The circle of the year winds once more to its beginning.  Urðr knots the thread and cuts it, then takes Skuld’s new weave from Verðandi’s hand—future becomes present becomes past, as it has since the Realms began and as it will until the Realms end, if such terms could be considered to have any meaning at all.

And Thor Odinson, firstborn of the All-Father, stumbles away from the warm glow of Gladsheim and drops to his knees at the glittering, shard-bright end of the shattered Bifrost.

It blurs before his sight, a smear of varicolored needles bleeding out into the velvet emptiness, the stars naught but smudged fingerprints in the endless black.  He clutches his drinking horn tightly; warm mead spills over his knuckles nonetheless, trickles down to patter like raindrops onto the broken path.

Thor is unused to fleeing the sound of his friends’ raucous laughter.  Yet, now, he can bear it no longer—not Sif’s bright ululations, nor Fandral’s high-pitched snigger, nor Volstagg’s booming mirth, nor even Hogun’s undignified snorts, bring him the joy they should.  They grate, instead, unharmonious.  Cacophonic.  Wrong.  Such noise, created by a lack all too obvious.

"You laugh so quietly," he calls out to the void, leaning dizzily over the edge.  "Yet its absence rings louder than all the bells in Niðavellir."

The black between the stars swallows his call.  (Heimdall, standing nearby at watch, says nothing, for Heimdall is wise.)

Thor curls his free hand around the end of the bridge, gazes down where the seas fall away into nothing.  His eyes burn hot.

"I know you much prefer wine," he continues.  "But without you to stop her Sif has gone and drunk it all.  I think she misses you as well.  Though she would sooner die than admit it."

(They understood one another, misfits both, bucking the reins of their positions.

Understand.  Understand one another.)

The smile stretching Thor’s face feels weak, a pale counterfeit.  ”So I suppose you shall have to settle for mead,” he says.  ”My deepest apologies.”

His voice cracks—crumbles.

"Hail, brother."  He raises the horn high.  "My brother, my companion, my helpmeet, my left hand.  When you return"—and here his voice breaks completely, his breath shuddering—"when you return, there shall be a great feast in your honor, all your favorites, anything you wish, and I shall stand behind you, so that all may see you and know that you are home.”

And Thor tips the drinking horn, pours the mead out into the expanse.  It flows as freely as the tears that drip from the end of his nose.

"I will not celebrate the new when the old is not yet gone."








In which Loki has a screaming psychotic breakdown, Thor cries MANLY TEARS, and Tony breaks a floor.

Oh and there’s some kissing and stuff too.

[TW for suicidal ideation.]

Read on LJ

Read on AO3

the end is the beginning is the end [Post-Avengers, Loki-centric, implied Loki/Thor if you squint] →

Sooooo this is a thing that happened.

I really have no excuses.  Um.  Enjoy?

(Also, the Other is officially terrifying.  I don’t know how I did that but it scares me shitless.  Good job, self.)


It begins with an end, as most things do.

It begins with an end to a lie, illusory porcelain-pale skin melting away to refreeze into deep blue.  Scars and cold and bloodred eyes.  Stolen relic.  Monster.  Fiend.

It begins with an end to belonging.  False father, false mother, false brother.  Never meant to be here, meant to die wailing and alone on glacial ice, is this why he has never truly fit?  Very well then, they shall have what they deserve, from the monster thrust unwittingly into their midst.

It begins with an end to truth.  Wear the mask, become the mask, deceive deceive deceive.  No one must know what he thinks, no one must see the shattering behind his eyes (green eyes, not red, never red, never).  Lie, just as not-Father lied, lie for the good of this place that is not home.

It begins with an end to love.  Tear it away, burn it out, weakness, nothing more.  Grind it down to nothing, transmute it, gold to lead, so the pain in star-blue eyes will not ruin the plan.  The line is so thin, spidersilk thin, easy enough to cross, fall from the tightrope he has walked for so long.  (There are razors at the bottom on both sides, but hate is numbing.)

It begins with an end to restraint.  Kill them all.  Every last one.  Rage, destroy, unmake, is this not what you loved so much in your son, not-Father?  Your son, now weak, soft, wants to save those wretched monstrous beasts, where is Giant-Slayer now?  Hate me, smash me, fight me!

It begins with an end to hope.  No, Loki.  Let go.  Fall.

It begins with an end.

