So, when I started this oneshot series, it was going to be like 300% angst and fluffiness of, like, 0.7%. But now it's evolved into nothing but fluffy all the time, so, that didn't exactly work out. Oh well, I at least tried to incorprate some angst here; I can never write for any couple without angst. That's just a given.
Anyway, word credit to JigokuShoujosRevenge. :)
Grotesque (adjetive): Comically or repulsively ugly or distorted.
Disclaimer: I don't own Thor. Wait, let me check...nope, still don't.
Grotesque.
Loki quietly lets the word race through his mind as he gingerly shifts the hand resting on his love's abdomen. He does so all while gazing at her dark hair splayed across the pillows and listening to her soft breathing midst the darkness of the night, taking the comfort of the sight for himself. The small movement makes her mumble something incoherent in a sleepy daze, and she sleepily tugs his fingers with hers.
Loki, breathing as slowly as he allows himself, rests his forehead against the back of her head and wills himself to close his eyes and banish the word from his head. His demons torment him at the worst time, it seems, and whenever he is around her. That, however, might be because when he is with her, he always cannot banish the thought that he is not good for her. He is a monster. He is hideous. He is repulsive. He is grotesque.
He is a Frost Giant.
She's mumbling something else. This prompts Loki to lift his head and gaze down at her, though she does not seem to notice; she just keeps moving those soft pink lips of hers and tightening her grip on his fingers, never once opening her eyes. His love sleeps heavily, for a mortal. Alas, even her smallest turnoffs cannot pull him away from her.
Though if she were to see his...
He tightens his grip on her abdomen, feeling the soft cotton of her sleepwear shirt underneath the pads of his fingers. Pulling her gently closer to him, he buries his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling and exhaling measuredly. Whenever he feels the doubt of himself, he can never bring himself to speak to her about it, even when she might offer him comfort.
Loki fears losing her. She is meant to be his. His mortal. His love. His companion. His Darcy. And just as much as she is his, he is hers. He knows he is her companion. Her love. Her Loki. She knows of his origins, and yet, she has never seen him in his true form. Though Darcy Lewis is a curious mortal and has inquired upon seeing his Jötun form before, Loki has always neglected to show her.
He fears what he will lose if he does.
Darcy turns in the bed so she comes face-to-face with Loki, continuing to mumble in her sleep. Loki drapes a hand over her waist and watches her carefully, seeing how she sighs and moves in her sleep, memorizing the way she restlessly moves in her slumber and continues to pull him close, even in half-consciousness.
She is beautiful. Not only because of her fair skin, or the soft curves of her body, or the brilliant blue of her eyes, or her luscious lips, but of her character. She loves him, even with everything's he done, even when being with him is a dangerous thing to do. She is perfect, and Loki knows he does not deserve her. He does not deserve any of this. The love, the warmth of being in her bed, the trust she has in him; he is not a worthy recipient of any of it.
Gently, he extends a hand and rests his palm against the warm flesh of her cheek, moving his thumb in slow circles and memorizing the feel of her skin. Her mumbling has ceased by now, and now she is at peace, her chest rising up and down in a periodic breathing pattern.
Loki should leave her. She deserves so much more. She needs someone who can bear themselves to her fully without hiding. She needs something who isn't hideous. Who isn't repulsive. Who isn't grotesque. For a second, Loki almost slips out of the bed, ready to do as he should.
But he cannot. He is too selfish. He wants, he takes, and never deserves.
Loki breathes in too sharply and jerks his hand away from Darcy's face as though her skin has burned him. The sudden shift of movement startles her awake, and in a second, Loki sees those brilliant blue eyes staring back at him.
"Jesus, Loki, you scared the shit out of me," she complains, and she places a hand over the arm on her waist, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes. "Were you just pulling a Twilight vampire?"
Loki controls his breathing once more. In and out. Out and in. "What?"
"Twilight vampire. You know, creepily watching me sleep?" Darcy asks as she squints at him (though of the darkness of her poor eyesight, Loki cannot tell). "Hey...you okay? You look spooked."
"I am fine. Go back to sleep," Loki assures her quietly.
Darcy pulls herself out of his grip and reaches over him to turn on the light (in her ever-so-eloquent manner, which consists of her almost taking one of his eyes out with her blasted elbow).
