#(like jeez sorry for not going to every single event outside of school hours)

[danielnelsen]

sometimes i’ll randomly remember someone from primary school and go and see what they’re up to and today’s guy is now working as a child & adolescent psychologist with explicit mention of working with trans kids

[dictionarywrites]

Like The Sun Married The Moon

4.5k. Complete. Rated T. DashingFrost. 

A little 5+1 style story: five times the Avengers noticed Loki maybe had a secret, and one time it came out.

Then going back through the six in reverse.

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One: Tony Stark

It’s not that Tony’s interested. He’s not.

It’s just that Loki’s been here on Earth for what, nearly a year now? And he’s so comfortable. So confident. Sure, he’s under whatever spell that stops him from hurting people, and that’s the only reason they can really trust him, but the guy is just such a card.

Tony watches him as he laughs, taking a slow sip from his wine glass: the party’s buzzing, and Tony knows who invited him, because, yeah, Tony’s known all across New York in all the rich circles, and as much as he can get annoyed with stuffed shirts and demanding rich girls, a party is a party. But who the Hell invited Loki? This is an event with some of the richest, most upper-class people in New York, and Loki gets an allowance from SHIELD, but it’s nothing super impressive.

Loki can see Tony watching him, and he arches one dark eyebrow, raising his glass.

Tony strides across the room, and Loki murmurs quiet words to the men he’s speaking to, all fashionable guys with coiffed hair and floral shirts, and he comes closer. Loki’s well-dressed for the occasion, at least: he wears a suit in some kinda pastel lilac, the white shirt open and baring the column of his neck to the room at large. And the hair… God, Loki’s hair had been gross when they’d first seen him, greased back from his head, but now it’s well-washed and healthy, tied up in a loose bun with a few strands hanging around his face, the style effortlessly graceful. A new piece of jewellery shines through the shell of Loki’s ear, and a silver stud shines through the side of his nose.

(“Ooh, loving the new look, Reindeer Games. What, taking the time to rebel now that you’re out of the house?” Loki had laughed, the sound loud and wild and free.

“No one pierces anything on Asgard – even earrings are clipped on or held with magic. I could never do this before.” And that… That’d been wild, to hear from a guy nearly three thousand years old. Still new experiences to be found, even at his age.)

“You look like you’re having a good time,” Tony says mildly.

“I am,” Loki replies. He holds his wineglass like the prince he is, his grip delicate on the glass stem, and when he swills the liquid inside, the motion is practised and almost thoughtless, as if it’s pure instinct that makes him do it. “I like parties.”

“Really?” Tony asks, leaning back slightly. “Didn’t have you pegged for a big occasions guy.” Tony’s sarcasm only makes Loki smile, and he takes a slow sip of his drink. “What, you looking for a rich girl to take you home?”

“No,” Loki murmurs, slowly shaking his head. His gaze is momentarily far away, a little sadness shining in his eyes. It’s weird – Loki’s been planet-side for ten months, all-in-all, and he honestly avoids every single one of the Avengers when he’s not at work. Tony keeps vague tabs on him, knows that he keeps himself to himself in his little apartment in Brooklyn, knows that he uses his allowance just to get groceries (guy’s a health food nut, who knew?) and saves the rest, but Loki… It’s not easy to track him. Tony knows he goes places, and meets people, but it’s all but impossible to keep a surveillance on him, and yet he never wants to hang out with the guys from work. Tony doesn’t feel like he knows much more about Loki than he did when the guy first attacked New York. “I don’t partner myself with women these days.”

“Oh,” Tony says, feeling his eyebrows raise despite himself. Shit. “That, uh— How is Asgard? On the whole, um, the whole gay thing?”

“Not good,” Loki answers plainly. “But Asgard isn’t so good on me. It never has been.” Tony reaches up, dragging his fingers over the side of his mouth, feeling the warmth of his own hand against his lips. Loki’s hot. Tony knows Loki’s hot, and he knows damn well that he’s hot himself, and really, there’s no shame in trying—

“You know, uh, I’m not— We could always, uh…” Loki is staring at him, blinking slowly, and then he chuckles. The sound begins low in his throat, dark and slightly foreboding, and when he reaches out, patting the side of Tony’s cheek, his fingers are freezing cold. The condescension should piss Tony off, but instead it makes heat burst in his chest.

