So um give this a try. I've read a lot of Loki fan fictions so hopefully this one will interest someone.
Marvel respectfully owns their characters, I own mine.
This prose is rated M for language, sex, drinking and all that other good stuff.
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In what seemed like and eternity the cosmos that swallowed him threw him back up. Into the inky blackness between realms, between what does exist and what does not. And in that eternity his mind was no more at peace than it was when he let go of the royal spear. The events that had just happened flashed again and again through his mind with an ethereal clarity. Daring them with their trials and tribulations, the faults he had discovered, the truths uncovered. And the raw aching feeling that ate at his chest threatened to eat him from the inside out.
'No Loki.'
Such words were so small, so insignificant, and yet when uttered by the very man he'd considered his father his entire life; they seemed like daggers covered in poison sent to ream his heart from his chest. To destroy everything he had once thought to be true, to eradicate the world he had lived in for thousands of mortal years.
And in the blackness of space, where time stopped and agony flourished, Loki was sure all was lost. Lost like him forever entombed in darkness and solitude.
Hatred blossomed.
Not only for the man who called himself a father, but also for the fool that considered himself a brother. The hatred there was thick and deep and sunk deep into him like a putrid swamp. He drowned in the guilt-ridden water, his lungs burning and his eyes bulging from his sallow skull. No light could reach his deep and decaying tomb.
But all around him there was nothing.
Midgard.
Earth.
While he festered in the deep sluggish waters of the swamp he thought on the measly planet with its imprudent and ignorant inhabitants. They were the reason his brother had turned from him. The reason for all of this. All of the detestation, the shame, everything.
It was to blame for the darkness that was swallowing him. A green flame broke through the darkness and erupted like the silent roar that came from his mouth. They would pay. They would all pay, each and every one of them.
He would be the one to make them pay.
Yet as he plummeted down through the nothingness his noiseless cries did not echo and his hatred did nothing to make it waver. Instead it became an internal sea in which the raw emotion of betrayal was rooted firmly in swirling waters. The darkness that enveloped him was as boundless as his hatred of all that was his past.
He was so immersed that he barely realized he was breaking through reality, breaking through atmospheres, breaking into the gravity that had pulled him thus far.
And then truly all went black.
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Tyne Rodgers lived in a farmhouse amid the vast wheat fields of the Midwest. Originally from the eastern seaboard she had moved with her older sister and her fiancé when her father passed. She enjoyed the peaceful and quiet life the farm life provided, but she enjoyed her time in the city more. Of the money her father left her she had decided to put it to use at college in New York City. She spent her fall, winter, and spring there immersed in the only thing that ever had made sense to her. Art.
She was an average girl, a bit more on the curvy side borderline doughy even. Her shape was not enhanced any by the head-full of wavy dirty blonde hair that seemed to explode out in all directions from her round soft face and framed her cool hazel eyes. Her height was a meager five foot two and she preferred cool colors to warm when it came to clothing.
Nothing stood out in particular about her, other than her chest size, which sometimes drew the attention of a particular few, otherwise she was just another girl living with her elder sister and going to art school. She was shy when first meeting people and grew more expressive as she warmed to someone.
Art however, was her world and it helped that she was good at it.
'Damn good' as her sister would put it when she talked about her younger sister at work parties.
She had been accepted right away at college and put to work, pressing the talent to new heights and expression. Under the pressure Tyne flourished, her skill grew as well as her acclaim.
Enough that she was able to quit her summer job at the service station three miles from her home in the wheat fields and support herself mostly on commissioned pieces.
Portraits of families, older folks, pets, she painted whatever was needed of her. But people were her favorite and always had been.
But painting wasn't as simple as it looked. Of the farmhouse, Margret her sister, had given her almost full custody of the spacious attic for her studio and living space. However studio was it's first function, a place to sleep was second. Instead of sleeping with the handsome farm boys from the area, brushes, pencils, and erasers frequented her bed.