"Like hell you're fine," argues Darcy as she leans back from turning on the light, crossing her legs and sitting upright in the bed. "You're speaking in your I'm-hiding-something voice."
"I'm surprised you can tell I am, darling," Loki says, smirking and pushing himself upright so he is on his elbows and his body is angled to the right.
"Don't try to change the subject," Darcy counters, pushing his shoulder affectionately in a way to reprimand him. "And don't do that with your body while you don't have a shirt on. It's distracting."
"Ah, I see. Forgive me, then," Loki says, sitting up formally and smiling fondly at the irritated expression Darcy wears when he does; the expression is one she wears often, truth be told. "I apologize for being such a distraction for you."
Darcy frowns. "Are you trying to seduce me? Because it's working."
Loki chuckles. "No, my love, though it is nice to know I could be," he teases, but just as quickly, the word grotesque flashes through his mind and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Swallowing thickly, he looks to Darcy and adds, "You ought to sleep."
"So should you."
"You need sleep more than I," Loki reminds her. With a wave of his hand the light goes off and he tries to draw Darcy into his arms, but the woman is stubborn and she climbs right over him to get to the lamp again.
"No sleeping," she tells him when the lights are back on.
Loki offers a sultry smirk. "Are you now trying to seduce me?"
"God, Loki, get your head out of the gutter!" Darcy plucks a pillow from her side of the bed and hits him over the head with it. "We have to talk; something's bothering you."
"You are tired," Loki counters. "You must get to sleep-"
"Nope. We're talking about this." Darcy uncrosses her legs, mirroring Loki's earlier pose, but propping her head up with a fist and not angling her body as much. "So start."
Loki shakes his head. "You are tired," he tells her again, and he reaches out and brushes a lock of her wavy brown hair from her face. "Your eyes are red and you will soon struggle to stay awake."
"Nope," Darcy repeats. "I'm as wide awake as a Katy Perry song; I'm good."
Loki sighs; she is too stubborn. "Sometime else, love," he says softly. "It is late. I do not want to see you suffer in the morning; you must get sleep now."
"Wait, does that mean there's something you have to say?" Darcy perks up.
Loki swallows once more. "No," he says.
"You hesitated."
"I did not."
"Did too!" Darcy jumps up from her position, violently shaking their bed as she gets on her knees, throwing her upper body over Loki in a pathetic attempt to get him to hold her. "You have to tell me now."
Loki amusedly smiles as he lies back on the bed, drawing the foolish woman into his arms; even though she is stubborn and Loki ought to hate her for it, he always ends up being swayed.
"There really is nothing to tell," Loki says. "I was merely...thinking."
"About?" Darcy prompts, arranging herself so her head is right on his chest, her arms laced around his neck and Loki's hands on her waist.
"What I am," Loki admits quietly.
Darcy snickers into his chest. "What is this, a Disney movie?"
Loki rolls his eyes. "This is why you need sleep, darling; you tend to reference pointless nothings whenever you speak to me," he says amusedly, attempting to make her forget.
"Hey, Disney is not a 'pointless nothing.' They own everything." Darcy squeezes his neck slightly with her arms. "Now stop trying to change the subject! What were you thinking about?"
Loki sighs, tightening his grip on her waist. "It does not matter."
"Try me," Darcy challenges.
Loki's fingers spread over the expanse of her waist, slowly moving across her back and drawing her close in a very affectionate (and, admittedly, possessive) embrace. He presses his lips to her forehead, relishing the warmth of the familiar sensation and desperately wishing to never have to let her go.
"Will you not leave me if I tell you?" he asks in a soft, oddly desperate voice.
Darcy grips his shoulders comfortingly. "I won't," she pledges. "Unless, of course, you took over another world or tried to make the Avengers your minions; I can't deal with that shit right now."
Loki draws in a deep breath, ignoring her rambles. "Then I will tell you."
"Good. Hit me with your best shot, babe."
Loki slowly wills himself to speak. "Darcy...you remember that I am Jötun, correct?"
"Yup."
"Then..." Loki breathes in again, almost shuddering in fear of what she will say when he finishes. "Then you know how I am...a monster," he says quietly.
Darcy pulls her head away from his chest to squint up at him. "Come again?"
"I am a monster, Darcy," Loki says, softening his grip slightly, as if expecting her to start running. "My Jötun form- my true form- is hideous. It is deadly. It is...grotesque."
