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The cottage was perfect. For precisely six minutes. Black candles flickered in floating sconces, their flames shaped like twisting runes. A chill mist coiled along the floor. The air smelled of spellcraft: herbs, ink, and faint ozone. Loki adjusted his cloak, took a deep, slow breath, and admired the ambiance. “Finally,” he murmured. “Something that says: enigmatic. Powerful. Frighteningly competent.” The back door banged open. “Mud,” Loki said flatly, before even turning around. “You’re tracking mud.”
Thor trotted in, tail wagging like a banner of joy, fur matted and glistening with rain. “Brother! I found a frog!”
“Of course you did.” Thor bounded forward, scattering droplets everywhere. He proudly deposited a squirming frog into Loki’s palm, looking up for praise like a child presenting a macaroni art project. Loki sighed. “You know,” he began, tone thin and tired, “Wanda Maximoff has a vulture.” Thor tilted his head. “A vulture!” Loki snapped, gesturing with the frog. “It brings her bone fragments from the Shadow Realm. It screams when danger approaches! Meanwhile, I—” he looked down at the panting, beaming creature before him, “—have a glorified mop.”
Thor, bright and happy, flopped onto his back in the middle of Loki’s summoning circle. “Oh, wonderful,” Loki muttered. “Do make yourself comfortable atop the ancient runes of power. I only spent three hours carving those.” Thor wagged his tail, unbothered.
The frog hopped away, narrowly avoiding a paw. Thor’s ears perked up, and he barked once before scrambling back to his feet and thundering after it. Loki took a deep, pointed breath and tried to center himself. “Mother said this would be good for me,” he muttered. “She said, ‘Loki, you and Thor share a perfect magical signature. You’ll balance one another.’” He stared at Thor, who had knocked over a small table trying to crawl under it to retrieve the frog. The large golden frame whorls around to proudly present the frog dangling from his mouth by its foot. He trots back up to Loki and places the frog gently back in his hand as if saying, ‘You dropped this.’ “Balance,” Loki said hollowly. “Yes. Of course.”
Loki wiped a streak of mud off his sleeve with two fingers and flicked it disdainfully toward the hearth. “You realize,” he said at length, “this frog has now been in your mouth twice.”
Thor beamed. “He likes me.”
“Because you taste like pond water.” Thor’s tail swished proudly, which only made more droplets fly. Loki’s jaw tightened as one landed on his open spellbook, smudging an inked rune. He closed it with the quiet, measured calm of a man on the brink. “Brother,” he said softly, “have you ever considered taking up a hobby?”
“I have hobbies,” Thor said, affronted.
“Rolling in mud is not a hobby. It’s a… lifestyle choice.”
Thor squinted. “You don’t like when I help in the garden.”
“You uprooted the mandrakes.”
“They were screaming!”
“They do that, Thor! They’re supposed to,” Loki stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered something in a language older than human bones.
Thor tilted his head, listening to the unfamiliar syllables. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”
“It wasn’t.” Loki crossed the room, muttering more to himself than to Thor. “Wanda has a vulture, Stephen has a spectral wolf, even Agatha Harkness commands a whole murder of crows, but no—no, I am blessed with a solar-powered retriever who thinks frogs are currency.” He turned sharply on his heel and pointed at Thor. “Do you even know how hard it is to maintain an aura of dark mystique when you glow like a hearthfire and smell like wet dog?”
Thor paused. “…It’s a good smell, though.”
Loki groaned and sank dramatically into his armchair, hand pressed to his forehead like a poet dying of ennui. “Out of all the familiars in the world, the Norns cursed me with one who sheds on spellwork.”
Thor trotted over and nudged Loki’s knee with his nose. “I shed love.”
“You shed everywhere.”
Thor grinned, eyes soft. “You love me anyway.”
Loki froze for a beat. His lips parted like he was about to retort, but then he just exhaled and gestured vaguely. “Yes, well. Love is a cruel, binding spell that demands suffering.” Thor barked once, happy, and clambered up onto the couch beside him. The cushions dipped under his weight, half-swallowing Loki in golden fur. “Off,” Loki said weakly.
“No.”