“I think not, Stark,” Loki murmurs.

“You know, it’s been nearly a year. I think Tony works. Or— Anthony, right? You wanna call me Anthony?”

“Anthony,” Loki repeats softly. His smile is nothing but fond, despite how patronising his tone had been a second ago, and he draws his hand neatly back, drawing his hand over his hair, tucking a loose strand of dark hair away from his face. “Don’t take this as an insult, but Midgardians… You are so fragile, and all of you so young. Such an interspecies union might be something Thor would take to easily, but not I.”

“We must all seem like babies to you,” Tony murmurs.

“Not babies,” Loki murmurs. “You are adults, each of you. But… Different. As a wolf is different to a fox.” And then Loki is moving across the room, taking up a conversation with a pretentious artist Tony always tries to avoid talking to himself: they greet each other like they’re old friends, touching one another’s arms, and it’s—

Weird.

Loki’s weird. But in a good way, Tony thinks, rejection aside.

Two: Steve Rogers

Loki isn’t a good man. Steve knows that. He’s also not as bad as Steve had thought in the beginning.

Loki is weaving magic upon the air, and every single kid in the classroom is watching raptly, every one of them staring up at the shimmering energy that gathers between Loki’s hand, making up the petals of a shining, transparent flower of gold and silver. It’s artful, poetic – it’s one of the most beautiful things Steve’s ever seen, and he still thinks of it an hour later, when the Avengers are done with the school visit, and when everybody else has started splitting off in different directions. And yet Loki… Loki has a faraway look in his eyes, a kind of sadness, and Steve falls into step beside him.

It’s funny – Loki works with the Avengers, and he’s one of them, sure, but Steve never sees him outside of their official appearances, or when they’re dragged into a fight. Loki’s a solitary kind of guy, it seems.

“You want kids?” Steve asks. Loki turns to him, surprise showing on his face.

“I have children,” Loki says. Steve stares at him, and Loki gives him an awkward smile, shrugging his shoulders. “I am once widowed, once divorced, Captain Rogers. Four of my children yet live, and two are long-since dead.”

Jeeze. No wonder the guy’s sad and distracted.

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I didn’t, um, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s alright,” Loki murmurs, his hands in his pockets. He’s comfortable in Earth clothes, it seems to Steve – more comfortable than Steve feels sometimes, with the subtle differences to the clothes he grew up with. “Perhaps I shall have more, one day. I don’t know.”

“You got anyone in mind to settle down with?” Steve asks, and it comes out so quickly, the flirtation hanging on the air. Loki smiles.

“Yes,” he says, and Steve reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck. Every time he thinks he knows something about this guy, it seems like he’s proved wrong.

“God, really just putting my foot in my mouth again and again today, huh?” Loki reaches out, and his cold fingers gently pat the side of Steve’s shoulder. He says nothing, and walks away.

Thing is… What, the guy’s got somebody in mind? Who?

Three: Clint Barton

“You ever gonna tell ‘em?” Clint asks. They’re in the laboratory in Avengers Tower, and Loki glances up from where he’s bent over some engineering schematics, making adjustments to some old designs they’d dug out of the SHIELD archives. Loki’s an engineer, it turns out – as good an engineer as Clint himself, even if he’s not gonna be patenting a million inventions any time soon.

“Tell them what?” Loki asks. He keeps his distance from Clint, and Clint likes it that way. It’s… Weird. The connection to Loki has been broken, Clint’s sure of that, but sometimes it’s like there’s a lingering instinct hovering in the back of his mind, to fall into step beside Loki, to obey orders…

Clint hates it. He hates following orders, hates the way he feels like he should be swearing fealty to Loki some days, but Loki doesn’t rub it in. He’d apologised, a few weeks after getting thrown down to Midgard, and offered Clint whatever “boon” he wanted, and Clint had just said to leave him alone – and Loki had.

