If you don't know about Loki, GO HERE.
Notes on Marvel Metaphysics and Magic, which are...
Notes on Marvel Metaphysics and Magic, which are...
Diogenes (Loki: Agent of Asgard/Worm)
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Headlights 1.0
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
If you don't know about Loki, GO HERE.
Notes on Marvel Metaphysics and Magic, which are important to Loki's characterisation and, well, how he functions, GO HERE. (Or hit the Of Gods and Magic threadmark)
Warnings for Language, Loki, Internet, People (mostly on the Internet) Hating Loki and using bad language about it, Loki. This chapter has a special warning for drunken sexual assault. Which was actually a suicide attempt
Diogenes
--
I stared at the AllMothers, I stared at the Me Who Was Who WouldBe Never Be, The Loki Who Burns.
Was that Loki's lot in life? Ever a villain, ever a sacrifice, ever a brother against brother.
Fitting, that, my own voice whispered to me, at least this time I'd benefit those who deserved it. And I reminded myself that it would be at the cost of their free will. Or at least, as free as stories ever were.
(It is very easy to come up with rationalizations.)
So, I did the only sane thing I could do when faced with this.
Hidden in my coat of invisibility and a cloud of doom and gloom I made my way down into the cellars, into the vault of the finest treasures that the Allfather kept. The guards were not there, so great was this secret.
But not so great that Thor and I had not thieved our way in once or twice when we were young and stupid. The whipping then was well worth it at the time.
Into a hidden door I slipped, the room cold, cold and old. The torches sprung to life and gold glistered. The treasures were mostly crude stuff, won in bargains and bets, arrayed over broken spears and dented armor. Furs from hunts were on the floor and piled up in corners with antlers and horns.
This was not a place of power, but of simple pleasures, where a god could take his rest. My eyes went to the far wall, criss crossed with timbers carved from the hearts of ancient trees to make huge niches.
"Eenie, meenie, minie, moe, Mother's got the Tiger by his toe." And me by the short hairs.
I shivered, shuddered, and shook myself; then I sought the baptismal to cleanse me. I took a goblet in hand, ornate and gaudy and surprisingly undented. The barrel was bigger than myself, bigger than Thor if he curled up in a fetal position after an existential crisis to wallow in a puddle of pity and self hate, but that's what I was going to do, not my big brother. The spigot turned easily. I thrust my goblet under the stream.
I was not nearly drunk enough to deal with all this shit.
--
"Oppa's wrecking ball--wiat those aren't the words. And why am I up here?" I looked down at the big room and the big barrel of mead, hanging easily from my toe and finger holds in the crumbled mortar, "And why didn't I use magic to get up here?"
I let go to scratch my head. The air tousled my hair as I fell, Oh yeah, "Selfie!"
Flash!
--
"Her eyes have seen the glory of Allfather's spear,
She is racing after the tramping children's feet--that doesn't rhyme."
I took out my phone and executed a few well practiced swipes and taps with my thumb, "Captains Log, supplemental, I am so drunk that I am either forgetting drinking songs or I am making up really bad ones on the fly. Yamblr, what do I do now?"
Annnd post. Ohh, twenty new followers since I started. Not nearly as good as the time I covered the weekly Asgardian wrestling competition, but still good; maybe next time I'd dump oil on the contestants. I poked buttons until Yamblr filtered only for reblogs with comments, then triggered the tiny spell that also sorted in long tag lists.
--
--
Most comments seemed to agree that was a good idea. I completely agreed! It wasn't like anyone who knew I really was would ever love me!
I needed more mead.
--
"Wheeee!" I could too totally do stuff unironically. Running around with your arms out like a bird never gets old, or you never get too old to do it if you're honest with yourself. I didn't have a cape, coats were so much more modern and fashionable. So I put jewelry on instead, big chains dripping from my arms and waist it's like you're really a bird, so the weight of yourself on your wings, the drag of air against your...feathers.
I sniffled, oh god too drunk, as I remembered who I was and who had been, and I knew I wasn't drunk enough; so I did the only sane thing and tipped the barrel up right and prised open the lid so I could stick my head in.
I dumped the gold into my barrel, chronicling the process with a series of pictures which I appropriately titled 'Not exactly Goldschallgger.'
I hoisted myself up and bent my head to the surface to drink.
Finally, an actual good idea!
--
Eventually I took up residence in the barrel, simply slouching more so I could drink. Doo-weee-woooo~
--
"Teddy, why is there a giant barrel in the living room?"
Hulking, growing large and green, moved forward, guarding his boyfriend with one arm and moving between him and the large window, "I don't know, give me the key...or should I kick down the door?"
"I don't want to have to replace it again, and it's not like it's an ambush, whoever is in there would be able to see us, just as we can see them. Maybe we should be polite."
"Fine, I'm going in first then." Taking the proffered keys they approached, Billy making slightly annoyed noises as Hulking grew into armor, projecting slabs out from his back and arms. "Watch my back."
"Odinson by his hand
Tra la-la la-la la-lan
Drink to the Stories Never told
Tra la-la la-la la-lan
Drink for my blood is oh so cold
Tra la-la la-la la-lan
Drink because--hic, hi gais!"
An Lo' there was god. Or a God, in a barrel, marinated in enough liquor that he he could be lit on fire. People had suggested that. His hair in wet tangles, his horns askew, his leather dripping on mother's carpet. But at least he could carry a tune. It didn't stop Teddy from winding up to punch the asshole though.