It was a hot day in June, she was working on the finishing touches of the local mayors face when the heat and the constant hours of work got to her. She put her brushes down and scooted off of her old barstool, bare feet coming in contact with the old area rug she had found in a corner of the room when they'd moved in. it was now splattered with paint here and there, corroding the soft plush with hard tacky spots.
Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as she rubbed her sweaty palms against her battered cargo painting pants. The crease between her breasts was damp and itchy and she desperately wanted to cool off with a jump in a swimming pool.
A walk through the fields, however, would have to suffice.
Her sister and brother-in-law were at work as she padded down the old staircase, leaving her alone in the timeworn house. The old white paint on the stairs was gone with wear where thousands of footsteps had been and the aged oak beneath shown through. Exiting out the old 50s style kitchen and into the small backyard she let the screen door smack loudly as she traversed into the grass.
At first she headed for the lone oak tree that stood alone amid the vast flatness of the fields. It's large shadow cool and refreshing, and the breeze moving through the drying wheat felt good as it soothed the sweat that had blossomed on her skin.
She had two days to complete the painting and she was making relatively good time on this one. Nothing compared to old Mrs. Johnson's painting of her poodle Reginald. That had been a disaster. 'A fucking disaster.'
Plopping down to rest against the great rough face of the tree she let her eyes flutter closed for just a moment. A few birds sung on the power lines and in the distance the drone of a plane heading out to spray the fields could be heard. The wind picked up stray pieces of her hair and dangled them about her face, tickling the soft cream skin that was just ever so brushed with freckles.
Then suddenly the wind shifted and blew in from another direction with a new strength. Ty's eyes opened, puzzled at the sudden shift and her eyes immediately flew to the darkening sky barely a fourth of a mile from her very position.
It was as if a flash storm was erupting before her very eyes, a rare occurrence but one that did happen. But this was different, there was no thunder, no lightening, just the swirling of dark thick billowing clouds that converged to one point.
Standing up to get a better view the clouds suddenly broke open and looked like they began to drop rain.
'Rain isn't chunky,' she thought as a slice of fear slid down her spine. 'Is it a twister?'
One particularly large mass fell and landed amongst the golden ground, with that the clouds then suddenly began to fade. Within a minute the sky was cloudless and perfect again.
Tyne's feet began moving before her brain had time to keep up. The sky had just vomited something out and she had to see what it was. Rationally be forgotten, curiosity had the reigns.
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Loki felt like the one egg that had rolled too far off of the baker's counter and had fallen to it's demise on the kitchen floor. His insides felt like they were oozing out of him from every pore of his skin. He did not feel the pain initially; it came secondly to the siphoning of his control. It took him only moments to realize that it was not his insides or even his blood that was seeping out of him and into the hard ground he had fallen onto, it was his magic.
His hands clutched fruitlessly at his sides as the pull of the earth sucked almost every last ounce of his magic from him. Attempting to open his eyes brought on the first recognition of pain, the light searing at his dilated pupils that had been so accustomed to darkness.
A garbled cry escaped his lips, and blood he hadn't realized was there coated his tongue. The sound of his own heartbeat in his ears brought him back to the present. He tried to pull a hand up shield his sore eyes but the muscles protested so much that he had no choice but to lie in pain and let the planet he loathed so much steal from him.
With the metallic taste of blood in his mouth slowly he opened his eyes to the world he detested so much. His vision was hazy, swimming on the edges at first, as if he were looking down a great tunnel. However it began to clear and he was finally able to take in what was around him.
A great blue sky rippled above him, not a cloud could be seen, so boundless and huge it was that for a moment even he, a prince of Asgard, felt small. Then, as his field of vision widened, the stalks and bent heads of golden wheat frolicked overtop of him. Their swaying forms like dancers, moving in and out to the whistling of the wind, which was the only sound other than a few stray crickets that he heard.
For the moment, bound to the ground, helpless and in an agony no words could describe, Loki was a peace. The world was so simple, the blue sky, the golden wheat, and the warm sun that touched him like a lover's hand. His eyes began to flutter closed when a shadow appeared above him, and his simple world suddenly grew.