“There’s— I don’t know what it is, who it is,” Clint says. “But there’s someone else. Someone you’re connected to, not Thor, not your mom. Someone else.”

“I’m not going to tell them,” Loki says at length. Clint reads the words on his thin lips, and inexplicably, they make him sad.

“No one hates you, you know,” Clint says. “Not even me. You can trust the Avengers. They’ll all have your back.” Loki’s lips twitch, and he looks up from the schematics, looking at Clint seriously. There’s a short pause as Loki seems to think over what Clint’s said, and then he brings his fingers up to his mouth and chin before bringing his palm outward: Thank you.

Clint didn’t know the guy could sign.

Four: Natasha Romanov

“Truth, or dare,” Nat says, leaning back in her seat, and Loki watches her for a long few moments, his lips quirking into a little smile. The party’s chilled out – sitting around the table, it’s Nat, Loki, Thor, Bruce and Clint, and it’s… It’s almost normal. Almost normal. It’s weird, to settle into the American lifestyle and just hang out with people after work, but today… Today had been pretty rough.

Maybe that’s why they’re all getting drunk together, playing stupid college games, so that none of them has to be alone with their own thoughts – maybe that’s why Loki had stuck around instead of slinking home like he usually does; maybe that’s why Tony had latched onto the excuse of Thor being down on Earth to celebrate.

“Truth,” Loki says.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Nat asks, mildly. “You’re a God of Lies, right?”

“Equally, I am a God of Truth,” Loki says. “I am worshiped for deceit on three planets, but for honesty on three more.” Nat glances to Thor, wanting to judge if this is true on his face, but there’s something pinched about his expression, as if Thor doesn’t know if this is true or not. Loki isn’t looking at Thor; Thor is looking right at Loki, a kind of tired melancholy in his eyes.

“You’re worshiped on more planets than Earth?” Clint asks. “How many?”

“I believe it’s Ms Romanov’s turn to ask her question,” Loki murmurs softly. Thor stands abruptly from the couch, walking across the room to join Sam and Steve in the kitchen, and Loki presses his lips loosely together, closing his eyes for a second. He looks hurt. So does Thor.

Something easy, then – something simple.

“How many times you been married?” Nat asks.

“Three,” Loki answers cleanly, and then he walks away.

Five: Thor

“Is that true?” Thor asks quietly. “You are worshiped as a deity of honesty, on some worlds?”

“Yes,” Loki answers. It ails Thor, to see his brother so easily settled upon Midgard – he ought be glad, to see his brother finally so comfortable in his skin, to see Loki look almost content, but—

He hates it. Hates having Loki so far from Asgard, exiled forevermore; hates to see Loki with pieces of metal piercing through his ears and his nose, hates seeing Loki in foreign clothes and looking comfortable in them. Thor thinks of the times Loki would disappear from Asgard for years at a time, for decades at a time… He thinks of the time he had sought Loki out on the strange planet known as Koom, where Loki was lecturing in applied mathematics, and how Loki had reluctantly returned home with him after nearly eighty years; he recalls finding Loki in a flour mill on the planet Jafara, alone and unfriended, and how Loki had slunk back to Asgard as a cowed dog; he recalls the most recent time, on the golden sands of Hashtor, where Thor had said “Come home,” and Loki had laughed, and retorted, “I am home.”

“I wish you could come home,” Thor says softly.

“This is my home now,” Loki says. The two of them stand on a balcony, overlooking New York City, and Thor feels his heart ache. “How fare the Warriors Three?”

“Well,” Thor says quietly, thinking of how different it is, to travel the Nine Realms without Loki amongst them. It is preferable, in some ways – there is no mischief to be found, but in others… It feels stilted, unnatural, as if there is a part of them missing. Even Volstagg had agreed.

But it can never be the way it once was.

“And your parents?” Loki asks. The words cut Thor like a knife.

