Art: Secret Admirer
This has a little bit of fic to go with it. Also, angst/blood warning. Implied Thor/Loki.
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SECRET ADMIRER
“I got you a present,” the young man says and he smiles wide, grin lopsided but genuine, with a shy flirty look in his eyes. "It took me a long time to figure out what to get you. But it's perfect, I think."
Loki does not return the smile. He stands perfectly still, unnerved by the danger he’s sensing from this mortal.
The man before him is young, perhaps not more than twenty years old by Midgardian standards, yet Loki's vigilance is not tempered by his youth. He knows better than to be fooled by appearance.
The young man saunters forward a step, juggling a black bag back and forth between his hands a few times, a show of nerves, before holding it out to him. When Loki makes no move to accept the proffered gift, the youth tosses the black bag towards him.
Loki does not catch it, watching it bounce once and roll away. Whatever is contained within is heavy and quickly comes to a stop before it reaches his feet.
“You’re a sharp one,” the youth remarks. “Most people would have caught that on reflex. Come on, don’t be shy,” he says. “It’s worthy of your interest.”
Still, Loki does not deign to pick it up.
The young man sighs, his lovesick veneer cracking with impatience, and he bends to retrieve the bag. “After all the trouble I went through to get this,” he mutters. “I guess I’ll have to open it myself.”
He holds up the object and pulls the bag from it as if unveiling a work of art. “For you, my dear, with my best regards.”
A metal helmet rests in his hand. With wing adornments and battle worn metal, it is none other than Thor’s helm.
“Oh, do I have your attention now?” the young man coos, throwing the helmet at him and this time Loki does catch it.
Once it is between his hands, and his fingers trace over metal clearly forged by the dwarves of Nidarvellir, Loki knows with terrifying truth that this is Thor’s helm, the very one he used to tease him about when Thor was still his brother.
It’s dirty now, splattered with mud and the inside is stained with deep, red blood. It’s wet still, fresh, and the blood trickles over the sides of the helmet as he examines it, tainting his pale fingers with Thor's lifeblood.
“You don’t like it,” the youth says, disappointed, and in that moment any tender feelings he harbored towards Loki turn to rage in the face of rejection. “Well, that’s a shame.”
“What have you done?” Loki whispers.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. And with all the arrogance in the world, he replies, “I killed Thor. I thought you’d be pleased.”
He's smiling again, bristling with deranged pride. And something else-- there's a challenge there too, a gauntlet thrown upon the ground.
Whether this “gift” was meant to please him or provoke him, Loki is unsure. The young man’s mood oscillates on a wire, swinging between infatuation and malice on a whim.
Loki does not know if the mercurial youth wants to possess him or kill him, but either way there will be a fight. Energy crackles around this young man, a subtle tremor that less attuned beings would not perceive. But Loki does.
This is no ordinary mortal.
Mutant, Loki thinks. His first encounter with this realm’s mutant population had him mistaking them for earth-sorcerers, until he realized, though some were quite powerful, they knew nothing of seidr.
“This does not prove you have killed him,” Loki replies at last. “You could be nothing but an exceptional thief.”
“What, you wanted his head with the helmet? That’s a little dark,” he says. “Even for you.”
“His body, then, where is it?” Loki asks because he knows two things to be true: Thor is not dead, and he would never part with his helm unless it was pried from his insentient grasp.
Thor is injured somewhere, left for dead, but the fool could not have actually died, not at the hands of this child, not all alone and certainly not without Loki’s knowledge.
“Thor's six feet under. Pushing up daisies,” the young man says and he chuckles, completely unafraid. “I gave him a good and proper burial, though. Lifted rock from the earth and laid the God of Thunder to rest underneath. I thought a mountain was a rather fitting headstone."
Buried alive, Loki thinks, suppressing a shiver.
Loki looks up from the helmet, leveling his cold gaze upon him and the youth has the gall to look bemused.
“Thor was a real challenge at first, I have to admit it,” he says. “But then I told him about all the things I was going to do to you when I got you under my hands at last, and he got real sloppy real fast."
"Where have you buried him?" Loki asks. He best get this information first because there is no telling what condition this young man will be in when Loki is through with him.