“Off.” Thor yawned and rested his head on Loki’s lap. “…Fine,” Loki muttered at last, reaching absently to scratch behind his ears, “But if you drool on me, I’m turning you into a toad.” The frog on the table croaked softly, as if in agreement.
Morning sunlight filtered through the windowpanes in hazy gold. The cottage smelled of herbs and wet fur; two things Loki had decided were mutually exclusive but apparently inevitable. He was pacing the workroom, cloak swishing dramatically, speaking mostly to himself. “Today will be different. Today, I will show the Council that I am a practitioner of poise, elegance, and mastery.” From the corner, Thor barked once, cheerful. Loki didn’t look at him. “No frogs. No mud. No—whatever that scent was last night.”
Thor tilted his head. “Pumpkin spice?”
Loki glared. “Exactly.”
He began assembling his components with delicate precision: dragon root, obsidian dust, a vial of distilled moonlight. Everything had to be perfect. His hands moved like music, deliberate and graceful, until something thumped against his leg. Loki glanced down. Thor was wagging his tail, holding a sprig of mistletoe between his teeth. “…Why,” Loki said, “are you offering me poisonous foliage?” Thor wagged harder. “I do not need—oh for the love of—fine.” Loki snatched it, setting it aside with a huff. “Go… roll in sunlight or whatever it is you do.” Thor trotted off happily.
Five minutes later, Loki reached for his next ingredient and froze. “Mistletoe,” he muttered. “I need mistletoe,” His eyes narrowed. “You clever, golden nuisance.” He glanced toward the doorway, but Thor had already bounded back in, this time proudly dragging a half-dried newt by the tail. “I’m not even going to ask,” Loki said, though his brow furrowed as he scanned his notes. “…Actually—wait.” He sighed. “Newt’s blood. Unbelievable.” Thor thumped his tail so hard a bottle rolled off the table. “Stop that,” Loki hissed, snatching it mid-fall. “Do you have any idea how long it took to brew—”
Croak.
Loki froze. There, perched on a stack of spellbooks, was the frog. The same frog. It blinked slowly, as if unimpressed by all this. Thor perked up immediately, trotted over, and gently picked it up in his mouth before padding back to Loki, tail wagging furiously. Loki blinked. “And what’s with the stupid frog, Thor?!” Thor sat, beaming, the frog dangling proudly from his jaws. “I swear to the Norns,” Loki started, pinching the bridge of his nose, then paused. His eyes flicked to his open grimoire. “Ingredient: amphibian essence… added fresh.”
He stared at Thor. Then at the frog. Then back at Thor. “…You’re lucky I needed that,” he muttered, plucking the frog from his mouth and dropping it unceremoniously into the cauldron. The frog croaked once, indignantly, as the brew turned a brilliant shade of violet. Thor wagged his tail harder. “Don’t you dare look proud of yourself,” Loki said, stirring with measured grace. “This changes nothing.”
The potion gave a happy pop! and released a soft puff of glittering smoke that smelled faintly of cinnamon and, oh no. “Pumpkin spice?!” Loki wheezed. “Again?!” Thor barked merrily, tongue lolling. “I am going to hex you into a broom,” Loki hissed.
“Would that make me helpful?” Thor asked, tilting his head.
Loki stared at him for a long moment. “…Infuriatingly, yes.” He went back to stirring, trying not to smirk.
By the time the potion had cooled, the cottage looked like it had been hit by a very cheerful storm. Runes glowed the wrong color, the air smelled like an autumn festival, and there was frog slime on the ceiling. Loki stared at the mess, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “All right. Fine. The potion works. The potion is fine. I, however, am not.”
Then his gaze landed on Thor, or more accurately: on Thor’s fur, which had somehow gone from ‘slightly muddy' to ‘unidentifiable pattern of swamp camouflage.’ Loki’s voice came out thin and strangled. “No. No, absolutely not.”
Thor froze mid-tail wag. “What?”
“You are not attending the Council looking like that.”
Thor blinked, glancing down at himself. “I look fine.”
“You look like something that crawled out of a peat bog and lost an argument with it,” Loki said, already stalking toward the washroom. “Come. Bath. Now.”
