(no subject)

[shippingsock]

the shipping picture prompt meme
SIMILAR TO THE PICTURE PROMPT MEME & THE SMUT PICTURE PROMPT MEME ONLY FOR SHIPPING.

i. COMMENT WITH CHARACTER
ii. OTHERS LEAVE A PICTURE (OR TWO OR THREE....)
iii. REPLY TO THEM WITH A SETTING BASED ON THE IMAGES.

THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY.

Link to an image:   <a href=IMAGEURL>TEXT</a>

Embed an image in your reply:   <img src=IMAGEURL>

You can control width and height of your pictures:   <img src=IMAGEURL width=500> OR <img src=IMAGEURL height=INSERT>

Comments

♥

[treachery]

[ Thor knows nothing of what Loki wants — and perhaps it ought to remain as such forever hence. The blood spilled and fury loosed upon Midgard and upon Jotunheim are speckles of starlight in the distance compared to the flaming supernova behind Loki's kaleidoscopic gaze.

Still, regardless of the lucidity freedom has given him, Thor strips away the mockery with an easy hand, his own quiet perpetuity speaking of a brother changed and changed again, by hands neither cruel nor jealous. Loki has always hated everyone who has been given purchase to curl their hands about his brother's heart, and that has not abated with madness and despair.

Thor draws close. Close enough to embrace. Close enough to devour.

Loki can count the pale lashes that catch the errant light. He smothers the sudden irrational urge to brush his fingers across them. Here stands Thor Odinson, every secret part of him bathed in light.

There is no shadow left for Loki to slip into, perhaps. ]

And if I ask for more than my freedom in return?

[ When does the well of your generosity run dry?

He does not intend to draw this out, as his desire for revenge goes beyond all else. But Loki is curious, so Loki asks. ]

[forcibly]

[ He raises his eyebrows but says nothing, mulling over the possibilities of what Loki could ask for him, his grip still strong wrapped about his hand but not necessarily holding him there, simply holding. What Loki may not realize is that it's his own hands that have been wrapped most securely around Thor's heart, through betrayal and battle and happy memories past, beyond Sif's subdued, hopeful gazes and Jane Foster's soft kisses, it's his brothers's face he sees burned into the backs of his eyelids before he sleeps each night, no matter the realm or planet. ]

What more would you ask of me? I've freed you when before you had no hope of ever escaping your cell. [ The Allfather would hear none of it from Thor, not a word of mercy, because Odin's sentence is merciful enough in his eyes. And for all Thor's threats and warnings, even he isn't sure of how far his limits will go for Loki, how far he's willing to stretch his good graces, his own mercy.

In the end, in what many may call his simple, stripped down mind, he is only Thor, and his brother is just Loki. Others may try to complicate it, but he can see no other way, and while he will not extend his trust, he will never give up hope that one day, things will be different, not the same as before ( that would be beyond foolish ), but different. ]

[treachery]

[ Yet even if Thor gave such knowledge to Loki, it would only brushed off with anger masquerading as mockery. Loki did not fall from Gungnir, not in his mind: he was the fixed point, and it was Thor that fell away from him. Thor, with Asgard framing him, who was lost to the oblivion. The eons between them cannot be bridged, because Loki believes they cannot be bridged — and so it will remain. ]

I will not renege on my promise, brother.

[ says the liesmith, but his talents are not needed here. Truth is the easiest smokescreen of all.

(Brother.)

He has not stopped smiling, a bright atavistic baring of his teeth; here they are, the Odinsons two, ready to face the perils of the universe again. His blood runs hot and true. ]

It's but a trifle, really — [ Mischief in the laughing winter-green of his eyes, blotting - for a moment - all other terrors that lurk. ] — as the ladies of the court bestow favors upon their chosen champion, so I would ask the same of you. For good fortune.

[forcibly]

[ That smile, so cunning and full of hidden meaning that Thor could never hope to translate, nearly gives him goosebumps, wary but still as Loki speaks. He eases into something more familiar when he hears his words, grumbling impatiently and giving his brother an impatient look. His free hand lifts to press against the side of Loki's throat, firm and and warm but commanding, as Thor cannot help but be most times.