"LOKI!"
"Thas my nameday song and this is my meadschlagger. I know, I didn't save you anys, I'm drunks, but not enough, but I remember drinking songs now." He sniffed, and blinked pathetically, oh damn, was he going to cry? He already spent the first hour crying. "They're gonna kill themselves and make the stories come back, I don't know what to doooo. I just wanted to be a hero." A few more blinks, "We was a hero, but no one knew. I thought no one ould know, how could I think that because it is so obviobi. You know. I can be a hero like him and then their studid stories can't be. I am drunk enough for this, poor boy didn't get to be drunk, it's not fair. Biiiiiiilly can you kill me? I can be a hero then."
Loki had hauled himself upwards in the barrel and flopped himself helplessly over the rim to slide down, smiling helpfully and hopefully.
This, more the request than the boneless mess of a god prevented Teddy from trying to punch him in the face. That was against the superhero code, unless said suicidal person was a villain in the middle of wanton destruction.
Loki was a survivor, everyone knew this, and them especially. He always fought, always strove, and wouldn't let killing a child get in the way of his life. So he couldn't be asking for that.
"Loki, what are you talking about? And this isn't one of those backwards sideways plots of yours that will result in a body jacking, is it?"
"Preventing bodyjacking, I think, no villainous intents oath to Odin. 'Less you count crossing the Allmother as villainous, but they are bitches and want to do bad things. I'll write a letter so Thor will forgive you!" He shot up right and stumbled over to the wall with...lipstick in his hands?
Catch the drunken Norse god was a surprisingly easy game, "Nonono. Talk first. You're good at that."
Loki turned the catch into an impromptu dance, swirling around with Wiccan. "'M not a person so it wouldn't even be murder, so no sadsness. I'm just a story, I tried to kill myself, kill all the bad stories so I could be a good story, but they want to bring him back so they can have happy endings forever." It had been a bad idea to encourage Loki to talk. "Loki has no happy endings not even the kinds old Loki got because I don't want to be with villains anymore and Doom never gave head." He pressed himself against Billy, Billy who was powerful and nice and pretty and who's clothing was clinging between them because of the dampness of the mead. "I just want to be a hero," he said into Billy's neck, just under his ear, "but I can't because the stories suck and Billy," and Billy smelled so good and he wanted to be close and not alone any more, closer and maybe one of his wishes will be granted "can you send me to where I can be a hero?" Can I be closer? Closer. "Billy, Billy what are youssaying?"
There was light.
Notes on Marvel Metaphysics and Magic, which are important to Loki's characterisation and, well, how he functions, GO HERE. (Or hit the Of Gods and Magic threadmark)
Warnings for Language, Loki, Internet, People (mostly on the Internet) Hating Loki and using bad language about it, Loki. This chapter has a special warning for drunken sexual assault. Which was actually a suicide attempt
Diogenes
--
I stared at the AllMothers, I stared at the Me Who Was Who Would
Was that Loki's lot in life? Ever a villain, ever a sacrifice, ever a brother against brother.
Fitting, that, my own voice whispered to me, at least this time I'd benefit those who deserved it. And I reminded myself that it would be at the cost of their free will. Or at least, as free as stories ever were.
(It is very easy to come up with rationalizations.)
So, I did the only sane thing I could do when faced with this.
Hidden in my coat of invisibility and a cloud of doom and gloom I made my way down into the cellars, into the vault of the finest treasures that the Allfather kept. The guards were not there, so great was this secret.
But not so great that Thor and I had not thieved our way in once or twice when we were young and stupid. The whipping then was well worth it at the time.
Into a hidden door I slipped, the room cold, cold and old. The torches sprung to life and gold glistered. The treasures were mostly crude stuff, won in bargains and bets, arrayed over broken spears and dented armor. Furs from hunts were on the floor and piled up in corners with antlers and horns.
This was not a place of power, but of simple pleasures, where a god could take his rest. My eyes went to the far wall, criss crossed with timbers carved from the hearts of ancient trees to make huge niches.
"Eenie, meenie, minie, moe, Mother's got the Tiger by his toe." And me by the short hairs.
I shivered, shuddered, and shook myself; then I sought the baptismal to cleanse me. I took a goblet in hand, ornate and gaudy and surprisingly undented. The barrel was bigger than myself, bigger than Thor if he curled up in a fetal position after an existential crisis to wallow in a puddle of pity and self hate, but that's what I was going to do, not my big brother. The spigot turned easily. I thrust my goblet under the stream.
I was not nearly drunk enough to deal with all this shit.
--
"Oppa's wrecking ball--wiat those aren't the words. And why am I up here?" I looked down at the big room and the big barrel of mead, hanging easily from my toe and finger holds in the crumbled mortar, "And why didn't I use magic to get up here?"
I let go to scratch my head. The air tousled my hair as I fell, Oh yeah, "Selfie!"
Flash!
--
"Her eyes have seen the glory of Allfather's spear,
She is racing after the tramping children's feet--that doesn't rhyme."
I took out my phone and executed a few well practiced swipes and taps with my thumb, "Captains Log, supplemental, I am so drunk that I am either forgetting drinking songs or I am making up really bad ones on the fly. Yamblr, what do I do now?"
Annnd post. Ohh, twenty new followers since I started. Not nearly as good as the time I covered the weekly Asgardian wrestling competition, but still good; maybe next time I'd dump oil on the contestants. I poked buttons until Yamblr filtered only for reblogs with comments, then triggered the tiny spell that also sorted in long tag lists.
