motion sickness

The day started like any other at school. Thor arrived early, still unsettled by his recent discoveries but determined to keep up the facade of normalcy. Yet inside, a decision burned with quiet intensity: today, he was getting answers.
During the first few classes, Thor kept an eye on Loki from a distance. He seemed absorbed in his notebooks, but Thor noticed the small tells—the slight tremor in his hands, the way he avoided eye contact with everyone, the meticulous order of his belongings, as if that tiny bit of control was the only thing holding him together.
By mid-morning, a classmate approached Thor in the hallway.
"Hey, can you help me with this? It’s for the mechanics project. I need a partner to sign off on it."
Thor was about to refuse, but he figured drawing suspicion wouldn’t help. Begrudgingly, he nodded and followed him toward an empty classroom on the other side of the building.
As they walked, Thor realized they were passing near the rooms where the Grandmaster usually taught. Then—something caught his attention. A dull thud, barely audible but enough to make him stop in his tracks. He turned toward a half-open door. The room was empty, but the voices from the next one were unmistakable.
Loki and the Grandmaster.
"Give me a minute. I’ll be right back."
Thor didn’t wait for a response before heading toward the source of the voices.
Carefully, he peeked through the window on the door, making sure to stay out of sight. The classroom was empty of students—but thick with tension. Loki stood beside a desk, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a torso marred with what looked like fresh bruises. The Grandmaster stood in front of him, holding what seemed to be a portable camera.
"Don’t be nervous, Loki. No one’s going to interrupt us here. This is our space, remember?" The Grandmaster’s voice was smooth, almost comforting, but laced with something that made Thor’s jaw clench.
"I’m not nervous." Loki’s voice was taut, stretched thin, like it was seconds from snapping.
"Perfect. Then take that off, and let’s begin."
Thor felt rage boiling inside him, but at the same time, he knew he had to be careful. If he stormed in now, he could put Loki in an even more vulnerable position.
The room was dimly lit, the fading twilight filtering through heavy curtains. Loki sat in a chair across from the Grandmaster, his posture slouched, his breath uneven—still under the lingering effects of the alcohol he’d consumed earlier. His messy hair fell over his eyes, obscuring his expression, but Thor could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he toyed with the empty glass in his hands.
In the corner of the room, a professional camera stood on its tripod, its lens aimed directly at the scene. It wasn’t some casual piece of equipment—it was the kind used for carefully planned sessions, something that only added to the unsettling atmosphere.
The Grandmaster, wearing his usual indulgent smile, circled Loki slowly, his voice soft but laced with intent.
“You know, I’ve always thought you have a presence that dims everyone else. Even now, after everything, you can’t help but draw attention, Loki.”
Loki lifted his gaze, slow and deliberate, his expression a mixture of defiance and exhaustion.
“And what does that matter?” he muttered, voice flat, as the Grandmaster came to a stop beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Thor had managed to slip in unnoticed, staying hidden in the dark corner of the room. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in the scene before him, trying to piece together what was happening. The closeness between his brother and the Grandmaster was undeniable, and the way the older man leaned toward Loki made Thor’s stomach twist.
“You’re always searching for something, aren’t you?” the Grandmaster mused, his fingers idly adjusting the collar of Loki’s shirt.
Thor clenched his fists, the surge of anger nearly overwhelming. He wanted to step forward, to rip Loki out of that chair, out of this room, away from him. But something kept him rooted in place—an instinct telling him he needed to see this through, to understand exactly what was happening before he acted.
Loki, meanwhile, looked detached, as if none of this mattered. He placed the empty glass down on the wooden table between them, his movements unhurried. The angle of his body, the slight parting of his half-unbuttoned shirt, the way his disheveled hair fell over his face—it was all a contradiction of vulnerability and something more deliberate. It was impossible to tell if this was surrender or a carefully woven defense.
The Grandmaster remained standing beside him, amusement flickering in his expression, mixed with something far more unsettling. There was something too casual about the way he hovered close, his gaze drifting over Loki as though studying a canvas he intended to alter.