Thor groaned, “But I had a bath last week!”
“The pond you rolled in does not count!” Loki snapped, yanking open the faucet with a flare of magic. Water steamed invitingly as he muttered, “Honestly, if I must be seen with you, you’ll at least smell like something civilized.” Thor, with the tragic patience of a saint, heaved himself into the tub. Water sloshed over the sides immediately. Loki stood back, arms folded, expression carved from pure suffering. “Sit still,” he ordered, rolling up his sleeves, “And do not—”
SPLOOSH.
Thor dunked his entire head underwater. Loki stared at the frothing surface as a trail of bubbles rose, followed by Thor’s delighted, muffled laugh. Then came the blowing noises. “Are you,” Loki began, voice teetering on disbelief, “Are you blowing bubbles?”
Thor surfaced, dripping and grinning. “Look!” He demonstrated again, cheeks puffed, water splashing everywhere.
“I cannot believe this,” Loki said weakly, his once-pristine tunic now freckled with droplets. “I am kin to a sea lion.” Thor flicked his ears and wagged his tail in the water, which sent another wave over the rim. Loki just stood there, utterly defeated. “Why are you so weird?” he asked finally.
Thor thought about it for a second. “Magic,” he said simply.
Loki sighed the sigh of a man who had lost every battle but refused to surrender the war. “You are going to ruin me.”
Thor grinned. “But I’ll look clean doing it!” There was another great splash as he turned a full circle in the tub. The water turned slightly greenish-brown.
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose again. “You are never touching the frog again.”
The cottage was finally, miraculously, clean, or clean-ish. There were still faint scorch marks on the ceiling, and the faint smell of pumpkin spice clung to the curtains like a curse Loki couldn’t quite dispel, but the cauldron gleamed, the potion shimmered the correct shade of moonlit violet, and Thor, though still damp and slightly frizzy, looked at least presentable.
Loki surveyed the scene with the air of a man on the brink of triumph. “All right,” he muttered to himself, lighting a few candles. “The potion is stable, the runes are aligned, and this time I will not make a fool of myself in front of the Council.”
Thor, lounging by the fire, cracked one eye open. “You never make a fool of yourself,” he said lazily.
Loki turned a withering look on him. “You exist beside me, Thor. That’s quite enough to qualify as spectacle.” Thor just grinned and flopped over onto his back, paws in the air.
Loki sniffed and returned to his worktable, flipping open his spellbook. The parchment glowed faintly under his touch, neat lines of script shimmering in celestial ink. He read aloud softly, pacing in small, graceful circles as he rehearsed: “Incantation to summon collective lunar energy… sustained through familiar bond… conduit focus required…” A large golden head suddenly blocked his view. “Thor,” Loki said tightly, voice dangerously calm.
Thor was smiling, nose almost touching the page. “I wanna see.”
“You, what, there is nothing to see! It’s words, Thor!”
“Yeah, but you always look so serious when you read. I thought maybe I’d help.”
“By putting your face on my spell?”
Thor blinked, unbothered. “I’m channeling moral support.”
Loki drew in a long, measured breath through his nose, clearly counting backward from ten in some eldritch tongue. “Remove. Your. Head.” Thor’s ears drooped a little, but he didn’t move. Loki finally shoved his snout aside with the side of the grimoire. “You are worse than an apprentice. At least they know not to drool on ancient pages.”
“I don’t drool!”
“Your muzzle is damp!” Thor swiped his tongue across his nose, as if to prove him wrong, which did absolutely nothing to help. Loki groaned, shutting the book and pinching the bridge of his nose. “One day, I will craft a spell specifically designed to instill dignity into familiars.”
Thor tilted his head. “Will it work on you, too?”
Loki stared at him, utterly silent for a long, dangerous moment. Then, with a strained smile, he said, “You’re walking to the gathering.”
Thor gasped, horrified, “But it’s miles away!”
“Then perhaps,” Loki said sweetly, “you’ll arrive dry and quiet.”
Thor grumbled something about “witches with no sense of humor,” but when Loki turned back to his notes, Thor crept closer again, chin resting on Loki’s shoulder this time instead of the book. Loki froze mid-incantation, then sighed in resignation. “…Fine, but do not breathe on my ear.” Thor immediately exhaled loudly, all warm breath and mischief. Loki didn’t even look up. “I despise you.”