Darcy's squinting eyes seem to thin out even more. "Prove it," she says simply.
This makes Loki do a double take. "Pardon?" he says.
"I said prove it," Darcy repeats. "I know what the word grotesque means, and I don't like that you're calling yourself that. Show me your Jowtown form."
"Jötun," Loki corrects absentmindedly, as his mind is suddenly racing with worry, not of Darcy's pronunciation. How can she just insist upon seeing his Jötun form- his monstrous form- on her own will, and so willingly?
"Yeah, whatever, just show me it," Darcy prompts again.
"It is not that simple," Loki argues, slightly exasperated. "I am repulsive in that form, and I am also as dangerous as I am repulsive. It is something you would despise to see."
"Then put your money where your mouth is and show me," snaps Darcy, looking- as only she would put it- "done with his shit." She moves out of his arms, sitting up again in their bed defiantly and crossing her arms expectantly.
Loki frowns darkly. "I cannot," he growls.
"You most certainly fucking can. Show me," Darcy repeats.
Loki's patience is tried, and so is Darcy's. They are not angry at each other, but tired of what this conversation brings: a conflict between the two of them. Loki knows he cannot show Darcy his Jötun form; he fears he will lose Darcy if he does. Darcy is annoyed he will not show her his Jötun form; she feels if they love each other, then they have to truly tell- and show- each other everything.
"Understand me, Darcy. I cannot," Loki repeats angrily.
"Well why the fuck not?"
"Because I will frighten you," Loki says hotly, his anger making his words just as dangerous as he imagines his Jötun form to be. "I will make you tremble at the mere sight of me. I am grotesque in that form. You will-"
"I will what?" Darcy says harshly. "Scream? Faint? I don't care! I'm not afraid of you!"
"Well you damn well should be!" Loki roars, angrily getting off of the bed and stalking across the floor in anger. "I...I could kill you. I could kill you and not feel remorse. I could easily hurt you and-"
"And what?" Darcy challenges, defiant hurt flashing in her eyes.
"I COULD LOSE YOU!" Loki bellows, and he turns away from her, slamming his fist on the wall of their room. With the simple action, he transfers all the grief he's kept bottled up into his anger, even when the action leaves his skin hurting. Gasping to the wall, he doesn't turn to look at Darcy, even when unspilled tears prick the corners of his eyes.
He hears a shift of movement, and a second later, he feels her presence.
"Loki?" her voice sounds, and she rests a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Loki flinches from her touch, breaking his gaze away from the wall and backing away from his love. Darcy gazes at him, her facial features apologetic as she steps closer.
"Loki," she repeats. "You're...you're not going to lose me."
Loki exhales shakily, stepping back once more. "I would," he objects. "You have not seen what my true form is. You do not know what you are saying."
"You're talking to the girl who's dating you, even when you killed who knows how many people and tried to take over the world," Darcy quips, still managing to be her foolish self even when the moment is so tense. "I think I can manage if you looked different."
Loki sighs once more. "You do not understand," he repeats.
"Then make me understand." Darcy steps closer, and this time, Loki does not move away. "Show me your true form. You already know I love you; this isn't going to change anything."
"And if it does?" Loki asks slowly.
"Then I'd be a bitch, and I'm not," Darcy says. "Most of the time, anyway."
Loki breathes in and out slowly. "You...truly wish to see my Jötun form?"
"Dammit, Loki, yes. Are you gonna show me or not?" Darcy demands.
Loki closes his eyes just once, and finally, he nods. His magic, which helped keep his Jötun form in check, evaporates and he stands before Darcy, half-clothed and in his monstrous, grotesque state. When he opens his monstrous red eyes, his gaze falls on Darcy and he awaits her reaction.
Darcy, who is never hard to read, is the same right now. Her eyes widen, of course, at the sight, but a second later they soften considerably and she moves even closer to him. Loki watches her carefully, letting her do this, but when she raises a hand as if to touch him, he stops her.
"Do not touch me," he says quietly. "My skin...it will hurt you."
Her curious hand stops its descent towards his face, and she curls her fingers into her palms as the hand falls. Even when Loki has told her this, however, Darcy stays close to him, looking up at him curiously.
"You're...blue," she says in awe. "A-and you have fangs! And red eyes!"
