I don’t think this should be reblogged without the context that this a nude Ghost Rider pin-up that was printed in an official Marvel Comics swimsuit special
People are joking about running Ryan Reynolds off of Tumblr like we did for John Green as if that wouldn't just become a joke in the next Deadpool movie
Prompt: Is there such thing as Loki with the Avengers found family hurt/comfort? And if so...may I has? - anon
Gonna be honest, folks, this one's weird.
Read on Ao3
Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, mind control recovery, odin's a+ parenting
Pairings: none
Word Count: 3213
After the Battle of New York, everyone expects the Tesseract to be taken back to Asgard, along with Loki, the perpetrator of the battle and the reason for the loss of so many lives.
It comes as quite a surprise, then, when the god refuses to go back to Asgard and unconditionally surrenders to stay on Earth.
But if they've learned anything over the past few weeks, it's that they're nothing if not adaptable. So Avengers Tower finds itself playing host to an Asgardian who seems...well.
Isn't what he seems.
The Man of Iron is his first friend.
It’s admittedly strange to describe them as friends, especially when their first proper interaction was the man striding around and telling him he’s planning to threaten him and offering him a drink in the same breath. Still, there are only so many pointed quips and barbs they can throw at each other before a small amount of camaraderie begins to form.
And, of course, there is his cell.
It’s not one of the prison cells on Asgard, certainly, and it’s not the massive glass cylinder they held him in on the Helicarrier, but a cell nonetheless. A penthouse, if Stark is to be believed, complete with all the amenities a rich man on Midgard can offer. Except, of course, the freedom to leave.
The words freedom is life’s great lie did one exit his mouth, however, so he’ll take what he can get. At least here, he’s not subject to the whims and wishes of the All-Father.
So here he is, a prisoner on a planet he once tried to rule, listening to the idle prattle of a hero who stopped him.
“I don’t know, I think it’s a bit too flashy.” Stark turns the screen around, on which is what passes for worthy of worship on Midgard, a human who looks digitally altered even when they move in real-time. “What do you think?”
“The gold doesn’t compliment their undertones. What was the stylist thinking?”
“Mm. You a tailor?”
“Most of my wardrobe used to be bespoke. And unlike Thor, I paid attention.”
Stark snorts. “So I was right. You are a prima donna.”
“Not a prima donna,” Loki corrects, leaning back against the couch, “the prima donna. I’m the original.”
Stark snorts again, waving his hand until the screen vanishes. “That why you came to Earth? To inspire the masses with your fancy Asgardian ways?”
Loki toys with the glass in his hand. The liquor isn’t strong enough to affect him, but the taste is nice. “Earth was supposed to be conquerable. Easy to subjugate. A primitive race of peoples designed to serve.”
“And how’d that go for you?” Loki gestures aimlessly around. “Mhm.”
“It’s hardly the first time I’ve been lied to about a people,” he sighs, “I suppose I should’ve expected it.”
Stark is quiet for a moment. He takes a sip of his own drink. “Meaning?”
“Surely it didn’t escape your notice that Thor so graciously pointed out that I was adopted?”
“Came up in conversation.”
“And I suppose he told you the oh-so aggrandizing tale of how the ever-benevolent All-Father found me, a babe of his enemy, on the remains of a battleground?” He raises his hands. “And took me in under the guise of an Asgardian babe, a tool to be used to rule the Frost Giants if they so much as dared raise a hand against him?”
A sardonic smile twists his face.
“Was it a testament to the mercy of Asgard? Or a warning about how I was always destined to become a monster?”
Stark stares at him for a long moment. “Actually, he just said you were adopted.”
Loki pauses. “Ah.”
Well.
That’s…inconvenient.
Stark hums, looking down at his drink, swirling it around as well. “You know, my dad hated me too.”
“What?”
“Oh, he loved the attention,” Stark says, “loved having a protege, loved having proof that he was such a genius, even his children were savants. But actual me? No, couldn’t be bothered. I was sent off to nannies and governesses and boarding schools. Shipped me off like a product to be manufactured somewhere else.”
Loki narrows his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
“One, because you’re never leaving this room and who else are you going to tell?”