“No, you don’t,” Thor said cheerfully.
Loki muttered, “I will be discussing familiar discipline legislation at the next Council,” but his hand reached up unconsciously to scratch behind Thor’s ear anyway.
Night draped itself softly over the cottage, the only light a single candle guttering on Loki’s bedside table. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment, the faint hum of runes thrumming like a heartbeat through the walls. Loki lay staring at the ceiling, one arm folded beneath his head, the other draped elegantly, of course, over the covers. He was, by all appearances, the picture of serenity. In truth, his mind was a mess of half-finished spells, the day’s chaos replaying in endless loops, and the echo of his own voice muttering Don’t ruin this one, Loki.
The door creaked open. He didn’t move. Heavy paws padded across the floorboards. There was a pause, then the faint rustle of fur as something enormous climbed onto the bed. Loki groaned quietly. “Thor,” he said flatly, “I was two minutes from peace.”
A wet nose appeared inches from his face. “Are you awake?”
Loki turned his head slowly, meeting wide blue eyes in the dim candlelight. “How,” he said with quiet despair, “can I possibly sleep with your horrible breath fogging the air in front of me?”
Thor looked wounded. “That’s mean.”
“It’s accurate.”
Thor huffed and flopped down beside him, the mattress dipping dangerously. “What are you thinking about?”
“How you will embarrass me tomorrow,” Loki said without hesitation.
“I won’t!” Thor said immediately, ears perking up. “I promise I won’t!”
“You will,” Loki murmured, rolling to face the ceiling again. “It’s simply your nature. You attract catastrophe like I attract brilliance: inevitably and in abundance.”
Thor was silent for a long moment. His voice came quieter then, small in a way Loki rarely heard. “…But… I’m good at my job, right?” Loki froze. The words hung between them, soft and uncertain. “…I’m good?” Thor repeated, a little more hesitant this time.
Loki stared up into the dim light, something uneasy pressing behind his ribs. He could feel Thor’s warmth radiating beside him, the faint rise and fall of breath. He wanted to say something biting, something easy, but his throat tightened instead. At last, he said only, “Please don’t embarrass me.” It wasn’t an answer, but it was all he could manage without his voice breaking.
Thor didn’t press. He shifted quietly, circling once before curling up at the foot of the bed. His tail thumped, soft against the blanket. “I’ll try not to,” he murmured sleepily.
Loki lay still for a long time after Thor’s breathing evened out, watching the candle flicker low. His fingers twitched, almost reaching to rest against the golden fur by his feet. Almost. Instead, he whispered into the quiet, so softly even Thor couldn’t hear: “You’re better at it than I deserve.” The candle went out.
The morning of the gathering dawned with mist curling low over the clearing: a perfect atmosphere for a witch of Loki’s caliber, or it would have been, if his familiar hadn’t been halfway buried in the garden, digging a pit for no discernible reason. “Thor!” Loki snapped, clutching his robe to keep the hem from brushing the damp grass. “I told you to stay clean! We have to leave in less than an hour!” Thor emerged, face and paws caked with dirt, eyes bright with pride.
In his mouth dangled a large, dripping root. Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. “You—why—what even is that—” Thor dropped it at his feet with a wet thud, tail wagging. Loki glared down at it, then blinked. “Is that… mandrake?” Thor barked once and sat expectantly. “…Fine,” Loki muttered, scooping it up and brushing soil off the leaves. “Good fetch. But why do you always have to look like a bog creature doing it?”
The bath was non-negotiable. Loki filled a great copper basin behind the cottage, enchanting the water to shimmer with faint runes of cleansing. He had just rolled up his sleeves when Thor bounded over, ears perked. “All right, in you go.” Thor leaped in. The splash was titanic. Loki froze, water dripping from his hair.
Thor blinked innocently up at him, half-submerged, fur plastered down. Then he ducked under again and began blowing bubbles. “Why are you like this?” Loki said, voice flat, as bubbles gurgled and popped.