He clutches the staff, feeling its power rush up his arm, into his wasted frame, and beyond that shrieking blue light the Other (he thinks—perhaps—its ragged face is so alien) is smiling.

It begins.





now go read it and leave me nice comments so I can justify beating myself senseless on my own keyboard

delirium [Loki-centric, brocest-y if you squint] →

So I decided to stick this prose post I did on my Loki RP blog over on AO3 for shits and giggles.  It stands on its own well enough, so why the hell not?

(Warning for self-destructive and self-loathing nastiness.  Loki is not a healthy person, and his subconscious bears that out likewhoa.)

Thor stares at himself in the mirror.

Despite all accusations of vanity, it is hardly something he makes a habit of.  Most mornings, he gives it the barest of glances before leaving his bedroom to do…whatever it is he has decided to do that day.  (Often he works on the Bifrost’s reconstruction.  It is his fault the thing was destroyed, after all.  And the work is mindless, distracting.  Heavy weights and pounding hammer.  He does not need to think, then.  And Heimdall—Heimdall does not force him into conversation.  Heimdall understands.)

His hair has gotten too long.  He toys with the ends absently, a strand twined between his fingers.  Near his shoulders, now, and soon past them.  He cannot remember the last time he has had it this long.

Two days ago his mother offered to cut it for him.  All he could think of was a soft, mocking laugh—do you want Sif to catch hold of it while you spar, brother? You know better—the glitter of green eyes, a smile like a knife (meant for display, then, sharp and beautiful but unbloodied, and now, now taken down off its pedestal and sullied, every time Thor has seen it since it has drunk more deeply of his wounds).

He refused her, trying to smile as he might have before.  She only nodded, because she knew, the way mothers always know.

He still can’t bring himself to cut it.  He will, eventually.  When he finds Loki, and brings him home.  And he will find Loki.  He will bring his brother home.  If only because he cannot consider any other possibility.  If he ever lets himself doubt, then he will bring all the Realms crashing down around him.

He turns from the mirror, snatching Mjolnir from his belt.


As for Loki—

Loki does not look in mirrors at all anymore.

All the prompt fics I've written, all in one place [Loki/Thor, T to NC-17] →

I’ve still got one more sitting in the wings that I haven’t done yet (and two other prompts that I’ll do later), but here’s the link regardless.  Have fun, kiddies.


image wolfayal replied to your post: fuck

During the bit where Thor is experiencing S.H.I.E.L.D’s hospitality and Loki pays a visit, Loki takes advantage of the fact that Thor is no more powerful than the average Midgardian. I’d love to see some powertripping Loki!

[Yes, good.


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image stereobone replied to your post: You guys are all utter fucking geniuses.

humiliation. yes I just saw yanagoya’s latest art.

[Ooh.  Hmm.  This has potential, yes.

This one got weird.  Mostly because I had to do some finagling to get anywhere near a sadistic Thor.  Oh, Loki.]

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imageanshinwrites replied to your post: fuck

Sensation play. ALL the sensation play.

[How did I know you were going to ask me for this? XD

…Holy fucking shit this veered way into left field, what the hell.  WARNING, FEELS AHEAD.]

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image pitbap replied to your post: fuck

AGH THE POSSIBILITIES. Hmm how about… frottage, up against a wall, still mostly clothed?

[I’ve been developing a bit of a Thing for frot lately.  It’s entirely this fandom’s fault.  Om nom, desperate quickies.

…oops I got feelings in my porn.]

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image houseofthornes replied to your post: fuck

This requires serious thought! How about multiple orgasm and orgasm denial. Both. And one of them being fucked after oragasming when they’re still really sensitive. -Astor

[Astor.  Astor have I told you how much I love you lately.  Gnah.

Also: This one includes cuntboy!Loki because I can.]

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image nekoconsulting replied to your post: fuck

GHOLY FUCK uhhhh lemme see, Thor likes to pretend that Loki’s his sister and likes for Loki to dress up as a girl…a slave girl…i guess.

[…I didn’t think this one would end up as long as it did.  LOL DESCRIPTION PORN.]

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image ruein replied to your post: fuck

Thor is fond of blood play and temperature play. Loki wants to be tied up and have blood on him (because he really really wants to be Thor’s brother despite things like incest and adoption). Can you work all these kinks into a fic!?


Challenge accepted.]

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