Anonymous: I read a fic where instead of Loki, it is Thor who gets pregnant. I wonder what was your stance if the roles were reversed?
“You know it makes more sense,” says Loki in that calm, rational, reasonable tone he likes to use when he’s trying to get out of trouble. “Seriously, look at you. You’re a god. I mean, so am I, but I don’t have the”—he grins as his eyes wander up and down Thor’s massive 6’4” frame—“impressive physique that you do. The brawn, the muscles, the might.” He clenches his fist emphatically. “You’re big and hardy and more physically suited for it than I am, and since any child of ours is bound to be quite large—”
“—or twins, yes, that if I were the one carrying our gigantic, possibly multiple offspring, I’d be utterly miserable. I wouldn’t be able to stand the extra weight. I mean that literally, Thor. You know I have weak ankles. I’d be throwing my back out every other day—”
“I know,” says Thor, “which is why I volunteer.”
“—then there’s the morning sickness, and you know how much I hate throwing up, so it’s obv—what did you say?”
“I said I volunteer to carry our child.” Thor crosses his arms and shrugs, a little smile on his lips. “I think it’d be great.”
Loki stares at Thor blankly before narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know what’s more astounding, that you just agreed with me or that you’re actually willing to do this.”
“Oh, come now, Loki. It’s just as you said. My body can handle immense physical strain, so why shouldn’t it be me? What safer place for our baby to grow than in here”—he gestures to his muscular abdomen, the contours of which can be clearly seen through the fabric of his shirt—“defended by hammer and lightning and my own flesh?”
Loki taps his pursed lips. “That is a rather good point.”
Thor saunters over and gently places his hands on Loki’s arms. “I don’t mind at all,” he says with an encouraging smile. “If I can spare you from any pain and discomfort, I will. This should be a time of joy and excitement—for both of us. I wouldn’t want it to be overshadowed because you are in constant agony. I want you… I want us to be nothing but happy when that day arrives.”
He reaches up and slips his hand around the back of Loki’s neck, caressing him in a way that never fails to make Loki weak in the knees. “I will do this for you, Loki. For us and our child—or children. Because I love you.”
Loki’s face softens. “Well, then,” he says with a faint grin, “I suppose that settles everything.”
“Not quite.” Thor looks hilariously perturbed. “How exactly do you plan to impregnate me?”
Answer: MAGIC, because FICTION! Yay!
So with a little help from Loki’s powerful seidr, an artificial womb is forged in Thor’s body and, after a long, fun-filled night of romantic passion, a little Thorki seed is planted. (Of course Thor would conceive after the first try, being very fertile and all, but that doesn’t stop him and Loki from having sex multiple times a day for a solid month, just in case. Baby-making is serious business.)
Thor’s pregnancy is confirmed a few weeks later when he unexpectedly vomits at the breakfast table after getting a whiff of poached eggs. Loki conjures the mess away and helps Thor back to their room, telling him not to worry, he can handle the meeting with the consuls from Niflheim today, just rest now, darling. Thor smiles up at him weakly and Loki brushes the hair from his eyes and kisses his cheek.
Loki ends up being the best (and busiest) partner Thor could ask for. Like… picture a daddy weasel doting on his expectant mate (who just happens to be an otter), beady eyes gleaming as he scurries along the riverbank in search of vittles and nest materials, getting into fights with other weasels over the best shreds of moss, I don’t know, it just came to me and I thought it was funny, have mercy please.
Once Thor’s belly begins to show and his shawl-poncho thing is no longer capable of concealing his condition, Loki’s illusions and projections come in handy for diplomatic or military meetings with other realms. He spends a great deal of time in the kitchens, hassling the cooks—“No, he can’t eat that anymore, it makes him ill. A little less sugar, please, thank you. Add a half dozen pickles to that order, he can’t get enough of them”—and pampering Thor as he himself enjoys being pampered. We’re talking weekly trips to the spa, breakfast in bed, full-body massages, unexpected flower bouquets, supportive notes left on the pillow in the morning, Loki is just… the best.