“Our parents,” Thor says, sharply. Loki draws away from him, and then he delicately shakes his head.

“No, Thor,” Loki says softly. “Your parents.”

“You would isolate yourself from all who love you,” Thor snaps, feeling fury flare within him. “Here you are, amongst these people, and do you allow any of them to be your friend? Once more, Loki, you have made yourself alone, and to what end?”

“Have you ever considered that I like my solitude?” Loki asks, his voice unerringly calm and cool. “You are glad to be a member of a rollicking band: I prefer to be alone.”

“You lie so much,” Thor mutters. “You deceive even yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Loki murmurs. “Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth.” Thor cannot take it, and he stalks away, and when he returns, Loki is gone – back to his apartment on the other side of the city, where no one will speak to him, where no one will ask things of him.

Of course. Such is how it is.

There is no limit to how many secrets Loki will keep, if he is able.

Six: Bruce Banner

Loki lies very still in the infirmary bed, laid on his back. His eyes are closed, and Bruce leans over, gently patting the god’s face to try to get him to wake up. Loki groans in quiet pain, and Bruce presses his lips together, leaning away from him. Whatever Loki had done to win them the fight – and yeah, it had definitely been Loki who got them out of it, because he’d turned the damned demon to dust, and then dropped to the ground like a stone – it had taken a lot out of him.

Bruce knows it, because he can see all of Loki now. His true body is showing: the skin is a deep blue, with indents and markings on the skin, and there are scars all over his body. Dappled wet scars that must have been caused by acid are visible around Loki’s eyes, and there are pockmarks and tears around his lips, where once somebody sewed them shut.

But the weirdest thing isn’t that Loki doesn’t look like an Æsir anymore, or that Loki has scars. The weirdest thing is on his right hand, where a golden band shines on his ring finger, catching the light.

(“You’ve been married before, right?” Bruce had asked once. “Do you guys wear wedding rings?”

“No, that is a Midgardian tradition,” Loki had said quietly, but a little smile had caught on his lips, and he’d kept it for the rest of the day.)

The doors to the infirmary burst open, and Bruce presses his lips together. Loki is just beginning to stir into consciousness, and Bruce had hoped to get him awake before Thor arrived – but there’s a reason Bruce had sent word to Asgard as soon as Loki had gone down.

“Thor, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “He just—” Bruce freezes. The man striding into the room, his armour clinking, is not Thor. He has a muss of blond hair around his head, and a moustache and a little beard. “Uh, you can’t be—”

“Fandral,” Loki whispers, and he weakly raises his head, leaning into the gloved hand that cups his cheek. The stranger – Fandral – is leaning over the bed, and his expression is tortured, his brown eyes shining with pain. “I’m fine, you needn’t… You needn’t fuss so.” Loki is speaking hoarsely, and it looks like just talking is hurting him.

Bruce pours him a glass of water, taking a step forward, but before he can offer it out, Fandral has thrown both of his gauntlets messily onto the ground, and he takes the glass with a surprisingly soft hand, tipping Loki’s head up to take a sip of the water. Bruce doesn’t miss the glint of silver on his left hand, a ring…

God. Fandral turns away from Loki, giving Bruce a serious, consternated look.

“Healer,” he says quietly. “What ails him?”

“Best guess?” Bruce asks, awkwardly. “Magical exhaustion.”

“Correct,” Loki mutters. “I just need rest.”

“And you shall have it,” Fandral murmurs. Setting the glass aside, he moves to cup Loki’s cheek, tracing over the blue skin with gentle fingers. “I was so— Thor and Sif are abroad in Muspelheim, so t’was I that received the missive before it was brought to your mother… I ought to have come sooner.”

“I was your king,” Loki says quietly. “And you betrayed me.”

“And you didn’t betray me in kind?” Fandral demands, his tone harsh even as his fingers brush featherlight over his cheek. “Throwing yourself from the Bifrost like that, disappearing… I thought you dead. I mourned for you, in silence, knowing no one else could know the grief I bore.”