“There’s something peculiar about you, Loki,” he murmured, admiration laced with something darker. “Something that sets you apart. You’ve always had it, haven’t you? That perfect balance of defiance and fragility.”
Loki let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, dragging a fingertip along the rim of his glass.
“Should I be thanking you for the compliment?” he asked dryly, not quite meeting the Grandmaster’s eyes.
The Grandmaster laughed—low, knowing—and took another step closer. He placed a hand on the back of Loki’s chair, leaning in just enough to invade his space.
“Maybe not now,” he murmured. “But there always comes a moment when people realize that opinions matter more than they think. Especially the opinions of those who can… shape their path.”
Thor’s breath caught in his throat. He hated the way the Grandmaster spoke to Loki, hated the way he stood so close, how every word dripped with something unspoken. Loki, with his slightly rumpled clothing and distant demeanor, seemed entirely out of place here. There was something wrong about all of this.
Then the Grandmaster lifted a hand, almost absentmindedly, and brushed a strand of Loki’s hair away from his face.
“You’ve always been… fascinating,” he whispered.
Loki finally met his gaze, tired but unwavering. There was something sharp in his eyes, something that pushed back against the situation he was trapped in.
“Fascinating?” he echoed, a wry smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Is that what you call a walking disaster?”
The Grandmaster tilted his head, letting the strand of hair slip through his fingers.
“A disaster, yes,” he mused. “But a beautiful one.”
Thor felt something snap inside him. The way he said it, the tone, the intimacy of the moment—it was all too much. His jaw tightened as he struggled against the instinct to intervene. Not yet. He needed more. He needed proof.
The Grandmaster turned away for a moment, reaching for a glass he had left on the table. He filled it with a dark amber liquid before setting it in front of Loki.
“Drink with me.”
Loki stared at the glass, his hesitation barely visible before he picked it up.
“Why not?” he muttered, voice edged with sarcasm, though the resignation beneath it was unmistakable.
He took a sip, the burn of the alcohol evident in the way he exhaled afterward. The Grandmaster watched him intently, his eyes following every movement like he was committing it all to memory.
Thor remained frozen, every muscle in his body wound tight. The tension in the room was suffocating, and the truth of what was unfolding before him was undeniable. The Grandmaster was too close, his presence too imposing. But it still wasn’t enough. He needed more. Something so damning that there would be no way to explain it away.
The Grandmaster leaned in again, this time placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder.
“You know, not everyone has the strength to face their true selves. But you… you do.”
Loki raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly to shrug the hand off.
“Don’t make me laugh,” he said, his voice attempting confidence, but there was something off about it. Something uneasy.
Thor held his breath. He was running out of time. The line between questionable and unforgivable was fading fast.
The Grandmaster, eerily composed, closed the distance between them just a little more. Loki’s posture stiffened slightly, but he didn’t move away. He just watched, carefully, like someone forced to play a game without knowing the rules.
The air in the room was thick with something unspoken, something pulling them all toward a point of no return.
The Grandmaster, reveling in the quiet power he held, let his fingers trail along the back of Loki’s chair, the touch slow, deliberate. The path of his hand followed the curve of Loki’s spine, almost thoughtful, almost lazy—but Thor could see the intention behind it.
Loki remained perfectly still, his lips pressing into a thin line. His eyes, unreadable, tracked every movement.
“You seem a little tense,” the Grandmaster observed, his voice laced with mock concern. His index finger ghosted over the exposed skin at Loki’s throat—a touch so light it could have been accidental, but deliberate enough to make Loki’s breath hitch.
“What are you playing at?” Loki murmured, his voice quieter now, softer. As if trying to keep something at bay.
Thor’s entire body was coiled, every nerve in him screaming to move.
Not yet.
But soon.

The Grandmaster, with a satisfied smile, gave Loki a slight nod, as if savoring his reaction. Slowly, without taking his eyes off him, he began to remove his jacket, letting it slip onto the chair with a slow, deliberate gesture.