--
NuGaui427 reblogged your post and added: "Jump from teh roof again. maybe this time you;; crack ur hed open"
ActuallySpiderman reblogged your post and added: "Pls. Stop. Singing. In. Audddioposts."
Aurrillii212 reblogged your post: #not a bad singer #tbh #looks like a boyband #sounds bettter #but is more evil #would suck boy band cock for a chance to shoot him with something richards invented
ReallySpiderman101 reblogged your post and added: "Asshole, I'm Spiderman, and I bet you can't hang from..."
Coincichardence reblogged your post: #Trigger warning: Loki #Loki #Why hasn't Thor killed it yet?
VraeitableWall reblogged your post and added: "Go kill yourself, do it for the Vine!"
TonyStarkIsGreatSpiderman reblogged your post and added: "Tony Stark sucks if he's letting you guys still claim to be..."
HandAndTruth reblogged your post and added: "What does the alcohol taste like?"
MightyMonger reblogged your post and added: "YOU SHITHEAD YOU KILLED MY FAMILY I AM GOING TO FIND Y.."
Veria_The_Great reblogged your post and added: "Veria thinks that you have found an interesting vault and..."
GaulMark reblogged your post and added: "Go kill yourself faggot."
ActuallySpiderman reblogged your post and added: "Pls. Stop. Singing. In. Audddioposts."
Aurrillii212 reblogged your post: #not a bad singer #tbh #looks like a boyband #sounds bettter #but is more evil #would suck boy band cock for a chance to shoot him with something richards invented
ReallySpiderman101 reblogged your post and added: "Asshole, I'm Spiderman, and I bet you can't hang from..."
Coincichardence reblogged your post: #Trigger warning: Loki #Loki #Why hasn't Thor killed it yet?
VraeitableWall reblogged your post and added: "Go kill yourself, do it for the Vine!"
TonyStarkIsGreatSpiderman reblogged your post and added: "Tony Stark sucks if he's letting you guys still claim to be..."
HandAndTruth reblogged your post and added: "What does the alcohol taste like?"
MightyMonger reblogged your post and added: "YOU SHITHEAD YOU KILLED MY FAMILY I AM GOING TO FIND Y.."
Veria_The_Great reblogged your post and added: "Veria thinks that you have found an interesting vault and..."
GaulMark reblogged your post and added: "Go kill yourself faggot."
--
Most comments seemed to agree that was a good idea. I completely agreed! It wasn't like anyone who knew I really was would ever love me!
I needed more mead.
--
"Wheeee!" I could too totally do stuff unironically. Running around with your arms out like a bird never gets old, or you never get too old to do it if you're honest with yourself. I didn't have a cape, coats were so much more modern and fashionable. So I put jewelry on instead, big chains dripping from my arms and waist it's like you're really a bird, so the weight of yourself on your wings, the drag of air against your...feathers.
I sniffled, oh god too drunk, as I remembered who I was and who had been, and I knew I wasn't drunk enough; so I did the only sane thing and tipped the barrel up right and prised open the lid so I could stick my head in.
I dumped the gold into my barrel, chronicling the process with a series of pictures which I appropriately titled 'Not exactly Goldschallgger.'
I hoisted myself up and bent my head to the surface to drink.
Deadpool reblogged your post and added: "You're already stealing your dad's booze, steal more stuff, it might be plot relevant later!"
Finally, an actual good idea!
--
Eventually I took up residence in the barrel, simply slouching more so I could drink. Doo-weee-woooo~
--
"Teddy, why is there a giant barrel in the living room?"
Hulking, growing large and green, moved forward, guarding his boyfriend with one arm and moving between him and the large window, "I don't know, give me the key...or should I kick down the door?"
"I don't want to have to replace it again, and it's not like it's an ambush, whoever is in there would be able to see us, just as we can see them. Maybe we should be polite."
"Fine, I'm going in first then." Taking the proffered keys they approached, Billy making slightly annoyed noises as Hulking grew into armor, projecting slabs out from his back and arms. "Watch my back."
"Odinson by his hand
Tra la-la la-la la-lan
Drink to the Stories Never told
Tra la-la la-la la-lan
Drink for my blood is oh so cold
Tra la-la la-la la-lan
Drink because--hic, hi gais!"
An Lo' there was god. Or a God, in a barrel, marinated in enough liquor that he he could be lit on fire. People had suggested that. His hair in wet tangles, his horns askew, his leather dripping on mother's carpet. But at least he could carry a tune. It didn't stop Teddy from winding up to punch the asshole though.
"LOKI!"
"Thas my nameday song and this is my meadschlagger. I know, I didn't save you anys, I'm drunks, but not enough, but I remember drinking songs now." He sniffed, and blinked pathetically, oh damn, was he going to cry? He already spent the first hour crying. "They're gonna kill themselves and make the stories come back, I don't know what to doooo. I just wanted to be a hero." A few more blinks, "We was a hero, but no one knew. I thought no one ould know, how could I think that because it is so obviobi. You know. I can be a hero like him and then their studid stories can't be. I am drunk enough for this, poor boy didn't get to be drunk, it's not fair. Biiiiiiilly can you kill me? I can be a hero then."
Loki had hauled himself upwards in the barrel and flopped himself helplessly over the rim to slide down, smiling helpfully and hopefully.