It was first a great dark shape that interrupted the tranquility of the sky above him, yet as his weary eyes concentrated the figure of a woman appeared. She gingerly pushed the stalks of wheat away as she tentatively came closer. His vision was too hazy to pick out facial features, but he could tell by shape she was female.
Hesitant, like a deer in a billowing meadow she crept ever closer, as if frightened that he would suddenly leap up, not that he could, but he decided she was smart to be cautious.
As she neared her face became clearer, haloed by the sun the abundant curly locks that framed her face glowed faintly and her hazel eyes flashed. Crouching down to his side she slowly reached out with a small slender hand and pressed it down against the cool metal of his armor.
There her hand brushed over the details of his lapel and the plates of his armor, over the gold and the black until at last her soft fingertips touched his neck. They were warm, astoundingly so, he hadn't realized until then that his entire body felt like ice.
Working their way up with feather light touches Tyne touched his cheek, right below a seeping cut. His skin was icy cold compared to the humidity and heat, 'that's because he just fell out of space,' she thought to herself.
His eyes were amazing.
They watched her every move but didn't appear to actually see her, there was no emotion that played at his face, be it pain, confusion, or fear. He was a marble pillar with eyes of emeralds that bore so deep into her she could hardly look at them.
"Are you…alright?" came her soft voice, barely louder than the whistle of the wind in the grass.
'Why does this mortal care?' he thought to himself, 'and how does she approach so nonchalantly?'
As he stared up into her face the pain of the drainage began to abate and much more physical pains took its place. It was as if he had been dragged behind a horse for miles, his body pulled and torn, rugged and haggard.
He provided her with no answer and she grew concerned at the bubbling of blood at his lips. The shock of having some strange man fall from space was slowly departing and instead she found herself looking up into the heavens. 'Where did he come from?'
Staring back down at him she quickly assessed him; his clothing was…different to say the least. He wore armor of steel and leather, thick tailored jacket with golden stitching and to top it all off patent leather boots. Whoever he was, he was important.
"Here, I'll help you sit up," she said and maneuvered herself to his side, falling to her knees and gently clutching his shoulders. Tyne was unsure if she could pull him into an upright position without his help, he appeared to be close to six foot, not something her strength could handle without a struggle.
But she tried non-the-less.
Loki's vision swam as he was hoisted from his prone status, his mouth opened and he heaved thick wet breaths as he fought the blood in his throat for air, flecks of red spotting his attire. The mortal had moved slightly behind him, her hands firmly placed on his shoulders, holding him upright as he wheezed and hacked.
'What is this foolish girl doing?'
Sluggishly he turned his head back to look at her, to gaze once more into her hazel eyes. What he found there was more than he had bargained for.
"Are you breathing okay?" she asked in a breathy manor. As he turned and looked at her the only thing her brain could come up with was; 'Damn is he handsome.' Dark, dark hair and green, green eyes on smooth pale skin, which had probably seen better days now that it was smeared with blood and had a few blooming bruises. But all in all, he rivaled Adonis in her eyes.
This mortal stared back at him unabashed, he, a prince of Asgard. Surely even on such a primitive planet as Midgard common people had the sense to not stare at royalty. Yet here she was gazing at him as if he were some alien form that had crashed to her planet.
'Oh wait…'
"Mid…Midgard..?" he managed through the rawness of his throat.
Her eyebrows knitted in confusion as she tried to decipher the word he had just uttered to her. It had made no sense to her and instead she focused more on the blood that was staining his lips.
"Earth," she supplied, "This is Earth…well part of it."
Blinking slowly and raising a shaking hand to his throbbing skull he nodded. 'Yes, Earth, that is what they call it.' It felt as though his head would split in two, and ream his spine from his body at the rate his body was protesting. His vision swam and his injuries burned for he had no magic to heal them.
"Where are you from?" she asked, her breath warm against his skin. Until now he hadn't truly realized the proximity he held with the mortal. She was pressed up against his side keeping him upright as his body refused to react.
His glazed eyes stared blankly into hers for a moment more.
"Asgard."
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