Thor came up grinning, shook himself violently, and showered Loki with enchanted bathwater. Steam rose, leaves trembled, and somewhere in the forest, a crow cawed in alarm. Loki stood there, soaked through, his robes sticking to him. “I am surrounded by imbeciles,” he declared to no one in particular. Thor sneezed, wagging his tail.
Still, by the time Loki had dried and brushed him out, with five different combs and a brief summoning of gust magic for good measure, Thor’s coat gleamed like gold. He looked positively radiant. Loki tried not to be impressed. “There,” he said, tying a silver ribbon around Thor’s neck. “You almost look respectable.” Thor puffed up proudly. “And do not roll in anything between here and the gathering, or so help me—”
A frog croaked nearby. Thor’s head whipped around. “Don’t you dare,” Loki hissed. Too late. Thor pounced, triumphant, frog dangling gently from his mouth. Loki stared at him for a long moment, face twitching. Then, with a long sigh, he took the frog, muttered a spell, and plopped it into a jar of potion ingredients. “You’re lucky I needed that,” he said, deadpan. Thor wagged his tail.
Loki muttered, “Swamp dog,” under his breath as they set off down the path, and tried to convince himself that this was fine. Totally fine. He was still the most intimidating witch in the valley. Probably.
The clearing shimmered with faint magic, the scent of sage and starlight hanging in the air. Witches gathered in small clusters; cloaks flowing, familiars poised and silent at their sides. Every flicker of movement carried intention. Every breath, elegance, and then there was Loki. He stepped into the clearing with his chin held high, robes immaculate, aura restrained to a perfectly ominous hum. Beside him trotted Thor, fur brushed to a golden sheen, tail rigidly still, for now. “Remember what we discussed,” Loki murmured under his breath. “Dignity. Poise. Absolutely no—”
Thor’s entire body suddenly went rigid. Across the clearing, Wanda Maximoff stood in crimson silk, her vulture perched elegantly upon her shoulder. The creature’s eyes glowed faintly red. “—no running off,” Loki finished darkly. Thor’s ears twitched. His tail trembled. He made a sound somewhere between a whine and a muffled explosion of joy. “Don’t you dare,” Loki hissed, without even looking at him.
Thor’s paws danced in place. His entire back half began to wiggle despite himself. “Thor.” He let out a strangled little squeak. Wanda turned at the noise, smiling faintly. Vision, her vulture, cocked his head in mild curiosity. Thor stared at them with wide, shining eyes, practically begging: please let me say hi, please let me say hi, please let me say hi—
“Compose yourself,” Loki snapped, keeping his smile fixed for appearances. “You’re vibrating.”
“I’m not vibrating,” Thor said through a toothy grin, still vibrating.
“Your tail is literally wagging a hole in the ground.”
“I’m just stretching my joy!”
“Stretch it quieter!”
Thor gave a plaintive whine, glancing between Loki and Wanda, like a child forbidden to greet his favorite aunt. When Loki refused to budge, Thor slumped into the grass with a tragic little huff, tail sweeping once across the dirt. “Good,” Loki muttered, adjusting his sleeves with an air of finality. “Maintain this level of restraint, and I might yet leave here with my dignity intact.”
Thor perked up instantly. “You mean I’m doing good?”
Loki sighed. “You’re…not currently embarrassing me.” Thor beamed, and immediately barked once, joy exploding from him before he could stop it. Half the clearing turned to stare. Loki closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course.”
Loki was doing his best impression of serenity. He stood near the center of the gathering circle, surrounded by faintly glowing sigils carved into the moss. Witches drifted past like living smoke; silk and velvet and soft murmurs in ancient tongues. Loki tilted his chin just enough to look effortless, mysterious, and powerful. He was finally being taken seriously; he could feel it.
Someone approached, Lady Harkness, one of her black crows perched on her shoulders like ink poured into feathers. She smiled that knowing, razor-thin smile of hers. “Loki Odinson,” she purred, “I hear your channeling work has become… formidable.”
Loki felt his chest swell. “One does what one can,” he said, aiming for humble brilliance but probably landing closer to smug disaster. “With a bit of practice, and the right familiar, one can achieve extraordinary results.”