This, more the request than the boneless mess of a god prevented Teddy from trying to punch him in the face. That was against the superhero code, unless said suicidal person was a villain in the middle of wanton destruction.
Loki was a survivor, everyone knew this, and them especially. He always fought, always strove, and wouldn't let killing a child get in the way of his life. So he couldn't be asking for that.
"Loki, what are you talking about? And this isn't one of those backwards sideways plots of yours that will result in a body jacking, is it?"
"Preventing bodyjacking, I think, no villainous intents oath to Odin. 'Less you count crossing the Allmother as villainous, but they are bitches and want to do bad things. I'll write a letter so Thor will forgive you!" He shot up right and stumbled over to the wall with...lipstick in his hands?
Catch the drunken Norse god was a surprisingly easy game, "Nonono. Talk first. You're good at that."
Loki turned the catch into an impromptu dance, swirling around with Wiccan. "'M not a person so it wouldn't even be murder, so no sadsness. I'm just a story, I tried to kill myself, kill all the bad stories so I could be a good story, but they want to bring him back so they can have happy endings forever." It had been a bad idea to encourage Loki to talk. "Loki has no happy endings not even the kinds old Loki got because I don't want to be with villains anymore and Doom never gave head." He pressed himself against Billy, Billy who was powerful and nice and pretty and who's clothing was clinging between them because of the dampness of the mead. "I just want to be a hero," he said into Billy's neck, just under his ear, "but I can't because the stories suck and Billy," and Billy smelled so good and he wanted to be close and not alone any more, closer and maybe one of his wishes will be granted "can you send me to where I can be a hero?" Can I be closer? Closer. "Billy, Billy what are youssaying?"
There was light.
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So...this is just before KidLoki turns into boring old Loki? I assume he somehow gets transported into Earth Bet before he becomes regular 616 Loki. I can get behind this. I loved the Kid Loki series, for the short time it lasted. Sadly, Status Quo turned out to be God.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Nope, this is after Loki absorbed Kid Loki. It resulted in Teen Loki, who Wants to be a hero, is part of the All-Mother's Asgardian Black Ops, and looks like a member of One Direction. Good series, if i recall correctly
...Damn.
I preferred Kid Loki. Still, as long as it's not traditional 616 Loki, I'll give it a chance. 616 Loki was incredibly boring. At least MCU Loki had some nuance to his character.
I preferred Kid Loki. Still, as long as it's not traditional 616 Loki, I'll give it a chance. 616 Loki was incredibly boring. At least MCU Loki had some nuance to his character.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Basically, Teen Loki was what resulted of 616 Loki's plan. However, 616 Loki didn't realise the Kid Loki's Good nature would live on in Teen Loki. So Now Teen Loki is doing his best to avoid reverting back into his old self, even when the universe itself is trying to make him do so. In a metatextual sense, the character is attempting to avoid Status Quo is God.
Part of his plans for doing so involve shooting a fish with a bazooka. And he loves bacon too
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
A bit more complicated than that. They're stories, not people, and so Teen Idol Loki is trying to, well, be Kid Loki, because he actually regrets killing him/being the murder weapon, but by the time Ikol had developed enough to not want to go through with it, it was unavoidable.
So in early Agent of Asgard he's going around doing stuff for the Allmothers to get bits of his story erased from Asgardian so he can be a good person. The stories are self reinforcing you see, so long as people think he's going to turn evil, he will. But if he can avoid it for long enough, get enough good publicity, change the mind of the people...then he doesn't have to be. Which is only possible because Ragnarok is over.
But in...I think AoA #8? He finds out it's a set up. The Allmothers are setting him up to fall, so he'll be the bad guy for Thor to defeat over and over again, so the Asgardians can have their happily ever after, chaining them back into a story for stability.
They also have old asshole Loki who claims to be from the future (Who is all kinds of hilarious). So yeah.
It's also really easy to read suicidal into his actions, he's a story and he's trying to rip out parts of his pages, then all those projections in Young Avengers...
EDIT:
The bazooka thing was his 'future self' fucking with time/retconing shit to insert himself into the story earlier on. (Young!Odin is disturbingly adorable)
He's a shit head, and I hate him, but King Loki (that's what 'future Loki' called in universe) is fucking hilarious. When he breaks out the popcorn in his cell, when he tells stupid riddles. The Bazooka.
The bacon loving thing is Teen!Loki though, or Teen!Loki trying to be Kid!Loki, it's hard to tell. Become the mask can be literal when you're a story.
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Headlights 1.1
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
Headlights
1.1
Sometime later Loki woke up with a hangover, very surprised that he was alive, and besides the pounding headache the inside of his head was remarkably quiet, no, still. As if there were few if any stories about him at all being told.
Loki tilted his head back and laughed. Then cursed himself for stupidity and wished for a fountain to dunk his head in as he moaned in pain.
Through his moaning Loki heard a loudspeaker. "Disarm yourself and come out slow; hands behind your head, eyes closed or we will shoot!"
He blinked, the language filtering through the Alltongue. French? And...that was...surprisingly well prepared for a potential supervillian. Sounded less like super heroes or federal level government and more like police.
"Only if you swear to to give me water and painkillers, I'm really hung over!" Yelling to them really didn't help, "And I can't get my sword out!" He shifted, getting his feet under him, clanky with gold, hissing as the burning pins and needles. Why did it burn? He was a frost giant. That was a stupid thought. Maybe he was still drunk? No, it wouldn't hurt this much if he was. Slowly, he stood up, hands in the proper position, eyes closed, and collapsed, "MERDE!"
