[ Loki sighs, a cool puff of air against Thor's skin, his eyelashes fluttering, fragile like dusty butterfly wings. He had long parted from Asgard emotionally. Even though he played as their game, it was his little joke. His small victory. He didn't expect it to last, to be honest. He was sure Odin or Thor would come, cast him out and it would begin all over again. The cycle of tricksters and gods, of monsters and men. He sought for an end so badly and was constantly denied one
no subject
His eyes flare briefly, scaled green. ]
What does that make us, Thor? What are we, truly?