"I just want you to trust me," he said, stepping even closer. This time, his hand traveled down Loki’s arm, a touch that could have been mistaken for casual but was charged with a far darker message. Loki didn’t move, but his body, though tense, seemed to begin yielding under the pressure.
"I don’t..." Loki started, but his voice faltered, a wave of unease washing over him. He couldn't help it—the Grandmaster’s proximity disoriented him. He didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want to be here, but his senses, dulled and clouded by alcohol and tension, refused to let him react the way he normally would.
The Grandmaster took advantage of the silence, allowing the atmosphere to grow even heavier—if that was possible. He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to Loki’s ear. His warm breath ghosted over the skin of his neck, sending a shiver down Loki’s spine. He tried to turn his face away, but the Grandmaster’s hand was now on his chest, holding him in place.
"Imagine for a moment that I’m Odin..." the Grandmaster whispered, his words laced with a threat masked as sympathy. "What would you do if I were him? If I had you here, right now, what would you do?"
Loki, breathing heavily, squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to block out the sensation of his body responding to the proximity, to the weight of the words. He knew what was happening, knew what he was feeling, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wouldn’t give his tormentor the satisfaction.
"This isn’t what it looks like," he said, though his voice carried no conviction, not even for himself.
The Grandmaster, unwilling to let words be his only weapon, slid his other hand toward Loki’s thigh, tracing along it with a delicacy that far exceeded the bounds of propriety.
"I’m not so sure about that, Loki." The Grandmaster’s voice was low, filled with a seductive venom that made it impossible not to listen. His palm pressed lightly against Loki’s leg, the contact so direct that it felt like the moment could spiral into something irreversible.
Loki, feeling how his body betrayed him with each touch, tried to push himself away from the chair. But his mind, fogged by alcohol and the Grandmaster’s relentless manipulation, made it impossible to move with the agility he normally possessed. It was as if every motion was being observed, controlled, and any attempt to escape was utterly futile.
"You’re a good boy, Loki," the Grandmaster murmured, his face drawing even closer. His tone was so soft, almost maternal, that the contrast with his actions made it all the more disturbing. Loki wanted to scream, wanted to stand up and strike him, but something inside told him that, in this moment, he couldn’t. He was trapped, ensnared in a fog of confusion that paralyzed him.
The Grandmaster smiled, pleased with the effect his words and actions had taken. Loki, completely rigid, had no idea what to do. In his mind, the memories of constant tension, of manipulation, of abuse, piled up—but he couldn’t scream. He couldn’t do anything, because the Grandmaster’s words kept dragging him deeper into an abyss from which he couldn’t escape.
Silence filled the room for an agonizing stretch of time. Loki, his head bowed, struggled to steady his breathing, but the weight of the situation was crushing.
The Grandmaster remained beside him, his body angled just slightly toward Loki, as if this was the only position from which he could truly observe him, with that piercing, unsettling intensity. Loki could feel every inch of his presence, the pressure of his proximity clinging to his skin like a second layer. The Grandmaster’s hand, still resting on his thigh, made no move to retreat. Instead, his fingers toyed with the fabric of Loki’s clothing—an insidious caress, trailing along his leg with a patience that only emphasized his complete confidence in his control.
Loki, though tense, didn’t dare move. His body was frozen, caught between the urge to flee and the sinking realization that any resistance would only make him more vulnerable. He could feel the heat of the Grandmaster’s hand against his leg—so real, so... invasive. The man’s fingertips skimmed the fabric of his uniform, tracing slow, deliberate circles on his thigh, as if the clothing was merely a temporary barrier.
"It’s funny how everything becomes easier when you stop resisting, Loki," the Grandmaster mused, his voice a quiet, silken thread laced with control. His gaze was fixed on Loki’s eyes, watching him struggle, watching him wrestle with himself. The power dynamic was entirely in his favor.