“Fair point.”
“And two,” Stark says, standing, “because maybe you and I have a bit more in common than we thought.”
Loki looks up at him. “Perhaps we do.”
2. Next is the Captain. The Soldier, the Man out of Time.
Stark was right, it’s too easy to come up with nicknames for Steve Rogers.
At first, he’s painfully boring. What did you want? Who sent you? What were your plans? Honestly, he’s half-tempted to tell the man that this is all part of his plan and the rest is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But there’s something horribly earnest about the man’s expression and so he finds himself offering little kernels of truth, just enough to make him go away and leave him in peace.
Then he’s having a bad day when the Captain walks in. He should’ve learned his lesson with Stark, about not sharing information about himself, not unprompted, but he’s no different from any other creature in a cage, lashing out.
“Is this entertaining for you,” he spits before he can so much as sit down, “to poke and prod at me like some great wonder? If you push the right button will a prize fall out?”
To his credit, Rogers doesn’t even flinch. He just finishes sitting down. “What makes you say that?”
Loki scoffs. “Don’t play dumb, Captain. I know why you’re holding me here. I’m too much of a threat to be left alone and you managed to convince Thor not to take me back to Asgard.”
Rogers doesn’t say anything.
“That’s all you humans know, isn’t it?” He sits forward, glaring daggers into the man’s skull. “Lock up what you don’t understand, poke it until you do, banish it away forever if it proves to be a threat? Are you to strap a collar to me as well, strip me of my magic?”
“No.”
He scoffs. “Am I to perform tricks for you, then? Am I your dancing monkey?”
Finally. The Captain’s expression tightens. Loki braces himself, ready for whatever punishment the Captain chooses to dish out, perhaps he can sneak past, make it to the door—
“You know, the first thing SHIELD did to me when I got out of the ice was stick me in a dummy room to see what I would do.”
He blinks. Rogers is still staring at him, but not in anger.
“They made up a room to look like it was from the 1940s,” he continues, “they even dressed up an agent to look like one of the SSR ones.”
“…what for?”
“Fury wanted to see what I would do.” Rogers leans his weight onto his elbows. “Was I some dumb hick they dressed up in a spangly uniform, or could I look at things and figure out what was really going on? And if I did find out they were lying to me, what would I do?”
Loki swallows. “And what did you do?”
“I broke through the fake wall and ran out into the street until they had to stop me with a squadron of cars.”
He snorts. “I can’t imagine Fury was very pleased.”
“Oh, he was.” A bitterness enters his voice. “Because that meant I was smart enough to be used. I was once again useful enough to be their dancing monkey.”
Loki frowns. “And you worked for SHIELD anyway.”
“Yeah.” Rogers looks down. “Yeah, I did.”
“…why?”
He looks back up. “Because it was what I was used to. I’m a soldier. I fight battles. It’s what was expected of me.”
What was expected of me.
He has a memory. A memory of staring up into the face of someone he once called Father who told him that he was nothing more than another stolen relic, locked up only to serve a use.
Rogers stands up. “I’ll talk to Tony about getting your access changed so you can move about the Tower. And for the record, I never said you couldn’t ask me questions either.”
Loki stares after him as he leaves.
3. He raises an eyebrow when Dr. Banner walks in next.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“No,” he says as he sits down, “which is why JARVIS is on standby and Cap’s right outside the door.”
“Mm.” He sits up, setting his book down and folding his hands. “And what is it that I can do for you, Bruce?”
“When did you first find out you were a Frost Giant?”
He blinks. Well. That certainly was…unexpected. “Not here to ask some science question?”
“What for? It’s not like you’d give me an answer that’s helpful. You’d explain it in Asgardian terms I’d need Thor to translate and I’m not willing to have that conversation yet.”
“Is there some animosity I’m sensing, Bruce?”
“Why, so you can pry us apart?” Bruce shakes his head. “No. I just prefer dealing with one Asgardian at a time.”
Loki hums. “Jumping straight into it, then? What would you like to hear? About how during an invasion of Thor’s coronation, a Frost Giant grabbed my arm and I turned as blue as they? Or how I held the very heart of winter and let it turn me into the monster I had always been?”