And he isn’t turned off at all by the changes in Thor’s body. In fact, he finds him as handsome and desirable as ever. Thor is still wholly capable of breaking a bilgesnipe in half, even without Mjolnir, so to see him embracing his softer side—like the absent way he strokes his belly at any given time of the day, or how he seems to form a nest on any piece of furniture he sits on, his tender murmurs and low, under-the-breath songs that he hums to the baby when he thinks he’s alone, and the way he seems to radiate these rosy, golden shades of light—is incredibly attractive.
“You’re doing so well, Thor,” Loki says to him at night as they’re curled up in bed. “So much better than I could have done.”
“Nonsense. You would have been a fine mother.”
“Oh, please. You know I would have been moaning from the first month. I have yet to hear a single complaint from you.”
“It’s only temporary discomfort,” says Thor, smiling. “And it’s worth it.”
Loki lifts his head from Thor’s chest and gazes up at him, his eyes shining. “I am so proud of you.”
Thor leans down and kisses Loki’s forehead—such a tender, motherly gesture—and then they snuggle up and fall asleep.
Before they know it, the big day arrives and Thor, being Thor, laughs at the offers of anesthesia and insists that the healers just start slicing—what’s one little incision compared to centuries’ worth of perforations he got from Loki? Haha, nothing, that’s what—and Loki is certainly not a nervous wreck, thank you very much, he’s just very, very anxious to meet his child. And he does, a few minutes later, when the midwife places a complaining bundle of fresh kid into his arms.
Baby is healthy, Thor ends up being really proud of his cesarean scar, “the only wound he was happy to receive”, he calls it, and after a few wonderful, sometimes-aggravating-but totally-worth-it-years, Loki decides that maybe this pregnancy thing isn’t so bad after all and he’ll be the one to carry their next child.
Their next child ends up being a full-sized Frost Giant.
User: can we have pregnant loki ficlet too? From this au?
You mean a ficlet where Thor helps Loki cope with his ghastly early pregnancy symptoms, bringing him tea in bed and taking extra care of Thorkling 1 so Loki can rest?
A ficlet where Loki is constantly asking Thor, “When you were pregnant, did you ever (insert bizarre craving/behavior here)?” or “Did your (body part) ever (slightly alarming verb phrase)?”
A ficlet where Loki is inundated with questions by Thorkling 1, who is so hyped about having a sibling (and for which Thor might be partially to blame, but Loki forgives him because the questions their kid asks are utterly hilarious)?
I thought you’d never ask.
Every pregnancy is different.
The first symptom was Loki’s powers going on the fritz: a simple illusion that dissolved into snowflakes halfway through its scheduled duration. Loki wrote it off as a fluke.
Then he accidentally turned Fandral into an arctic fox when he touched his shoulder during a meeting. Even after Loki performed the counter-spell—chuckling richly and insisting that it really was an accident—Fandral was stuck with a bushy white tail for two weeks. (Sif, Volstagg and Hogun were never going to let him live it down.)
But when Loki finally rolled over in bed one early morning and barfed up a bouquet’s worth of baby’s breath, Thor finally said, “I think you need to go to the healer.”
In the healing room later that day, Loki sneezed frost. His skin flashed blue when he did, and Thor made a truly unbearable pun about how he might have caught the whole winter instead of just a cold. (Nari, their toddling daughter, laughed so hard she wet herself. “Catch the winter! Catch the winter, Mumma!” she squawked over and over.)
It didn’t take long for the healer to come to a diagnosis: Loki was expecting.
The news didn’t surprise him one bit. He and Thor had been trying for Baby Number Two for a few weeks, and being that Thor was ridiculously virile—“I’m surprised your hand never got pregnant when we were younger,” Loki had once muttered—it was only a matter of time until it happened. At least now Loki had an explanation for his sorcery being so unreliable lately.
But the healer went on to explain that the wintry nature of some of Loki’s symptoms might indicate that the baby would be more frost gianty than their first child.
Thor was absolutely thrilled at the idea of wee little thunderfrostling being added to the family, and Nari got so excited she wet herself again.
“We can paint the nursery light blue,” Thor announced after the visit, “and have a snowflake theme. Lots of sparkly, sheer white curtains and stuffed polar bear toys. I’ll go to Jötunheim and break off a piece of glacier so it can be carved into a cradle, and then we can—”
“We don’t know anything yet,” Loki interrupted, trying to hide his smirk. (Thor’s excitement over babies was always so amusing to behold.) “It could end up being a perfectly normal child, just like Nari.”