"Why? You want to lay flowers on the grave?" the youth snarls, his jealousy a nigh tangible thing, like a halo around him.
His power bristles and Loki feels the earth shake under his feet and the young mutant hasn't done more than take a covetous step towards him, his hands balled into fists. He is truly powerful for one so young and is used to simply taking what he wants, nothing but a spoiled, petulant child.
“Thor loved you,” he spits, “Like, a lot, which was kind of a mind trip at first when I realized it. He came at me harder, but once I knew what his red flag was I easily lured the bull into my trap.”
His anger deflates and is replaced with a look of surprise. He cocks his head, staring at Loki with bewildered realization.
“Huh. You're actually kind of upset, aren't you?" he says, his brow creasing with confusion.
And Loki sees understanding in the boy's eyes, You loved him back. This knowledge hurts whatever fantasy the youth had dreamed up for them, shaking the very foundation of his delusion.
“You expect my gratitude for such insolence?” Loki says. “You should be thanking me that I would see his body with my own eyes.”
“And why’s that?” he asks, impudent, his jealousy turned to resentment once more.
“If you have indeed slain the mighty Thor, there is no place where you can hide that will spare you from my wrath.”
**********************A/N:
This is a drabble that will probably go no further. Sorry. But the other day I was at work and sketching and Loki kept glaring and I was able to draw this, so I thought I'd share it even though it’s just a fragme. So, Part II happened.
See, I have this document with little prompts that I tinker with from time to time. My current count is 17 different "what if this happened..." drabbles.
"Godchild" started out this way. Actually, all my Thor/Loki fic started this way.
This one went, "What if Loki had a crazed-teen secret admirer that thought he could become close to him by killing Thor?"
So instead of a dozen roses, he brings him Thor's bloody helmet. I kind of pictured him as Joffrey type (from Game of Thrones), except he actually has the power to do his own dirty work.
Obviously, this young man misinterpreted Thor and Loki's relationship (this is the poor kid's intro to Thorki, lol). He's also high on a power trip, sees a kindred spirit in Loki, and wants to own him all at the same time.
xposted on tumblr
<
SECRET ADMIRER
“I got you a present,” the young man says and he smiles wide, grin lopsided but genuine, with a shy flirty look in his eyes. "It took me a long time to figure out what to get you. But it's perfect, I think."
Loki does not return the smile. He stands perfectly still, unnerved by the danger he’s sensing from this mortal.
The man before him is young, perhaps not more than twenty years old by Midgardian standards, yet Loki's vigilance is not tempered by his youth. He knows better than to be fooled by appearance.
The young man saunters forward a step, juggling a black bag back and forth between his hands a few times, a show of nerves, before holding it out to him. When Loki makes no move to accept the proffered gift, the youth tosses the black bag towards him.
Loki does not catch it, watching it bounce once and roll away. Whatever is contained within is heavy and quickly comes to a stop before it reaches his feet.
“You’re a sharp one,” the youth remarks. “Most people would have caught that on reflex. Come on, don’t be shy,” he says. “It’s worthy of your interest.”
Still, Loki does not deign to pick it up.
The young man sighs, his lovesick veneer cracking with impatience, and he bends to retrieve the bag. “After all the trouble I went through to get this,” he mutters. “I guess I’ll have to open it myself.”
He holds up the object and pulls the bag from it as if unveiling a work of art. “For you, my dear, with my best regards.”
A metal helmet rests in his hand. With wing adornments and battle worn metal, it is none other than Thor’s helm.
“Oh, do I have your attention now?” the young man coos, throwing the helmet at him and this time Loki does catch it.
Once it is between his hands, and his fingers trace over metal clearly forged by the dwarves of Nidarvellir, Loki knows with terrifying truth that this is Thor’s helm, the very one he used to tease him about when Thor was still his brother.
It’s dirty now, splattered with mud and the inside is stained with deep, red blood. It’s wet still, fresh, and the blood trickles over the sides of the helmet as he examines it, tainting his pale fingers with Thor's lifeblood.
“You don’t like it,” the youth says, disappointed, and in that moment any tender feelings he harbored towards Loki turn to rage in the face of rejection. “Well, that’s a shame.”