His skull was flying apart out there, or being collapsed down into a black hole. The pain was blue edged white sear, his eyes watered. "I'm," he laughed a little, soft and choking, "really really hung over, this is not how I wanted my first day as hero to go."
The shock confirmed he was...really far away, wherever it was Billy sent him. There was no magic outside his cozy barrel, the stout, ancient planks incubated him, slowly radiating their own imbued energy, the physics of home held stable safe inside. It was like a cup full of dry ice. He could imagine it, magic filling it and pooling at the top, creeping down the sides, but mostly contained within. When he stood, he was a tent pole, lifting up the leaden canvas to make room, to make depth.
His own power was secure, the only true source for at least miles. He would be fine. Loki did not have magic. Loki was magic. If he went slowly, if he was prepared, it would be fine, he would be fine. It was the shock of the 'pressure differential' piled on top of his current pain that edged him over into agony.
"Perhaps then, Monsieur, we can oblige you with the pain killers." The voice was much more at ease now. "Still, you must obey our orders, especially if you want to join The Masters."
Well, that was an ominous name. Still, Loki fixed a cheery smile on his face, and a cheery tone in his voice, "Ah, Good Monsieur, I am as a virgin on her marriage day, and can only bow to your whims and trust your skillful intent. But, I leap to your pleasure to keep my eyes from being lanced from my skull by the sun." Comic timing, a pause, and to be honest, he wondered how true his words would strike. He didn't feel up to using his magic to check, or change it though. "I still think we should have gone with the spring colored lace." Besides, he was fairly certain that it wasn't a heroic action, and here, here he had a clean slate, so he was going to use it. Then he rose.
"Halt!" And Loki did. "Monsieur, you seem to have lost your mask. Please wait, we have spares."
Now wasn't that strange. Well prepared for supervillians, yet offering the the respect they would heroes, or giving him the benefit of the doubt.
This was his true face, or at least the one he most often wore, still, how to approach this... "I am moving my hand." He touched his face, tracing his cheekbones, pretending like he was checking himself, and then he laughed. Then he stopped laughing and whined theatrically because it hurt. "It is no trouble, for while Loki changes he is always Loki." He felt their stress increase, could hear the grips on guns tighten. "I can only transform into what I am, not into other people. The the representation differs, what it represents is not. Should I see you I could not be you, because you are not me."
It was a good faith offering, and his co-operation so far was probably the only reason why they heeded it. There were probably cameras and eyes on him doubly so right now. Pity. Or it would be if he planned on escaping.
Unfortunately, things were a bit more awkward than all that. After blindfolding him--it felt strange, weighty enough to be metal, and conformed well to his features, and handcuffing him--again strange and actually weighty, he would have to work to break them. His captors couldn't pick up his barrel, and struggled to hold Gram. Asgardian wood is to Asgardians as mortal wood is to mortals. Before they could tip it over to roll it, Loki spoke up, "Ah, I could carry it, and my sword could be sheathed within," Loki said lightly, mostly for the sake of his pounding skull. "My hands shall be well occupied."
"We cannot let you go uncuffed, monsieur, even if you are being so very obliging and covered in your own chains besides." Golden chains, but still chains.
Smile now, and try to keep the Cheshire out of it, even if the lady officer did sound pretty--well shaped ribcage and neck, he thought. "It is good for you to do your job, though sad I cannot kiss your hand. I will not ask you to put my arms in the front, but with some help I can get it onto my back." He paused a bit, "I can keep it, can't I?" This world did not have the warp and weft of magic to weave his things into, short of himself, he'd have to get creative about his apartments.
"Once you go free, I don't see why not."
"Merci," he dipped his head, "Now, I am going to move, is this acceptable?"
It took her a moment to respond, and he assumed she nodded before realizing that he could not see her. "Yes, but be aware we have Tinker-guns upon you"
That didn't sound like they meant for him to urinate. Strange. He reached out with his foot, feeling his way on the cobbles or bricks, he wasn't sure which. His foot hit something, "This is is it?"
"Yes."
He felt the edge a bit, so he knew where it was by the curve, and then half stepped over. Elbow to the wood he turned, back to the barrel, and crouched, slowly so they could see. Down, down, he pushed a little, it took only a small amount of strength to shift the empty vessel, and wiggled his fingertips under the edge. "Now, push it forward onto my back!" He hooked in to the rim and leaned forward.
With the help of the police he had the weight on his back, and their hands helped keep it balanced as he stood. If he held tightly he didn't think he'd need them to balance him.
"I know I would look much finer over the barrel than the barrel over me, but one does what one can."
"That was so terrible there must be a law against it on the books."
"I'm afraid that I will be the cause for many such laws."
This wasn't how Loki expected his first day as a Hero to go.
The petty treasures he had accidentally liberated from the vault were taken from him, to check against any thefts, though he assured the police that they were family heirlooms which were totally given to him by his father to make sure he got a good start on his Adventuring. A complete falsehood that flew in the face of tradition and good taste--if an Asgardian wanted money for an Adventure, they went on Adventure. Even children had their start slaughtering rodents of unusual size in cellars.
It wasn't his fault he was lying, of course, Gram was gone, taken for inspection. They left him with the rest of his clothing where as the Avengers would have taken it. Costumes and faces, he mused to himself.
