oroburos69 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oroburos69) wrote2011-11-24 02:19 pm
oroburos69) wrote2011-11-24 02:19 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Fenrir
Title: Fenrir
Rating: FRT/T
Summary: The desert is burning.
Warning: Implied Mpreg, angst buckets
A/N: Written for the norsekink meme on LJ for this prompt.
The call came at dawn. A wildfire raged in the Mojave Desert, localized to a quarter square mile, screaming a hundred feet in the air. The flames were green, which was a strong hint as to the unnaturalness of the fire.
Tony landed the jet at solar noon. The jet was forced to land a mile away to avoid the updrafts, and still they could feel the heat on their skin.
“So. Does anyone have a fire-extinguishing power?” Tony asked, only partly joking. “Because I thought maybe an air blast or something, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it.”
Steve shook his head, studying the flames with interest. The fire filled the entire horizon, shimmering through the super-heated air.
“This is my brother’s work,” Thor said. “This is his magic.”
“Does he hate deserts or something?” Tony asked, considering the jet. If he modified it... “Because there was nothing here. The nearest town is a hundred miles away.”
“Aye.” Thor lifted Mjolnir, and lightning crackled from the sky, creating storm clouds from nothing. Tony didn’t bother to wonder where the water came from. Asgardian technology took the border between magic and science, then spat on it. “He has always hated the heat.”
“I didn’t know that you could do that,” Tony commented. “Did you know that he could do that?”
Steve shook his head.
The clouds opened up, pouring water onto the flames, sending steam coursing back up to the sky.
“The storm will fuel itself,” Thor said. “Let us find my wayward brother.”
“Split up?” Tony suggested, eyeing the sky. It was going to be wild, flying up there. Thunder crackled in time to the flash of lightning.
“It is unnecessary. I know where he is.”
***
Lokie hated the desert. Hated the dryness, hated the dull brown landscape, hated the weak, scurrying creatures that crawled on the ground. But most of all he hated the searing, unrelenting heat that burned his swollen and ragged feet, crisped his pale skin, and sucked the moisture from his body.
Distantly, the plain curved up into sharply defined cliffs, scraps of shade dark against the bright rock. Loki stumbled toward them, vague thoughts of disappearing filling his head.
He did not think of squirming pup in his arms. Three months old and its eyes had not yet opened, newborn in every way but truth. Marks and scars lay on his child’s fresh skin, partially hidden under its soft fur. Loki did not dwell on the failure this implied.
The crack of thunder gave him pause. There were thorns beneath his feet, piercing him as surely as needles and stranger things had. These things, Loki refused to think of.
The pup mewled, suckling at his fingers for milk Loki did not have.
A storm been born, black clouds blotting out the sun and bringing a swift chill to the air. Loki refused to be grateful, as squalling rain then fell upon his fire, attempting to quell the righteous blaze. Resentfully, he threw more power to his faltering flames, ignoring the weakness that seeped from his bones. His brother’s storm would have to try harder than that.
The second clap of thunder was not reassuring in the slightest, and neither was the red-cloaked figure who descended from the sky. Loki would run if he felt it would do him any good, but his brother had the advantage of flight, which was a difficult advantage to overcome.
His hand slid over the pup`s soft ears. They felt as Frigga`s finest velvet had. Loki’s mind cast itself into the past, where he had not stood on thorns and dirt, but on marble at his mother`s feet. His memories were fine things, gentle consolation for a life since gone to--he winced--the wolves.
“Hail Brother!” Thor greeted him, as Loki thought of the lack of blood between them. Loki was no Asgardian prince, for that had been nothing but the greatest of lies, much grander than any he’d managed.
“What have you?” Thor questioned, his feet touched the ground. He wore sturdy boots that saved him from the bite of thorns. As always, circumstances endeavored to ensure that Thor was untouched. “Brother?”
A statue made in gleaming red and gold landed at Thor’s right-hand side. The heart of it glowed with crackling blue, and Loki wondered who had so harnessed his brother’s power.