“What have you done?” Loki whispers.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. And with all the arrogance in the world, he replies, “I killed Thor. I thought you’d be pleased.”
He's smiling again, bristling with deranged pride. And something else-- there's a challenge there too, a gauntlet thrown upon the ground.
Whether this “gift” was meant to please him or provoke him, Loki is unsure. The young man’s mood oscillates on a wire, swinging between infatuation and malice on a whim.
Loki does not know if the mercurial youth wants to possess him or kill him, but either way there will be a fight. Energy crackles around this young man, a subtle tremor that less attuned beings would not perceive. But Loki does.
This is no ordinary mortal.
Mutant, Loki thinks. His first encounter with this realm’s mutant population had him mistaking them for earth-sorcerers, until he realized, though some were quite powerful, they knew nothing of seidr.
“This does not prove you have killed him,” Loki replies at last. “You could be nothing but an exceptional thief.”
“What, you wanted his head with the helmet? That’s a little dark,” he says. “Even for you.”
“His body, then, where is it?” Loki asks because he knows two things to be true: Thor is not dead, and he would never part with his helm unless it was pried from his insentient grasp.
Thor is injured somewhere, left for dead, but the fool could not have actually died, not at the hands of this child, not all alone and certainly not without Loki’s knowledge.
“Thor's six feet under. Pushing up daisies,” the young man says and he chuckles, completely unafraid. “I gave him a good and proper burial, though. Lifted rock from the earth and laid the God of Thunder to rest underneath. I thought a mountain was a rather fitting headstone."
Buried alive, Loki thinks, suppressing a shiver.
Loki looks up from the helmet, leveling his cold gaze upon him and the youth has the gall to look bemused.
“Thor was a real challenge at first, I have to admit it,” he says. “But then I told him about all the things I was going to do to you when I got you under my hands at last, and he got real sloppy real fast."
"Where have you buried him?" Loki asks. He best get this information first because there is no telling what condition this young man will be in when Loki is through with him.
"Why? You want to lay flowers on the grave?" the youth snarls, his jealousy a nigh tangible thing, like a halo around him.
His power bristles and Loki feels the earth shake under his feet and the young mutant hasn't done more than take a covetous step towards him, his hands balled into fists. He is truly powerful for one so young and is used to simply taking what he wants, nothing but a spoiled, petulant child.
“Thor loved you,” he spits, “Like, a lot, which was kind of a mind trip at first when I realized it. He came at me harder, but once I knew what his red flag was I easily lured the bull into my trap.”
His anger deflates and is replaced with a look of surprise. He cocks his head, staring at Loki with bewildered realization.
“Huh. You're actually kind of upset, aren't you?" he says, his brow creasing with confusion.
And Loki sees understanding in the boy's eyes, You loved him back. This knowledge hurts whatever fantasy the youth had dreamed up for them, shaking the very foundation of his delusion.
“You expect my gratitude for such insolence?” Loki says. “You should be thanking me that I would see his body with my own eyes.”
“And why’s that?” he asks, impudent, his jealousy turned to resentment once more.
“If you have indeed slain the mighty Thor, there is no place where you can hide that will spare you from my wrath.”
**********************A/N:
This is a drabble that will probably go no further. Sorry. But the other day I was at work and sketching and Loki kept glaring and I was able to draw this, so I thought I'd share it even though it’s just a fragme. So, Part II happened.
See, I have this document with little prompts that I tinker with from time to time. My current count is 17 different "what if this happened..." drabbles.
"Godchild" started out this way. Actually, all my Thor/Loki fic started this way.
This one went, "What if Loki had a crazed-teen secret admirer that thought he could become close to him by killing Thor?"
So instead of a dozen roses, he brings him Thor's bloody helmet. I kind of pictured him as Joffrey type (from Game of Thrones), except he actually has the power to do his own dirty work.
Obviously, this young man misinterpreted Thor and Loki's relationship (this is the poor kid's intro to Thorki, lol). He's also high on a power trip, sees a kindred spirit in Loki, and wants to own him all at the same time.
xposted on tumblr