He leans forward.
“Or the terrified look on my poor mother’s face when she saw what I had become? The darkness that lurked deep inside of me?”
Bruce doesn’t flinch. “Or when you found out that the man who was supposed to be your father lied to you for your entire life?”
This time it’s Loki who flinches. Bruce just watches him.
“What do you hope to gain, Dr. Banner?”
“Perspective.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
“Why?” He instinctively draws his arms in. “Is it my turn to become the monster everyone fears? Were you not satisfied with throwing me around already?”
“No, that was plenty satisfying.”
Loki scoffs. “So what, now you mean to flay me alive?”
“I didn’t ask to become the Hulk, you didn’t ask to be a Frost Giant. I was lied to, so were you.”
He doesn’t respond.
Bruce sighs, already standing. “Maybe we can make our own choices about what to do with them.”
“How noble.”
“Nothing noble about trying to survive,” he calls over his shoulder, “you should come down to the living room sometime.”
4. “You know, I believe you’re still the only person who can sneak up on me like that.”
Agent Romanoff smiles at him as he sits down. He spreads his hands.
“How shall I cooperate with you this time?”
“You can tell me who hurt you.”
He frowns. “I beg your pardon?”
“No one makes a threat like the one you did without understanding exactly how to hurt someone.” She stares at him knowingly. Too knowingly. “And you don’t learn something like that without being hurt first.”
He shifts. “You sound like you speak from experience.”
“I do.” She tilts her head. “And so do you.”
There’s no trick here. No lies, no deception. They have enough mutual respect to know that whatever dance one of them begins would never end unless there was a knife buried in between their ribs.
He could stay quiet. She wouldn’t hold it against him. But she is patient, he knows, he doesn’t know if he is. Not like this.
“…you were made,” he says finally, “you were created for a purpose. And you decided it wouldn’t be yours when someone showed you that you could be different.”
She doesn’t acknowledge his statement, just that he has spoken.
“You were a trigger, ready to be pulled.” He hesitates. “…as was I.”
“A trigger?”
“A weapon. A bargaining chip. A token,” he spits, “and something to be regarded only as such.”
She watches him closely.
“I was a vessel. For the guilt of an old man, for the fear of a kingdom, and for the hatred of many. To be filled and used up when useful and then discarded.” He smiles mirthlessly. “It would never do to have a Frost Giant on the throne of Asgard.”
“And before?”
“Before what?”
“Before you found out that you were a Frost Giant, what were you?”
His mouth twists at the memory of bruises, harsh fingertips, and half-darkness.
“Convenient.”
For perhaps the first time since he has arrived, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable sitting in silence with another person.
Slowly, she stands and comes to sit next to him.
“They won’t touch you,” she says in a very quiet voice, “not again.”
“You either.”
5. Barton knocks.
He’s the only one to do so.
Now, where Bruce definitely had some grounds on which to be angry at him, Barton had enough to put an arrow through his skull. He thinks he can’t really be blamed for the way he hesitates before allowing him entry.
“Hey, man.”
“Barton.”
Barton looks around. “Nice place you got here. Tony really tricked it out.”
He glances about the room. It’s…fine, really, he can’t find a thing to complain about, but that doesn’t explain why Barton’s making…small talk.
“Can I sit?”
He nods.
“Thanks.”
He waits for the interrogation, the words, something, but it never comes. Barton just drums his fingers together, seemingly content to sit in the silence.
“…did you want something?”
Barton looks at him. “Yeah, actually, now that you mention it.”
He shifts a little.
“How long were you being controlled?”
Loki stiffens. “What?”
“You were being controlled, same as I was.” Barton gestured to his eyes. “You had the same look I did. Your eyes changed color at the end of the fight. So how long did they have you?”
“I…I don’t know,” he says slowly, trying to figure out the trap, “I don’t know how long it was.”
“Okay, what’s the last thing you remember before?”
“Pain.” He clenches his fist. “Just pain. Pain and the great ugly face of the titan Thanos.”
“Thanos?”
“A mad titan that wants to destroy the universe, yes. He’s who wanted the Tesseract.”