Bruce feels like he’s intruding, but he really has nowhere else to go. He can’t exactly walk out: there isn’t another doctor around just now, and he doesn’t want Loki on his own. He makes himself busy, looking at charts and Googling basic shit on his laptop, but beside him, it continues.

“And then when you were sent here, to Midgard, as punishment… I ought have resigned my commission immediately,” Fandral whispers. “I ought have retuned to Midgard once more, to be with you.”

“You can’t give up Asgard for me,” Loki whispers. “I can never go back.”

“Then I shan’t either,” Fandral promises, the words ringing through the room. And then he kisses Loki, soundly on the mouth, chaste but full of feeling, and Bruce wonders when the best time would be to interrupt them. He decides to wait until they stop kissing.

It takes a while.

Six: Bruce Banner

“Secretly married, huh?” Bruce asks a few days later, and Loki looks him in the face, taking in the lines of his expression, the uncertainty as he offers Loki a pill to take. Loki swallows it, tasting its bitterness on his tongue.

“I never imagined he could still love me,” Loki whispers. “After all that had happened.”

Bruce glances at him, and he hesitates for only a moment before he says, “Doesn’t seem like he’s the type of guy to back down once he loves something.”

“No,” Loki agrees. “That he is not.”

Fandral is arm-wrestling Sam Wilson, and the two of them are both as charming as the other, exchanging easy, comfortable words over their sport. The two of them seem evenly matched, with their strengths – Loki knows this is but another layer of charm on Fandral’s part, pretending himself to be weaker than he is.

His heart feels warm in his cool chest.

Five: Thor

Loki stands in between Fandral and Thor, shielding Fandral’s body with his own: he can feel Fandral’s heavy breathing against the back of his neck, feel himself shake, and he looks Thor in the eyes, unwavering.

The rage on his brother’s face is unspeakable, indescribable, and Loki stiffens further, keeping himself in place.

“How long?” Thor asks – nay, demands.

“Around a century,” Loki says. “We— You recall when I was gone for five years, and you retrieved me from Hashtor, the planet with the golden spires, and Fandral had been on a sojourn to Midgard? Fandral was with me. The whole time.”

“We couldn’t tell you,” Fandral says from behind Loki’s shoulder, but he isn’t foolish enough to step out. “Asgard would never accept a marriage between two men, least of all of its prince, and a member of its nobility.”

“So you hid it,” Thor growls. “So you hid it, from me, your brother, and you, Fandral – I thought us the greatest of friends!”

“And if you thought I was using our friendship to abuse your brother?” Fandral asks, his charming voice surprisingly sharp. “You would not have jumped to such a conclusion?” Thor freezes, for a second, and a little of the rage seems to fade from his eyes. “Thor… I love you, my friend, but we could not risk being discovered. There was no way to predict how the people of Asgard, how the Allfather, would respond.”

“Now, of course,” Loki says softly. “Such things are immaterial.”

“You mean to stay here, then?” Thor asks, looking past Thor, to Fandral himself. “With him?”

“Yes,” Fandral says. “A century in secrecy, and here… Honesty.”

“A shame, Loki, that you no longer consider us brothers,” Thor says at length.

“Who says I don’t?” Loki demands, surprised by the emotion cracking in his own voice. “We are brothers, Thor, through bond if not in blood.” Thor smiles, softly, his eyes glittering with warmth.

“Why, then,” he says in scarce more than a whisper. “Fandral is my brother as well.” Relief bursts in Loki’s chest like a Midgardian firework: he turns his head, catching Fandral’s eye, and when they laugh, it is as one, full to the brim with relief, and understanding, and love.

Four: Natasha Romanov

Three times married, he’d said – three times. Once widowed, from a Jötunn named Angrboða; once divorced, from a Vanir woman when their children had died – Sigyn. And still married, now, to an Æsir: Fandral.

Nat watches as Fandral and Loki sit on a couch together in the common room of the Avengers Tower, Fandral’s boots on Loki’s lap and one of Stark’s tablets in Fandral’s, the two of them playing either side of some game that looks suspiciously like a two-man version of Candy Crush.