Fools.
Yet, on one level, it was par the course. Other things, however, weren't.
Loki was in a cell for being drunk in public. Firstly, he wasn't drunk, he was hung over. While both could be avoided by drinking enough water there were differences; one was pleasant, the other was not.
At least there was water, and painkillers: the officer lived up to his oath. Aspirin and Ibuprofen were far beneath the gods, however. Interestingly when he turned the innocuous little pills down, telling them they didn't work they asked him if his 'brute rating' interfered with his medications. Doctor Ping brought him new pills, and laughed at his attempts to procure Hair of Dog. She stayed until he took them like a good boy, asking him questions and jotting notes down in a mix of kanji and French.
They still didn't work.
He appreciated the sentiment though.
Why were there laws about being drunk in public? Everyone in Asgard would be in the dungeons if that was a law back home. Stupid laws, that's why he ignored them usually. But then everyone got angry and he started ignoring even the less stupid laws and it all went down like a flush toilet.
But at least the water helped, and they let him have as much as he wanted. There were no heavy chains, and the cell was pleasantly cool, and people smiled at him. Or smiled at the illusion of him he projected while wandering around the cell block invisibly. That wasn't a thing people usually did for him, smile, help him, certainly not officers of the law.
They didn't know better. No one told them to fear him. Nothing told them to fear him. He was exactly what he said he was, a would-be hero, and nothing else said otherwise.
No stories.
Loki smiled, though his skull was still pounding, and took out his phone. He was in another world, but there was a storyline back home, and to Billy.
1.1
Sometime later Loki woke up with a hangover, very surprised that he was alive, and besides the pounding headache the inside of his head was remarkably quiet, no, still. As if there were few if any stories about him at all being told.
Loki tilted his head back and laughed. Then cursed himself for stupidity and wished for a fountain to dunk his head in as he moaned in pain.
Through his moaning Loki heard a loudspeaker. "Disarm yourself and come out slow; hands behind your head, eyes closed or we will shoot!"
He blinked, the language filtering through the Alltongue. French? And...that was...surprisingly well prepared for a potential supervillian. Sounded less like super heroes or federal level government and more like police.
"Only if you swear to to give me water and painkillers, I'm really hung over!" Yelling to them really didn't help, "And I can't get my sword out!" He shifted, getting his feet under him, clanky with gold, hissing as the burning pins and needles. Why did it burn? He was a frost giant. That was a stupid thought. Maybe he was still drunk? No, it wouldn't hurt this much if he was. Slowly, he stood up, hands in the proper position, eyes closed, and collapsed, "MERDE!"
His skull was flying apart out there, or being collapsed down into a black hole. The pain was blue edged white sear, his eyes watered. "I'm," he laughed a little, soft and choking, "really really hung over, this is not how I wanted my first day as hero to go."
The shock confirmed he was...really far away, wherever it was Billy sent him. There was no magic outside his cozy barrel, the stout, ancient planks incubated him, slowly radiating their own imbued energy, the physics of home held stable safe inside. It was like a cup full of dry ice. He could imagine it, magic filling it and pooling at the top, creeping down the sides, but mostly contained within. When he stood, he was a tent pole, lifting up the leaden canvas to make room, to make depth.
His own power was secure, the only true source for at least miles. He would be fine. Loki did not have magic. Loki was magic. If he went slowly, if he was prepared, it would be fine, he would be fine. It was the shock of the 'pressure differential' piled on top of his current pain that edged him over into agony.
"Perhaps then, Monsieur, we can oblige you with the pain killers." The voice was much more at ease now. "Still, you must obey our orders, especially if you want to join The Masters."
Well, that was an ominous name. Still, Loki fixed a cheery smile on his face, and a cheery tone in his voice, "Ah, Good Monsieur, I am as a virgin on her marriage day, and can only bow to your whims and trust your skillful intent. But, I leap to your pleasure to keep my eyes from being lanced from my skull by the sun." Comic timing, a pause, and to be honest, he wondered how true his words would strike. He didn't feel up to using his magic to check, or change it though. "I still think we should have gone with the spring colored lace." Besides, he was fairly certain that it wasn't a heroic action, and here, here he had a clean slate, so he was going to use it. Then he rose.
"Halt!" And Loki did. "Monsieur, you seem to have lost your mask. Please wait, we have spares."
Now wasn't that strange. Well prepared for supervillians, yet offering the the respect they would heroes, or giving him the benefit of the doubt.
This was his true face, or at least the one he most often wore, still, how to approach this... "I am moving my hand." He touched his face, tracing his cheekbones, pretending like he was checking himself, and then he laughed. Then he stopped laughing and whined theatrically because it hurt. "It is no trouble, for while Loki changes he is always Loki." He felt their stress increase, could hear the grips on guns tighten. "I can only transform into what I am, not into other people. The the representation differs, what it represents is not. Should I see you I could not be you, because you are not me."
It was a good faith offering, and his co-operation so far was probably the only reason why they heeded it. There were probably cameras and eyes on him doubly so right now. Pity. Or it would be if he planned on escaping.
Unfortunately, things were a bit more awkward than all that. After blindfolding him--it felt strange, weighty enough to be metal, and conformed well to his features, and handcuffing him--again strange and actually weighty, he would have to work to break them. His captors couldn't pick up his barrel, and struggled to hold Gram. Asgardian wood is to Asgardians as mortal wood is to mortals. Before they could tip it over to roll it, Loki spoke up, "Ah, I could carry it, and my sword could be sheathed within," Loki said lightly, mostly for the sake of his pounding skull. "My hands shall be well occupied."