The pup shifted, necessitating an adjustment of Loki’s hold. It was soft and weak and his. The thought did not cheer him. Thor’s face grew thunderous--Loki mocked himself for a pun worthy of Volstagg--and he glared at the most recent thing to have crawled from Loki’s body. “What beast have you lain with this time, Loki?”
He was now Loki, not Brother, and it brought haze of wicked amusement to him. “Would you believe me if I said I did not know?” Loki asked in a cracked and broken voice. The desert was terribly dry.
“Whoa.” The statue spoke in the dialect of the humans. Loki contained his disgust and surprise through an effort of will. “Are you saying that thing is his? Like, he’s the father?”
Thing was cruel and Loki disliked it, though he could not dispute it. He was carrying a newborn wolf pup the size of a toddler, and he was well aware of unnaturalness.
“Loki is the mother of monsters,” Thor said, using Loki’s least favorite title. Thoughtless brother, Loki remembered, more weary than hurt. Every last one of his children had been some variety of monster, and indignation over truth was foolish. “His womb spews horrors.”
“Thor, man.” The statue hesitated. “That’s kind of harsh. He’s your brother--he is your brother, right? Because the whole “mother” and “womb” thing is kind of deceptive if he is--”
“Yes. He is my brother.” Thor seemed content to stare, and Loki was content to let him.
The pup made a soft noise, and Loki spared a wish that it had been born with ten fingers and ten toes. This might have been easier, if not more acceptable.
“Okay, great. He’s your brother. Why did he light the desert on fire?”
Loki smirked, distantly amused that a statue had more wit than his much adored brother. “The people who dwelt there had little to recommend them.”
“There were people down there?” There was a blue-clad man, and Loki did not know when he arrived. Time was a pitiful laugh at the expense of mortals. It did not matter.
“Mortals,” Loki explained. “Humans at their very worst.” He decided, abruptly, to sit. The ground was hard and covered with yet more spiked plants, and his pup mewled again, but the darkness spilling into his eyes was somewhat worse.
“Could you stop the fire?” The statue asked.
Loki freed a hand from holding up the pup, and waved it through the air. The underground den of the humans and all their sharp things was long since melted into slag. The fire quelled, his vision blurred, and Loki caught up the paws of his child before they could touch the ground. His pup’s skin was still tender.
“Thank you.” The man in blue--such odd armour--sounded sincere. “Are you alright?”
It took longer than Loki liked to answer. “I...am well.” It is a lie. His stomach ached and sagged, loose skin and newly removed stitches a reminder he didn’t care to think about. Loki smiled, his eyes drifting closed. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Okay. Can you tell us what happened--Tony, go get the jet.” The Blue Man interrupted himself, his voice growing sharper. Loki twitched, fighting the twisting in his gut and the darkness in his mind, but it was for naught. He slipped, falling back onto what felt like hands but was surely rocks.
Rating: FRT/T
Summary: The desert is burning.
Warning: Implied Mpreg, angst buckets
A/N: Written for the norsekink meme on LJ for this prompt.
The call came at dawn. A wildfire raged in the Mojave Desert, localized to a quarter square mile, screaming a hundred feet in the air. The flames were green, which was a strong hint as to the unnaturalness of the fire.
Tony landed the jet at solar noon. The jet was forced to land a mile away to avoid the updrafts, and still they could feel the heat on their skin.
“So. Does anyone have a fire-extinguishing power?” Tony asked, only partly joking. “Because I thought maybe an air blast or something, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it.”
Steve shook his head, studying the flames with interest. The fire filled the entire horizon, shimmering through the super-heated air.
“This is my brother’s work,” Thor said. “This is his magic.”
“Does he hate deserts or something?” Tony asked, considering the jet. If he modified it... “Because there was nothing here. The nearest town is a hundred miles away.”
“Aye.” Thor lifted Mjolnir, and lightning crackled from the sky, creating storm clouds from nothing. Tony didn’t bother to wonder where the water came from. Asgardian technology took the border between magic and science, then spat on it. “He has always hated the heat.”