Loki swallows thickly, fearing how weak he feels as of now, being bared as the monster he is to the woman he loves. Loki clenches his hands into fists when he hears her stammered words, and sees how her mouth has fallen open in shock. He is about to breathe out an apology when suddenly, the corners of Darcy's mouth turn up in a wide smile.
"Dude! You're cooler than a vampire!" Darcy exclaims, smiling widely.
Loki blinks, taken aback by her words. Is she suggesting she is not horrified?
"Why didn't you ever show me this before?!" Darcy cocks her head and studies his face curiously, looking almost gleeful in awe. "You look badass. What are those weird lines on your face for? And were you just born with fangs, or did they come out? And how come you didn't grow taller? Aren't you supposed to be some, like, frosty giant?"
Loki ignores her rambled questions. "You...you are not afraid?" he asks softly, unclenching his hands and flexing his fingers cautiously, wanting to touch Darcy and yet knowing he cannot.
Darcy rushes to the dresser, grabs her eyeglasses, and then rushes back. She pointedly puts them on and blinks at Loki in her fixed eyesight, the smile never leaving her face.
"Nope," she informs him. "And see? I'm not even blind when I say it." She pauses to drink in Loki's features once more. "And you look even cooler when I'm not blind! Why would you hide this? It's awesome!"
"It's dangerous," Loki corrects. "If I were to touch your skin, you could be fatally injured. Jötuns are naturally cold and harsh in their nature; I am as grotesque as I said myself to be."
Darcy shakes her head. "Don't be an idiot," she says simply. "Just because your Jowtown people are jerks doesn't mean that you're one too. You're a different man, Loki."
"Am I?" Loki asks just as simply. "I did horrible things, you know."
"Yes, I do know. And I hate you for it. Trying to take over the world, killing those innocent people...I'll never forgive you for any of that. But this? Being born someone you hate being? You didn't choose this. I can't hate you for this." Darcy takes a step closer until she's closer to him- too close to him.
"Darcy," Loki cautions.
"Loving someone means loving everything about them," Darcy continues. "Seeing you like this doesn't make me love you any less. If this was a movie I'd say something cheesy like 'it makes me love you even more.' You're not a monster. You're not repulsive. You're not grotesque."
Loki takes a step backward. "You are not seeing this in the right light, darling," he murmurs. "This...this part of me...it's not something I am proud of. In Asgard, it is a curse. Here, it is a danger. I am just what grotesque entails: distorted and repulsively hideous."
"Don't...say that." Darcy looks repulsed at the thought. "You're not grotesque. You're not ugly, or distorted, or...anything like that. You're the person you were born as. You're...beautiful." Her curious hand goes up again, as if to touch his dangerous tinted skin, so Loki uses his magic to revert back to his Aesir form.
When her soft hand comes to contact his cheek, all walls Loki could have built to shield his anger at his true form come tumbling down, and he ends up reaching out for Darcy pathetically and drawing her into his arms, letting a single tear fall. Darcy welcomes this, squeezing him tightly in return.
"You are more so, Darcy," Loki quietly says into her hair, fingering the soft tendrils and wishing to never have to let her go, directing all his attention the woman in his arms. "You deserve so much more than I."
"Ditto," comes Darcy's muffled reply into his chest.
Loki, though surprised at her reply, just draws her into his arms tighter. He feels a rush of euphoria come to him in such a simple notion as to know that Darcy accepts his Jötun form and loves him despite of it. It is a feeling he has never known. It is a feeling he never thought would be imaginable. In fact, he finds the notion of this feeling a ridiculous one. And yet, at the same time, he finds that he revels in the feeling. For once, he is not a monster. For once, he is a simple man.
Grotesque.
The word comes hauntingly again, but not for any reason of damnation. Instead, it is but a ghost in his mind; while Loki may still see himself to be such a term, he finds that when he is with Darcy Lewis, who accepts him and loves him as she does, the word never runs through his mind again once.
SO sorry for not replying to reviews until late. Please tell me I didn't forget anyone when I replied; remember that if I never PM you my thanks, then leave me a review saying that because I really want to thank each and every one of you.
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Thanks for the awesome reviews! 11 whole reviews in just one chapter?! That's crazy! You all are too awesome to even be reading my story...but I'm eternally grateful you're all sticking through his roller coaster of a fic. Send in words for the letter H if you want, review if you want to also, and just remember that you're all amazing!