Loki, his face tilted slightly to the side, tried to breathe in a controlled rhythm, but each attempt was shattered by the unrelenting pressure of that hand on his leg—more invasive than anything else he was experiencing. His mind raced, desperately trying to piece together how he had ended up here, how the Grandmaster had managed to weave such an intricate web of control around him. His body responded to the man's touch, to his proximity, despite his mind resisting with every ounce of strength he had left.
"Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you don’t want... at least not yet," the Grandmaster murmured with a smile that never reached his eyes—a smile that, instead of reassuring Loki, only unsettled him further.
The Grandmaster’s hand now rested fully on his leg, direct and firm, sending sparks of discomfort through Loki’s body. The man seized the opportunity to inch even closer, his breath barely audible in the heavy air of the room.
"What really intrigues me, Loki, is why you’re not pushing me away... why you’re not getting up and leaving," he whispered, his tone deliberately provocative, as if daring Loki to react, as if coaxing him into playing his game. But Loki couldn’t. The words forming in his mind—the ones he wanted to shout—felt trapped in his throat. His body, still under the haze of alcohol and distress, refused to respond the way it should.
The Grandmaster tightened his grip slightly on Loki’s thigh, his hand moving with more certainty, almost as if testing him—to see whether Loki would resist, or to remind him that he wasn’t as free as he thought. Every touch, every movement, seemed to strip Loki of something—some fragment of his dignity, of his control. It was a battle he couldn’t win, and yet, he felt utterly powerless against it.
"You don’t have to play along," the Grandmaster murmured, now so close to his ear that Loki could feel his warm breath against his skin—the proximity so intense that it smothered any attempt at clarity.
Loki, his face drawn tight, finally let himself close his eyes for just a second—not in surrender, but because he needed to block out the pressure, the constant touch that made him feel so vulnerable. But as he did, something inside him cracked. The contact was no longer just physical; it was a constant reminder that he was no longer in control.
Loki’s breathing turned ragged, each inhale harder to manage. He didn’t want to succumb to this, didn’t want to be pulled into that space where he would lose more than just his composure. But his body betrayed him, sending signals he despised—signals the Grandmaster picked up with chilling precision.
The Grandmaster’s hand, which had been idly resting on his leg, began to move higher, pressing more than Loki would have admitted. Each touch felt like another piece of a puzzle where he no longer understood his own place.
The tension in the room had reached a breaking point.
Then, a door in the hallway swung open, the sound reverberating through the space.
Thor.
His figure filled the doorway, his expression fierce, his eyes brimming with barely contained rage.
And then he saw.
The world seemed to stop.
Loki’s gaze met Thor’s, and for a fleeting second, the anguish in his eyes was replaced by something else—fear. Desperation.
Thor couldn’t let this continue. He wouldn’t.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Thor roared, storming toward them with unrestrained fury.
—It’s not what it looks like, —said the Grandmaster, his voice calm. Too calm. The word “looks” hung in the air like an obvious lie, but he still tried to keep his façade intact. —There’s no need for you to react like this, Thor.
Thor stepped closer, placing his body between the Grandmaster and Loki, shielding his brother with his sheer, overwhelming presence. His breathing was heavy, his body tense, but his expression was that of someone willing to do whatever it took to make sure Loki was safe.
—Don’t give me that bullshit! —he shouted, his voice filled with disgust. —Do you think I don’t know? You’re using your power to hurt him. And I won’t allow it. Not while I’m here!
Loki, still stunned by Thor’s sudden intrusion, remained completely still, his face pale. He wanted to say something, anything to de-escalate the situation, but the words wouldn’t come out. He didn’t know if he wanted Thor to be there, protecting him, or if he wished for everything to disappear, for none of this to have ever happened.
The Grandmaster, watching Thor’s fury, seemed to weigh his next move, but the superiority he had felt moments before had begun to fade. Thor was there, imposing, his strength intimidating even to someone like him.
—This isn’t what you think, —the Grandmaster repeated, though his voice now sounded less certain. —Loki is here of his own free will, Thor. He knows what’s happening. I’m simply helping him understand his… desires better.