“I didn’t know that you could do that,” Tony commented. “Did you know that he could do that?”
Steve shook his head.
The clouds opened up, pouring water onto the flames, sending steam coursing back up to the sky.
“The storm will fuel itself,” Thor said. “Let us find my wayward brother.”
“Split up?” Tony suggested, eyeing the sky. It was going to be wild, flying up there. Thunder crackled in time to the flash of lightning.
“It is unnecessary. I know where he is.”
***
Lokie hated the desert. Hated the dryness, hated the dull brown landscape, hated the weak, scurrying creatures that crawled on the ground. But most of all he hated the searing, unrelenting heat that burned his swollen and ragged feet, crisped his pale skin, and sucked the moisture from his body.
Distantly, the plain curved up into sharply defined cliffs, scraps of shade dark against the bright rock. Loki stumbled toward them, vague thoughts of disappearing filling his head.
He did not think of squirming pup in his arms. Three months old and its eyes had not yet opened, newborn in every way but truth. Marks and scars lay on his child’s fresh skin, partially hidden under its soft fur. Loki did not dwell on the failure this implied.
The crack of thunder gave him pause. There were thorns beneath his feet, piercing him as surely as needles and stranger things had. These things, Loki refused to think of.
The pup mewled, suckling at his fingers for milk Loki did not have.
A storm been born, black clouds blotting out the sun and bringing a swift chill to the air. Loki refused to be grateful, as squalling rain then fell upon his fire, attempting to quell the righteous blaze. Resentfully, he threw more power to his faltering flames, ignoring the weakness that seeped from his bones. His brother’s storm would have to try harder than that.
The second clap of thunder was not reassuring in the slightest, and neither was the red-cloaked figure who descended from the sky. Loki would run if he felt it would do him any good, but his brother had the advantage of flight, which was a difficult advantage to overcome.
His hand slid over the pup`s soft ears. They felt as Frigga`s finest velvet had. Loki’s mind cast itself into the past, where he had not stood on thorns and dirt, but on marble at his mother`s feet. His memories were fine things, gentle consolation for a life since gone to--he winced--the wolves.
“Hail Brother!” Thor greeted him, as Loki thought of the lack of blood between them. Loki was no Asgardian prince, for that had been nothing but the greatest of lies, much grander than any he’d managed.
“What have you?” Thor questioned, his feet touched the ground. He wore sturdy boots that saved him from the bite of thorns. As always, circumstances endeavored to ensure that Thor was untouched. “Brother?”
A statue made in gleaming red and gold landed at Thor’s right-hand side. The heart of it glowed with crackling blue, and Loki wondered who had so harnessed his brother’s power.
The pup shifted, necessitating an adjustment of Loki’s hold. It was soft and weak and his. The thought did not cheer him. Thor’s face grew thunderous--Loki mocked himself for a pun worthy of Volstagg--and he glared at the most recent thing to have crawled from Loki’s body. “What beast have you lain with this time, Loki?”
He was now Loki, not Brother, and it brought haze of wicked amusement to him. “Would you believe me if I said I did not know?” Loki asked in a cracked and broken voice. The desert was terribly dry.
“Whoa.” The statue spoke in the dialect of the humans. Loki contained his disgust and surprise through an effort of will. “Are you saying that thing is his? Like, he’s the father?”
Thing was cruel and Loki disliked it, though he could not dispute it. He was carrying a newborn wolf pup the size of a toddler, and he was well aware of unnaturalness.
“Loki is the mother of monsters,” Thor said, using Loki’s least favorite title. Thoughtless brother, Loki remembered, more weary than hurt. Every last one of his children had been some variety of monster, and indignation over truth was foolish. “His womb spews horrors.”
“Thor, man.” The statue hesitated. “That’s kind of harsh. He’s your brother--he is your brother, right? Because the whole “mother” and “womb” thing is kind of deceptive if he is--”
“Yes. He is my brother.” Thor seemed content to stare, and Loki was content to let him.