"We cannot let you go uncuffed, monsieur, even if you are being so very obliging and covered in your own chains besides." Golden chains, but still chains.
Smile now, and try to keep the Cheshire out of it, even if the lady officer did sound pretty--well shaped ribcage and neck, he thought. "It is good for you to do your job, though sad I cannot kiss your hand. I will not ask you to put my arms in the front, but with some help I can get it onto my back." He paused a bit, "I can keep it, can't I?" This world did not have the warp and weft of magic to weave his things into, short of himself, he'd have to get creative about his apartments.
"Once you go free, I don't see why not."
"Merci," he dipped his head, "Now, I am going to move, is this acceptable?"
It took her a moment to respond, and he assumed she nodded before realizing that he could not see her. "Yes, but be aware we have Tinker-guns upon you"
That didn't sound like they meant for him to urinate. Strange. He reached out with his foot, feeling his way on the cobbles or bricks, he wasn't sure which. His foot hit something, "This is is it?"
"Yes."
He felt the edge a bit, so he knew where it was by the curve, and then half stepped over. Elbow to the wood he turned, back to the barrel, and crouched, slowly so they could see. Down, down, he pushed a little, it took only a small amount of strength to shift the empty vessel, and wiggled his fingertips under the edge. "Now, push it forward onto my back!" He hooked in to the rim and leaned forward.
With the help of the police he had the weight on his back, and their hands helped keep it balanced as he stood. If he held tightly he didn't think he'd need them to balance him.
"I know I would look much finer over the barrel than the barrel over me, but one does what one can."
"That was so terrible there must be a law against it on the books."
"I'm afraid that I will be the cause for many such laws."
This wasn't how Loki expected his first day as a Hero to go.
The petty treasures he had accidentally liberated from the vault were taken from him, to check against any thefts, though he assured the police that they were family heirlooms which were totally given to him by his father to make sure he got a good start on his Adventuring. A complete falsehood that flew in the face of tradition and good taste--if an Asgardian wanted money for an Adventure, they went on Adventure. Even children had their start slaughtering rodents of unusual size in cellars.
It wasn't his fault he was lying, of course, Gram was gone, taken for inspection. They left him with the rest of his clothing where as the Avengers would have taken it. Costumes and faces, he mused to himself.
Fools.
Yet, on one level, it was par the course. Other things, however, weren't.
Loki was in a cell for being drunk in public. Firstly, he wasn't drunk, he was hung over. While both could be avoided by drinking enough water there were differences; one was pleasant, the other was not.
At least there was water, and painkillers: the officer lived up to his oath. Aspirin and Ibuprofen were far beneath the gods, however. Interestingly when he turned the innocuous little pills down, telling them they didn't work they asked him if his 'brute rating' interfered with his medications. Doctor Ping brought him new pills, and laughed at his attempts to procure Hair of Dog. She stayed until he took them like a good boy, asking him questions and jotting notes down in a mix of kanji and French.
They still didn't work.
He appreciated the sentiment though.
Why were there laws about being drunk in public? Everyone in Asgard would be in the dungeons if that was a law back home. Stupid laws, that's why he ignored them usually. But then everyone got angry and he started ignoring even the less stupid laws and it all went down like a flush toilet.
But at least the water helped, and they let him have as much as he wanted. There were no heavy chains, and the cell was pleasantly cool, and people smiled at him. Or smiled at the illusion of him he projected while wandering around the cell block invisibly. That wasn't a thing people usually did for him, smile, help him, certainly not officers of the law.
They didn't know better. No one told them to fear him. Nothing told them to fear him. He was exactly what he said he was, a would-be hero, and nothing else said otherwise.
No stories.
Loki smiled, though his skull was still pounding, and took out his phone. He was in another world, but there was a storyline back home, and to Billy.
Thank You.
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NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
Excellent. And if you haven't noticed, I'm avoiding retreading the stations of canon simply by not being present for most of them. He's going to end up there eventually, but his story needs to be established before he can have a crossover event.
But seriously, just wait until he starts emulating a certain hero...
It's Worm, there are Nazis. Can you think of a better way to build Hero Cred than by punching Nazis?
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- Location
- Dead Letter Office
Watched! AoA doesn't get enough love.
Wait, DC comics are a thing on Earth Aleph, so there is at least a little awareness of them in Bet. Does that mean there's even a slight chance Loki'll pick up an old comic, gets a laugh, and maybe start emulating one of them?
Yeah, I'm guessing this is omake material only, but still...
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Stripes
Genre-Savvy Anti-Nihilist
- Location
- Nizhniy Novgorod
In theory, Earth!Aleph should have Comics Book Loki.
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
I know, even in his own series he doesn't get enough love. I got 011 and every time I look at it I make a noise. I can't take that sort of pain. So it's just sitting there on my hard drive. I think I'll wait until there's a breather in this arc of pain and feels and blitz through it all at once.
The New Thor is freaking awesome though, holy shit I love her. And I need to figure out which comic it is that has Doom with AoA Loki in a box.
I'm generally unfond of the "Crossover series exists as fiction in crossover'd universe" thing, so I've not made a hard decision yet. But it could work in this fic, mostly because it's Loki. As of AoA 001 Loki is canonically explicitly aware of his early comic runs, and doesn't find them funny. But actually reading them without 20/20 I'm evil hindsight might help.