But Thor wasn’t willing to hear more lies. Without another word, he stepped forward, his muscles taut, and grabbed the Grandmaster by the throat, lifting him slightly off the ground. The fury in his eyes was palpable, and his voice came out as a lethal threat.
The Grandmaster, his posture still poised, met Thor’s gaze and simply raised his hand with an elegant gesture, as if dealing with a minor nuisance, a fly attempting to land on his shoulder. In that moment, his voice was calm, almost condescending, but the threat was implicit in his words.
—Leave, —he said, a subtle yet unyielding command.
Despite the rage coursing through Thor, something in the Grandmaster’s tone made him understand that his presence was no longer necessary in that space. The atmosphere tensed for another moment. Thor clenched his fists tightly but made no further move toward him. In silence, his gaze fixed on the Grandmaster, he gave a small nod before turning to Loki.
—Let’s go, —Thor said, his voice low and resolute.
Loki, still unsteady from shock and confusion, gave a weak nod but couldn’t find his voice. He felt completely overwhelmed, as if his body and mind were entirely out of his control. Somehow, he had reached a point where he no longer knew how to move, how to act. His mind was trapped between guilt, fear, and a desperate sense of powerlessness.
They both stepped out of the room, and the cold afternoon air brought a slight sense of relief. However, outside the Grandmaster’s house, Thor said nothing. He didn’t ask any questions. He simply started walking with firm steps, expecting Loki to follow.
Loki did, reluctantly, almost as if his body were obeying a command that wasn’t his own. He felt like a shadow, matching his brother’s pace without the ability to do anything else. They walked in silence until they reached the outskirts of the school, far from anyone’s gaze, in a secluded spot where the air was crisp, and the city lights shimmered in the distance.
Finally, when they reached a small bench off to the side, Thor stopped and turned to look at him, taking in his brother’s unsteady stance.
—Loki… —Thor started, his tone softer but laced with unease— are you okay?
Loki couldn’t answer right away. He stood still, staring at the ground, feeling as if the words were trapped in his throat, sealed shut by a knot of anxiety and confusion. Eventually, he took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.
—I don’t… I don’t know, —he answered, his voice unsteady. —I feel like… everything spiraled out of control, Thor. What happened in there… it wasn’t what I thought, I didn’t plan for this. It all happened too fast. I… I didn’t mean for it to go that far.
Hearing that, Thor understood what he meant. There was something in Loki’s voice that made it clear. Loki was struggling— with his own mind, his decisions, his own body. The drunken mess he had been, the state he was in, had dragged him into something he didn’t understand, something that left him feeling vulnerable and exposed.
—I know you didn’t want this, —Thor replied, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and frustration. —But you can’t let yourself get pulled into things like this, Loki. Not… not like that.
Loki lifted his gaze to meet his, but his eyes shone with a mixture of shame and sadness.
—I’m not like you, Thor. I don’t always know what to do… —his voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on—. I’m not always that strong. And now, after all of this… I feel like I’m losing control of everything.
A heavy silence settled between them. The wind kept blowing, and the city lights flickered in the distance. In that moment, everything seemed suspended in the air.
Thor watched Loki for a few seconds, assessing the situation. He knew his brother’s pain ran deeper than any fight or confrontation could show. He knew Loki had been dealing with things far greater than what he let on.
—You’re not losing control, brother. You’re just… going through something that makes you feel lost. But you’re not. And you’re not alone, —Thor said, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder, trying to offer some comfort, even though his own frustration still lingered.
Loki didn’t respond, but he appreciated the gesture, even if he didn’t fully understand it. He was caught in a storm of emotions he couldn’t handle, unsure of how to move forward from there. The only thing he knew was that, for once, his brother was there for him, and that meant more than any words could ever express.
They remained in silence for a while longer, as the city lights continued to flicker—each one a distant reminder of how far they were from everything they had known until then.
Loki swallowed hard, feeling the sting of guilt with every passing second.