The pup made a soft noise, and Loki spared a wish that it had been born with ten fingers and ten toes. This might have been easier, if not more acceptable.
“Okay, great. He’s your brother. Why did he light the desert on fire?”
Loki smirked, distantly amused that a statue had more wit than his much adored brother. “The people who dwelt there had little to recommend them.”
“There were people down there?” There was a blue-clad man, and Loki did not know when he arrived. Time was a pitiful laugh at the expense of mortals. It did not matter.
“Mortals,” Loki explained. “Humans at their very worst.” He decided, abruptly, to sit. The ground was hard and covered with yet more spiked plants, and his pup mewled again, but the darkness spilling into his eyes was somewhat worse.
“Could you stop the fire?” The statue asked.
Loki freed a hand from holding up the pup, and waved it through the air. The underground den of the humans and all their sharp things was long since melted into slag. The fire quelled, his vision blurred, and Loki caught up the paws of his child before they could touch the ground. His pup’s skin was still tender.
“Thank you.” The man in blue--such odd armour--sounded sincere. “Are you alright?”
It took longer than Loki liked to answer. “I...am well.” It is a lie. His stomach ached and sagged, loose skin and newly removed stitches a reminder he didn’t care to think about. Loki smiled, his eyes drifting closed. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Okay. Can you tell us what happened--Tony, go get the jet.” The Blue Man interrupted himself, his voice growing sharper. Loki twitched, fighting the twisting in his gut and the darkness in his mind, but it was for naught. He slipped, falling back onto what felt like hands but was surely rocks.
no subject
I have to admit that as a kid I wanted to stomp on lots of Asir heads 'cause they were mean to Loki. This is an urge that has carried over to adulthood. So you can probably understand why I'm all THOR YOU ARE SO THOR! LET ME KICK YOU IN THE HEAD! Really, it's a high compliment. Honestly.
(I love the little details - Brother when Thor is feeling friendly and That Bastard LOKI when Thor sees the cub, how careful Loki is to keep the cub off of the ground and Loki bitterness about Thor's removal from the situation as evidenced by his shoes.)
And I'm so down with burning everything because they captured and hurt Loki and his cub. (Did they - er - provide half of the cub's genetic material?)
Also, I'm pulling for Loki/Captain America off of this. Loki deserves a Prince of Really Good Guys to sweep him off his feet and help him raise his wolf cub. (I love Tony Stark! I do! But I feel like he and Loki would only egg each other on to greater depths of debauchery.)
Anyway, I love this!
no subject
I think I'm mostly just frustrated with the story though.
Loki has me torn. In the movie, I liked Thor A LOT more than I liked Loki (OMG, Thor was so hot and funny and non-genocidal!). But as a kid? Loki was always my favorite Norse god, same way Coyote and Raven were my favorite Native American mythical figures.
So writing this...Loki is a very naughty god, but Thor isn't a very good brother (neither is Wolverine. Family before morals!).
*cough* Yes, they provided 1/2 the genetic material. But they used human DNA. The whole wolf-thing was a big surprise to everyone.
Thanks! I'm glad you liked it!
no subject
I'm not begging for a continuation. (Honestly!) Some stories are just meant to be one-shots because they fill you with EH at the thought of continuing them.
I might have to see this movie, tbh. I've always *wanted* to like Thor because I understood that he was meant to a hero in the Norse legends but I really couldn't like him or Odin. (There's a lot of raping and pillaging. And, as a kid, I could get behind a good & thorough pillaging but raping of women or goats just turned off my liking at the source. It's also one of the reasons that I disliked Hercules, Achilles and Agememnon as a kid.) So I'd like to actually like a Thor completely.
It makes me sad that the writers couldn't write a likable Loki to go with their likable Thor. (Tricksters deserve love too! *Squishes Coyote and Raven with LOVE*)
It's true. *nods* Thor and Wolverine need Family Values Training.
...I really like the 1/2 human + 1/2 Norse God = Norse Wolf! I just do.