“Mm. So he mind-controlled you to, what, get it for him?” When Loki doesn’t respond, Barton sighs. “Look, man, do you know what the others have been doing?”
“Deciding whether or not to kill me?”
“No. They’re trying to figure out the magic of your scepter. Except it’s not really yours, is it?”
A chill slams through him and he sits up straight. “Tampering with that will only lead to darkness and despair. Don’t play with forces you cannot hope to control.”
“Whoa, easy,” Barton says, holding up a hand, “don’t shoot the messenger. Thor wants to know what happened to you, that’s why he’s okay with it.”
“…to me?”
“Yeah. You were being controlled, he’s not happy about it, and wants to know why.”
Loki stares at him. “How can you stand to be in the same room as me?”
Barton shrugs. “We all have to deal with our shit. I’m dealing with mine my way, you deal with yours your way.”
He just stares at him for a long moment.
“Any help you can give us,” Barton continues, “is good. We’re not—your life here is not contingent upon you…I dunno, being the villain. You’re here now. You gotta live with it like we all do.”
Loki’s jaw stays on the floor long after Barton leaves.
+1.
Through it all, Thor is there.
He comes to sit with Loki when he’s first getting used to the boundaries of his room, checking up on his injuries. He talks with Loki when he needs to yell and scream, an immovable shield that catches thrown objects and flailing fists. He’s a shoulder to cry on when Loki wakes up screaming from phantom pain and grinning six-fingered creatures.
When Stark changes his access protocols, he gives him a tour. Then he insists on walking with Loki every day, even going up to the roof deck for fresh air. He offers to train with him, read with him, just…spend time together.
Loki doesn’t understand why.
Why is Thor doing this? Why is Thor acting like nothing happened? Why is Thor acting like he didn’t betray him, didn’t become a monster, didn’t hurt him?
And why did Thor agree not to take him back to Asgard?
It all comes to a head during another nightmare, one that has Loki bolting upright with sweat soaking his sheets, breath going faster than his heart. He clutches a hand to his chest with the memory of something skewering through it, trying to calm down.
He is not with the Other. He is not with Thanos. He is not on Asgard.
He is on Midgard.
No one will touch him here.
A soft chime at his door and he looks up to see Thor already there, draping a warm blanket over one arm and a tankard of something steaming in the other.
“I brought your favorite,” he says quietly, helping Loki pull the blanket over himself, “all for you.”
It’s a warm sweet drink, the steam wafting up his nose as he drinks. He tries to breathe slower, leaning into the warmth of Thor’s hand rubbing circles into his back. He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe.
“Better?”
Loki nods and Thor hums, scooting closer so Loki can rest his head on his shoulder. They stay like that until the drink grows cold.
Loki swallows. “Why didn’t you take me back to Asgard?”
“Hmm?”
“You knew it would be safer if I were in their cells,” he continues, staring at the dark floor, “and it would give Midgard a chance to heal. Why didn’t you bring me back?”
Thor is quiet for a moment, then he moves to look at Loki’s face. “Why didn’t you want to go back?”
“What?”
“You had just been beaten,” Thor says, the dim lighting making it difficult to see his features, “and shot, and, well, you’d had the brainwashing power of the Mind Stone inflicted upon you. And you knew that whoever did that to you would come after you if you failed.”
Loki nods. Thor takes a deep breath.
“You knew that Asgard would have fought off any invading forces with a much higher chance of success than Midgard,” Thor says, staring at him, “and that Frigga would’ve done her best to protect you.”
His mother’s name adds a new ache to the twist in his chest.
“And there was something on Asgard that scared you worse than any of that.”
“I’m not scared.”
It sounds like a child. In many ways, it is.
“I wasn’t going to take you back to somewhere that scared you more than the threats of a mad titan,” Thor says lowly, “not when I had just gotten you back.”
“…you must think very little of me.”
“Loki, I thought the world of you.” He runs a hand through Loki’s hair. “I still do.”
“Even after everything,” he can’t help but say, “you still think of me as your brother?”
“You are my brother,” Thor says firmly, “I choose you to be.”
Oh.
Oh.
“And what,” he says, swallowing, “what if I choose you to be my brother in return?”
