Summer Clouds

Drowning in Happiness

A/N: Some darkness, and then light. Hey, maybe I should call it that. Dark and Light. Light and Dark. Silver Linings? Oh, and I LOVE the title for this chapter. Drowning in Light? I need your help. Just saw the GIF of all the Avengers pointing at the camera, with a caption saying 'you should be studying', and then there was underneath with Loki sticking his arms out of a car, with the caption 'I do what I want!' So, though I have loads of (shitty/useless) work to do, I shall take a page out of Loki's book. No, I won't take over the world, I just will procrastinate a little more, and write some shit (stories, sorry) Actually, maybe I should take over the world. PREPARE YOUR BITCHES TO KNEEL!

Quote: I have nothing against you, just stupid, ignorant wankers in general. Oh, wait, that is you. Sorry.

Loki was tired and worn, gaunt and haggard. Each step he took was painful, and each movement as if the sharp knife of pain was tearing at his skin. He had been deprived of food, and water, and his malnourished frame seemed even more evident because of his height. He had not slept for weeks on end, and his hair- what little of it he had left- was standing on end. His scalp was raw, and obviously blistered. Occasionally, if he turned just a bit too quickly, a wound would re-open, and he was unsteady on his feet because of a general lack of blood.

He moved with an obvious limp, and anyone watching could have told you that his legs had been broken, and had not healed properly, or even fully. Upon closer inspection, they might have noticed that his breaths were erratic, and halting, as if breathing brought him a great deal of pain. They would probably have deduced that over half of his ribs had been broken, several piercing his lungs, which explained the shallow, faltering breaths, or the constant expression of pain on his face. 

Or perhaps the pained expression was due to the innumerable blisters marring his royal-blue skin, undoubtedly a result of being slow-baked in what was essentially a giant oven. The skin that had not been scorched to the point of peeling was bruised, and/or bleeding. There were deep gashes running up and down his arms, and it was likely that there more concealed underneath his tunic, judging from the dark blood-stains staining the filthy fabric.  

His face was streaked with blood, and his eyes were a startling shade of red. His hands were grimy, and although at first glance one might believe that his nails had been bitten to the quick, in harsh, cold and downright cruel reality, they had been vindictively torn from his skin. It would soon become apparent to the onlooker that his feet had been slashed, because of the tentative steps he took, and the tell-tale trail of blood that he left behind.

Despite all of this, however, it was Savannah who stumbled first. Savannah, who'd hardly slept, or eaten. Savannah, who'd lived with the weight of the world on her shoulders, incessantly blaming herself for Loki's incarceration. Savannah, who'd spent every day with guilt burning away at her insides. She hit the marble floor with a barely audible *thump*, and Loki rushed to her with a speed which would have surely startled our imagined spectator, kneeling painfully by her side, and offering an arm to help her up. Ignoring it, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, trying not to worry at how easily they went around his emaciated body.

'Savannah,' he croaked, in a voice positively drowning in happiness, 'Are you alright?'

'You're here,' she said, 'I'm fine, everything's fine. I've never been better.'

'Hmm?' Loki said, clearly surprised.

She looked up, faintly abashed-

'Oh, did I say that out loud?'

'You did.'

'Ah, who cares? I missed you, Loki.' And she proceeds to give him the mortal version of a Thor-hug.

'Gently,' he warns, barely suppressing a wince.

'Right. Yes. Of course. Torture, and all that. Sorry,' she says, a little flustered, 'Come, we need to get you cleaned up. You smell of shit. Have you shat yourself?'