Lady Harkness inclined her head politely. “Where is your familiar?”
Loki blinked. “Oh, he’s—” He turned, expecting to see gold fur at his side. Instead, there was only empty grass. Loki blinked once, twice, as if that might conjure Thor back. It did not. Then he felt the creeping horror, like ice water down his spine, as he scanned the crowd. “Excuse me,” he said faintly, already moving.
There. Across the clearing. A blur of gold fur and wagging tail. Bounding through the carefully warded air with joy incarnate. Thor was with Wanda. Loki’s stomach dropped to somewhere near his boots. “No. No, no, no—”
Thor had practically body-slammed himself into Wanda’s circle, tail whipping with such force it sent up little puffs of dust. Wanda was laughing, actually laughing, while Vision leaped down to let Thor nuzzle him enthusiastically. “Oh, you’ve grown!” Wanda cooed. “Look at you, handsome boy!” Thor’s entire body was one vibrating beam of happiness.
Across the field, Loki was making his way over with the expression of a man heading for his own execution. By the time he arrived, Thor was sitting, panting happily between Wanda and Vision, looking like the poster child for obedience. Wanda was petting him fondly. They had even conjured a little illusory light orb that Thor was batting at like a kitten. “Thor,” Loki said through his teeth, the edges of his smile trembling. “What…are you doing?”
“Being social!” Thor said brightly.
“You are harassing one of the most respected witches of our age!”
Wanda snorted into her sleeve. “He’s not harassing anyone, Loki. He’s lovely company.”
Vision nodded. “Truly delightful.”
Loki blinked. “...Delightful.”
“Indeed,” Vision said serenely.
Thor puffed his chest out. “See? Delightful!”
Loki pressed a hand to his temple. “Yes, well. Do refrain from delighting anyone else before I collapse from humiliation.”
Wanda smiled slyly. “Oh, let him enjoy himself, Loki. He’s quite refreshing among all this brooding energy.”
Loki gave her a look. “I am that brooding energy.”
“I know,” Wanda said sweetly. “That’s why he balances you so well.” Thor wagged, utterly oblivious to the faint pink tinge creeping up Loki’s ears.
The gathering had reached its crescendo; witches forming loose rings around demonstration circles, their familiars lounging nearby in varying states of dignified disinterest. Wanda had Vision perched like a living omen on a fallen branch, Stephen stood silently, radiating quiet power, and Loki—Loki was about to make everyone forget that swamp incident from last year forever. He stepped into the center of the ring, black robes billowing as if caught by a wind that wasn’t there. Runes shimmered beneath his boots, crawling like liquid light over the moss. Around him, the crowd murmured. He could hear someone whisper, “That’s the one with the golden retriever.”
He smiled tightly. Soon they’d whisper something else. “Tonight,” he began, voice smooth as dark glass, “I will demonstrate controlled convergence between natural energy and conjured form. A spell requiring precision, intellect,” A tail thumped, “and focus,” he finished, glaring meaningfully at Thor.
Thor sat just outside the circle, tail frozen mid-wag. “I’m focusing!” he whispered loudly.
Loki inhaled through his nose. He closed his eyes, stretching his hands over the sigils. Power gathered like ink in water, spiraling upward in fine blue tendrils. The earth responded. The air hummed. For a moment, it was perfect. Then Thor sneezed. The magic wavered. Loki’s eyes snapped open. “Don’t—” Thor had already bounded up, tail lashing, paw landing squarely on one of the outer runes. The whole circle flared bright gold. There was a blinding flash, a rushing whoomph, and then silence.
Smoke drifted lazily through the clearing. When it cleared, Loki was standing in the middle of a perfect, glittering dome of starlight; crystalline, radiant, impossibly beautiful. Every rune was aligned, every spark steady. It was flawless. The crowd gasped. Someone even applauded. Loki stared. “...What?”
Wanda clapped her hands together, eyes wide. “That’s incredible, Loki! You stabilized the convergence field! I’ve never seen anyone manage it so cleanly.”
Loki blinked, half-dazed, half-horrified. “Yes, well, I—of course I did—”
Thor padded up beside him, tongue lolling proudly. “I helped!”