He draws him closer yet. ] Do you mock me still, Loki? [ He's not angry, agitated slightly and on edge from his brother who somehow always seems to know more, a step ahead of him no matter how hard he tries. He supposes it's always been that way, since they were children, the brains and the brawn and that is why he know they can work well, cogs in a machine that when properly maintained could be unstoppable.

His fingers flex against Loki's skin, holding but not gripping tightly, never enough to injury, his long dark hair brushing in a fall across the backs of his knuckles. ]

[treachery]

[ Another entry in the never-ending list of all that Thor does not know: Loki finds comfort in the natural ease that Thor exudes. He has always been as flighty as the wind, but even the worst of gales cannot move the eternal earth below. Thor's hands on him shield him from that buffeting force, a comfort of childhood that hasn't yet been taken from him.

Thor's irritation only feeds Loki's amusement — had Thor not been anchoring him, he might have been frenetic with motion as well as the bandying of words. Loki tilts forward, a raven's pinion on an axis, drawn to Thor by an inexorable force.

He thinks of Jane Foster. Her delicate wrists, the vulnerable curve of her throat. How easily she might fit into all the hollow spaces that grief has riddled Thor with.

Loki's own lashes dip, a fan of shadows against the draugr-pale of his cheeks. ]

It need not be a tangible favor.

[forcibly]

[ The frame of Loki's lashes on the sharp apples of his cheeks draw Thor's gaze, enough to snap that uncharacteristic steely calm that's settled over him. He tugs his brother closer yet, pressed long and lean against his sturdy chest, only a breath of hesitation before he's crushing his mouth to Loki's with no lack of desperation, no tenderness.

The hand on his neck slips up to grip a handful of ebony hair, fisted between his fingers, a few shades away from drawing pain. This favor is tangible enough, too tactile and too ripped open and bare, raw and exposed but he can't resist the pull. Loki's mouth is warmer than he anticipated beneath his own, sweeping his tongue across his lips, begging entrance. The crackle of energy between them is palpable but all directed from Loki, magic ripping from him into reality, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. He feels a chill even beneath his armor, the layers of tunic and cape, something more than a simple temperature change.

He's backing Loki up against a golden pillar behind him, flush against him, tired of arguing and banter. He's found a better use for their mouths now, more than just want, but need. ]

[treachery]

[ Loki lets out a shred of a murmur, a half-wrought attempt at Thor's name, caught between the cage of mouth and mouth — his eyes are wide and black, fixed to the storm that rages now across Thor's face. He hadn't expected this. (Another unwilling truth, locked in the silence of Loki's ribcage.) Thor has flown into another nest, with a hatchling mortal to care for; what need has he for the monster that his brother has shaped him into?

A great deal of need, apparently. Surprise is quickly replaced by triumph, and Loki's hands rise to press flat at the roundels of Thor's armor. He does not move to push Thor away, he simply thrills in the absence of space between them.

His mouth opens with nary a moment of hesitation, but Loki is no passive spectator in the proceedings: his own tongue is a lash, sharp as the words of its wont. He looses another murmur of sound, this one calculated to incite, when Thor yanks at his hair, the pain but another sliver of brightness in a moment near-blinding.

The woman will never know this: the full fury of her storm lord, brought to his true glory only by Loki's unworthy hands upon him.

(This is what he tells himself.) ]

[forcibly]

[ Had Loki's response not matched Thor's in vigor and enthusiasm, he might've have nearly immediately pulled away, taken a frantic moment to consider what he's done, what they're doing, but his hands burn cold prints into his chest plate, impossible to feel through the armor but he imagines so regardless. He doesn't know if Loki means any of it, any sound or part of his mouth, if this is simply another game, filled with deception and lies, forever trying to come out on top, but in that moment he doesn't care, craves his harsh tongue, fierce and ungentle.

Jane is miles from his mind now, transfixed only on his wayward brother and his clever mouth, willing himself to drag his own away, down the curve of his jaw and up behind his ear, rasping that tender spot with his teeth, long hair shoved aside. ]

Loki. [ He breathes the syllables out against reddened skin, between gritted teeth as his hip shift forward, pressing and searching, too honest and eager for his own good, but he simply can't find it in himself to care, to consider the consequences, the lack of trust that lies between them now, shattered and without mend. ]