Thor smiles and leans down to rest their foreheads together. “Then I will celebrate that my brother has come home.”
His fingers twist shyly into Thor’s shirt. “Is this home, brother?”
I just rewatched Venom (2018) and thought about something. After finding out that Dr. Skirth betrayed him, Carlton Drake locks her in a room with a symbiote planning to kill her. But what would he have done if she had connected with it and it didn't kill her? That was before he got Riot, so if she had lived and his plan had backfired she probably could've eaten him and stopped Riot's whole plan to find and use Drake.
I’m already seeing male reactors get very verbally defensive about that scene in She-Hulk where Jennifer describes how, simply as a woman, she has more experience in suppressing rage than Banner because speaking out will get you labelled “hysterical”, “emotional”, “difficult”, “too much of a feminist”, the list goes on. And if you snap back at the wrong cat-caller, you can get murdered. So now mcu bros are rushing at the opportunity to cry out “this is just another ‘marvel throwing in another woke scene for woke’s sake’. But like…it isn’t untrue. Comic nerds are all for female superhero protagonists until she, god forbids, talks about the dynamics of what it’s like to live within the confines of patriarchy.
MCU fans are always clamoring for the social commentary to be more “subtle” and not so “in-your-face”, just so they can mindlessly enjoy a punchy fighty show and not have to confront any real-world intersections with racism, misogyny, xenophobia, transphobia, all the -isms and -phobias you can imagine. Additionally, even when the social criticisms are embedded into the story, the conflicts are routinely either overlooked or watered-down and discussed at the individual-level as if these are just isolated incidents and not reflective of larger phenomena. Dudebros forget that superhero comic media, from the very beginning, has always been political. A lot of the mainstream characters we know and love today were created in response to the anti-war and peace movements during the seventies in the United States (this is also not to say that there isn’t some definite war propaganda and Red Scare-inspired comics out there either).
Comics are teaching grounds for morality, human good, and bad, power, greed, corruption. Comics have been about the social commentary from the get-go. The idea that the government (and by extent society at large) is villainizing and surveilling a specific minority group who carry varying physical and genetic traits contrasting to that of the “ideal national subject” because of a perceived inherent aggression or difference based on their physical attributes *ahem ahem mutants*…where do you think they got that from?
I literally sat through a dude being like “IN MY EXPERIENCE AS A MAN, THAT IS NEVER THE CASE! IF A WOMAN GETS UPSET AND MAKES A SCENE IN PUBLIC, THE MAN ALWAYS LOOKS LIKE THE BAD GUY BECAUSE IT IS ASSUMED HE DID SOMETHING WRONG. MEN ARE THE ONES WHO CAN NEVER BE ANGRY.” (Obviously for Black men, my argument is different because when Black men express rage, they are viewed as a threat or turned into spectacle, but the person who made this rant was not a Black man, nor was he factoring race into his argument). As if masculinity and gratuitous violence have not become nearly synonymous. When male celebrities are accused of beating their partners, fans run to their defense to say “well she shouldn’t have provoked him.” When Will Smith slapped Chris Rock, the internet rooted for a televised boxing match between the actors/comedians. We all watched the Trump and Hillary debates right, where his belligerent behavior was coddled while she had to maintain composure?
We’ve collectively grown up watching male newscasters, talk show hosts, and reporters make jokes about angry women in sports, in the media or in news reports being on their periods, as a way to minimize the stressful and abusive circumstances, or people, women are subjected to. The world expects women to react to harassment with class and elegance; women’s anger, Black women especially, is never not mitigated. For male fans to come away from that scene wanting to eye roll is why the commentary is so “in-your-face” because a lot of y’all still don’t get it! Men are still finding ways to make women’s issues about them and the “loss” of their rights. In a world where Brock Turners are able to walk free, are you really trying to argue against this scene? Really? What else do you expect out of a series whose main character is AN ATTORNEY? Y’all are just not going to enjoy this series then, as per usual.
Tom Hardy is to veddie what James McAvoy is to cherik, what Oscar Isaac is to finnpoe and what Michael Sheen is to ineffable husbands. No I will not elaborate.
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