They both turned and looked at their daughter, who had her finger up her nose and a wide, very Thor-like grin on her face. In fact, aside from her brunette hair, she was a miniature facsimile of her father (who was technically her mother, but it’s a bit hard to explain to kids that young).
“On second thought,” said Loki, resting his hand on his stomach, “perhaps having jötunn in the family might help balance things out.”
“Yaay! Winter!” Nari cheered.
Thus the weeks passed. Loki’s symptoms gradually became more and more indicative that he was going to birth a frost giant—or at least a frosted mini-whelp. Dreams of snow and ice filled his head every night. Sometimes he woke up in his jötunn form with Thor shivering and shuddering beside him, having unintentionally called upon his seidr in his sleep. Full-body ice baths were the only thing that relieved his swollen extremities and aching back. He began to crave things he’d never eaten before: certain types of fish and eel, seaweeds and kelps found only in Jötunheim’s frozen seas. He developed such an addiction to Midgardian ice cream that upon running out one time (which was also the very last time), he had gone to Earth himself and panicked a few patrons at Tokyo’s world-renown Ice Cream City.
The oyster gelato had been worth it, though.
In a few months, Loki’s belly ballooned to swine-like proportions, to speak nothing of his poor breasts; they were twice the size Thor’s had been, and Thor was already known for having admirable tiddies even before he got pregnant. His skin also began to revert back to its natural color for longer and longer periods. He hated that most of all.
“There’s a reason I like to wear this illusion,” he told Thor tearfully one evening, staring at his reflection in the mirror while Thor rubbed his shoulders. “I hate when people stare at me. It makes me feel like a monster. I certainly look like one. Just look at these red, bloodshot eyes.”
“That’s because you’re crying.”
“You know what I mean, Thor. They’re ugly. And so are these marks. As if being the same size as Volstagg isn’t bad enough, I have to look like an icy blue demon, too.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Bor’s bollocks, I’m absolutely hideous.”
“You do not look like a demon,” Thor told him gently, pressing a kiss to the lines on his cobalt-colored shoulder. “You look like you. And I think you are incredibly beautiful like this. What if our baby is born with blue skin and red eyes? You would not say it is a demon, would you? Of course not. It will be beautiful and loved, just like its mother.”
Thor’s words touched something deep in Loki. He wiped away his tears and turned, pressing a grateful kiss to Thor’s lips.
It didn’t take long for the kiss to turn into something a lot more passionate.
It was fortunate that Thor wasn’t bothered by the cold anymore. He loved getting frost-bitten by Loki.
By the time Loki was due to deliver, he had a permanent (and quite literal) case of the blues. Not that he minded or cared anymore, especially with how big his belly was.
“Just get it out,” he huffed to the midwife. “This is terribly uncomfortable.”
Indeed, the baby was much larger than average, although much smaller than a typical frost giant’s offspring. It was so large, in fact, that after several hours of labor the healers finally informed Loki that unless he could unhinge his pelvis like a snake’s jaw, there was no way the baby could be delivered naturally.
“Fine!” Loki snapped. “Cut away, then! Before I do it myself!”
The midwives prepared for surgery, but they were taking too long to suit Loki; Thor had to wrestle a lancet out of his hand.
“Steady, Loki,” Thor murmured, clasping his hand. “Let’s leave this to the professionals.”
“Professionals!” Loki snorted and pushed himself up, training his fury on the nearest target. “How many frost giants have you birthed, madam? Two? Three? Do you have any idea how excruciating it is? Because I assure you—”
“Sh, Loki, please, just—”
“Don’t you ‘please, Loki’ me, you lucky bastard. You got the small one. Why must everything in my life so bloody difficult!”
A swift anaesthetic and one incision later, Loki’s 16-pound son—blue-skinned and blond-haired, a true product of thunder and frost—drew his first breath and bellowed.
The temperature in the room immediately dropped ten degrees.
“Well…” Thor looked up from the bundle he held and smiled nervously. Frost glittered on the end of his nose. “Looks like winter has finally arrived.”