Happiness radiates from Loki like heat, and Nat’s never seen him so happy.

He doesn’t avoid the parties any more, or the times when they chill – him and Fandral both come, and when Loki feels like going silent, Fandral talks instead. The guy is bright and flirtatious, always telling a joke, always telling stories, always full of vim.

It’s like the sun and moon have married each other.

Three: Clint Barton

“He’s hot,” Clint says quietly. “Kudos.”

Loki laughs, and he signs and speaks at the same time: “Thank you.”

Two: Steve Rogers

“You know,” Steve says mildly, “You always told me you thought nationalism was stupid.”

“I do,” Loki murmurs, amusement ringing in his tones.

“Oh, so you make fun of me being a patriot,” Steve says, his hand on his chest, “But him—” He gestures to Fandral, who is telling some cock-and-bull story of Asgard’s founding, a story Loki has heard a thousand times before. Loki’s lip twitches.

“No, I think his patriotism is ridiculous as well,” Loki murmurs. “Asgard and America aren’t so dissimilar – in their flaws, or their strengths. In an ideal world, melting pots of culture; in practice, colonial super powers, feared as much as they are loved.”

“He gave it up for you,” Steve points out. He doesn’t say it unkindly – if anything, it is intended as a kindness, and despite the discomfort within him, despite Loki’s uncertainty… Loki nods.

“I am to be worthy of that sacrifice,” Loki whispers: it is a vow.

One: Tony Stark

“You love him?” Tony asks.

“With all my heart,” Fandral murmurs. The two of them stand together, and Tony glances across the room, watching as Loki holds a group of real estate moguls spellbound in some story or other, gesticulating as he speaks. Fandral… Fandral’s a pretty cool guy. Tony had liked him right off the bat, liked his spunk and his easy manner, liked his sense of style.

They click.

“He said before… Asgard isn’t so good on gay people. Men who’re with men; women who’re with women.”

“No,” Fandral murmurs. “Others in the Nine Realms are like Midgard – Alfheim has no issues at all with such things, and Nidavellir couldn’t care less who you might bed. But Asgard has its traditions, its long-held prejudices…” Fandral is watching Loki like Loki is the greatest piece of art he’s ever seen, like he’s forever picking out new details he loves. Fandral’s glittering brown eyes are full of warmth, and his lips curve into a soft smile. “We married on a foreign planet, in the dead of night, beneath the light of two bright moons. We knew it would be a secret for the longest time, and it didn’t matter at all. So long as we shared our bond, all would be well.”

Fandral is turning the silver band on his left hand again and again, in circles around his ring finger’s base with his thumb. On his middle finger, there is another ring, this one made of gold with a red ruby carved into a coat of arms – a signet ring.

“I have been to Midgard once before, you know,” Fandral says softly. “T’was many years ago, many centuries… I fell to England, and could not get home, so I formed a band of good friends, and I married a princess then, too – her name was Marian.”

“Marian,” Tony repeats. “Like— Like Maid Marian?”

“Yes, that was her,” Fandral confirms, like it’s nothing. “They called me—”

“Robin Hood?” Fandral’s eyes widen slightly, and he leans back.

“Yes,” he says.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony says. “You know you’re… Famous, right? Like, I know that’s not the same as being a god, but everybody knows who Robin Hood was. You two—” Tony laughs, running his hand through his hair. “God. You really are made for each other, huh?” Fandral smiles, showing his dazzlingly white teeth.

“Yes,” he agrees easily. “I suppose we are.”

Loki is gesturing for Fandral to come over, and Fandral pats Tony’s shoulder as he slips across the room, putting one hand around Loki’s waist and easily falling into conversation with the moguls, like he’s meant to be here. And don’t they look a pair, Loki in his grey suit and Fandral in his gold, don’t they look—

Honestly, is it so bad that Tony could kinda go for both of them?

Huh. Maybe it’s a… Maybe it’s a thought.

FIN.