Loki turned to him slowly. “…You stepped directly on my rune.”
Thor beamed. “Teamwork!”
Vision, ever the diplomat, inclined his head. “A remarkable display of familiar synergy. You two are… uniquely attuned.”
Loki made a strangled sound that was probably meant to be a laugh. “Yes. Uniquely. That’s one word for it.”
Thor wagged harder. “Did you see it, Loki? It sparkled!”
“It did,” Loki said faintly. “Everything sparkled. Including my dignity, as it burned away in front of a crowd.” As he looked around at the admiring faces, the murmured “brilliant work” and “what control,” Loki realized something: they actually believed he’d meant to do it. No one saw the sneeze. No one saw the pawprint on the rune.
Thor leaned against him, tail thumping softly. “You’re proud of me, right?”
Loki sighed, long and weary. “…You’re infuriating.”
“That’s not a no,” Thor said cheerfully.
Loki, to his own horror, found himself smiling. Just a little. “Yes, fine. You’re… tolerably useful.” Thor wagged his tail so hard a nearby candle guttered out.
The celebration that followed was, of course, intolerable, or at least, that was what Loki told himself. Candles floated overhead, flickering between colors as enchantments danced lazily through the air. Witches lounged on spell-lit cushions, laughter and magic mingling in the evening mist. Loki sat near the edge of the clearing with a goblet of something sparkling and ominously red, posture perfectly aloof, expression carefully bored. He wasn’t sulking. He was observing.
Somewhere in the crowd, a golden shape bounded past, followed by a chorus of delighted giggles. Loki sighed. “Of course,” he muttered. Thor was the center of attention, again. Wanda was scratching behind his ears while Vision politely discussed potion theory with him as if Thor were contributing more than occasional happy grumbles. Stephen’s wolf familiar had grudgingly accepted him, allowing Thor to share its space by the fire, and several apprentices were currently weaving flower crowns into his fur. “Look at him,” Loki muttered into his drink. “The golden fool, adored by all. He’s probably telling them about the frog.”
“He’s good company,” said a voice beside him. Loki glanced over, Wanda, watching with a small smile. “Everyone could use a familiar like that once in a while.”
Loki arched a brow. “A dripping, mud-coated retriever who mistakes ritual components for chew toys?”
“Maybe,” she said softly, “Or maybe just one who makes you laugh.”
Loki looked back toward the fire. Thor was now performing a clumsy approximation of a bow, his tail wagging with such enthusiasm that it nearly took out Stephen’s drink. The wolf grumbled. The apprentices laughed, and somehow, no one seemed to think less of Loki for it. They weren’t whispering about the dog or mocking his aesthetic. They were smiling. They were smiling at him. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself until something in his chest began to unwind.
Thor trotted up just then, tongue lolling, wearing a half-wilted flower crown at a proud tilt. He dropped something at Loki’s feet, a smooth stone, faintly glowing with residual energy. “For your collection!” he said brightly.
Loki blinked at it. “That’s a soulstone fragment.”
“Is that bad?”
“No,” Loki said after a pause. “…No, it’s actually quite rare. Where did you find it?”
Thor thought for a moment. “In the punch bowl.”
Loki pressed his fingers to his temples. “Of course you did.” Wanda laughed quietly behind her hand.
Thor flopped down beside Loki, pressing a warm shoulder to his. “Did I do good today?” he asked, not quite looking at him.
Loki hesitated, eyes catching on the way the firelight shimmered gold across Thor’s fur. “…You did,” he said finally, voice soft. “Better than I expected.”
Thor grinned so wide it was absurd. “Then you did well too! We’re a good team.”
Loki almost rolled his eyes. Almost. “Yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “A remarkably competent swamp dog and his idiot witch.” Thor wagged his tail, unbothered.
Later, when the fire had burned low and most of the witches were dozing in clusters, Loki sat quietly with his hand resting absentmindedly on Thor’s back. He pretended not to notice the gentle weight of Thor’s head in his lap. “Perhaps,” he murmured to the sleeping dog, “you’re not so terrible an aesthetic after all.” Thor snored softly, tail thumping once against the grass. The sound was terribly undignified, but Loki smiled anyway.