mobile shapes.

Loki doesn’t think that they’ll ever come to a complete stop, but inevitably they do, and he can again make out the faint sound of breath from his brother’s lips, panting against his chest. He wants to break away but his body is anchored into the dirt by exhaustion and deference, so Thor is the first to jump to his feet.

Brother’s body still glows gold, even through this film of darkness. Loki expects a lecture, a burst of defiance, but Thor just splits open into a triumphant smile, twisting Mjölnir around in his fist as a monument of victory.

Mouth gaping as his body arches up on the ground, Loki’s elbows wobble with the inability to hold his weight.

“I found you, brother,” he hears, and detects the gratification in Thor’s voice. The God’s face is alight with confidence and relief, marked by what look like remnants of battle. “I feared the worst, but you are safe. I may take you home now.”