AoA Loki is living breathing meta. The Omake is only in how much crack there is.
And suddenly my day has improved immensely (almost miss-typed immodestly. Would have fit, too, if not in the way I meant).
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
And suddenly my day has improved immensely (almost miss-typed immodestly. Would have fit, too, if not in the way I meant).
Oh wonderful, which bit made you feel better? Because I have a few out of order scenes floating around, and I might have an applicable spoiler to post while I do other stuff.
(also, I just read the back of the first AoA trade paperback, "Joyful, sassy and just immensely well-done." And I'm laughing until I cry)
edmantgoog
init high just high
i wish to hug you now
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
...What did I do this time? But yes, let us share a manly hug before the story ends
Here's to hoping that Loki is as delightful a troll in the Wormverse as he is in 616
The part where Loki is actually aware of our stories about him. I haven't followed his comic, but now I want to.
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
*fist pump* Here's hoping. Though, he has to keep it fairly heroic. Still, there's a whole load of things he can do.
In the comics, especially recently, he, and the other gods, are shaped by the stories around them, to the point where they can't/couldn't break out.
Now that the story is over (the Ragnarok cycle), they can choose what kind of stories they want to be. This is resulting in Thor becoming a bit of an asshole, Odin becoming less of an Asshole, and Loki trying to reinvent himself. Loki actually deletes his files from the Avenger's computers to help keep himself from being evil old him
They can hear prayers in the comics. But Loki's awareness of the actual stories is less him being innately aware, and more him becoming aware because Wormverse is the equivalent to
metanoise wise. (Without the driving you crazy aspect, mind.)
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Well if it did drive him crazy, maybe he'd trigger.Now that the story is over (the Ragnarok cycle), they can choose what kind of stories they want to be. This is resulting in Thor becoming a bit of an asshole, Odin becoming less of an Asshole, and Loki trying to reinvent himself. Loki actually deletes his files from the Avenger's computers to help keep himself from being evil old him
They can hear prayers in the comics. But Loki's awareness of the actual stories is less him being innately aware, and more him becoming aware because Wormverse is the equivalent to
metanoise wise. (Without the driving you crazy aspect, mind.)
...
...
I just thought about what I wrote. And, yeah, in hindsight, I can see where that would go bad...
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
Even if he went crazy he'd just be a mad god.
Thankfully, this is not that sort of fic, in the trigger sense. Mostly. Power-ups/alterations are on the table, getting a shard attached to him is not--his physics are incompatible with standard Space Whale Magic.
*erases a paragraph*
Headlights 1.2
NemiTheNen
Perpetual Phone Poster
Early post, yey.
-*-
He didn't stay in the cell block, of course. That would be too easy, and too safe for Loki. After assuring himself that there was only one exit he tagged it with a small spell; too small to be called a spell, really. Two motes of his power, one on the frame and one on the door, when they separated he would know.
Now, how to get out? There were no bars here for a serpentine form to slither though. There was nothing stopping him from opening it except for not wanting to be seen, nothing stopping him from a simple switch except not wanting to give himself away. No shadow of man through the frosted glass. Nothing stopping him from bigger ways of big red buttons, except not wanting to burn.
There was no chance in his mind that they could hold him, SHIELD could not hold him, and they were ready for his bad old self. No this place of sluggish power and still wills had nothing that could threaten him.
But, perhaps that was unwise.
Perhaps he should slither back into his cell and pretend this never happened. It's a fresh start, after all, no stories about him, about Loki who he was. Nothing holding him back but himself.
But, what they don't know they can't tell. What they don't know can't hurt him.
Loki grinned, he was no primordial god like Odin, or Bor. Not a god of Thunder and Lightning. He was a God of Magic; not some petite sorcerer who was granted it by beings beyond them--we was the granter, when he had mind to at least. He was a source.
And Magic? Magic was no particle, no wave-form, though it could be that. It simply was, the same as gravity. Time plus Space equals Narrative, and Narativium is Magic. So long as Loki Was, Loki Would Be, and so, there must be a space for him, here.
So, Loki grinned. Doors were not walls nor windows. Unlike the other two, doors were for passing through. Really, a door was already halfway convinced, it would let him pass. He learned against the frame of the door, told it to exist, and smiled at it, Hey, sexy.
Now this is more like it
--
He changed his tune shortly, however. Exploration revealed hallways and offices and police officers who were fitter than the American average. Croissants owned the market share over donuts in France.
In essence, it was boring. Still, when one lacked adventure one must make it. But why waste the energy? Loki was here, so the story would follow. There was something to play just around the corner, he was sure.
With whiskers a'pricked he took in his surroundings. Where the humans went to, and came from, and where they looked to. Their baring and what they hid. Pride, nervousness, a cleaning of desks when no ranking officer was present.
Perhaps useful later, but boring for now.
The armory was intriguing at least. Tony Stark's it was not, but some of them, the ones locked up in cages that needed keys and keycards, looked like they could sting. Maybe more than sting, he thought, looking at what he thought were powerpacks. These were obviously made to keep people out and it would take significantly longer to sweet talk them. Luckily he didn't want them, any ways. He turned away with a sniff and turned his eyes to more common tools, for the commonness meant that they would commonly be turned against him.
There I go, thinking like a villain again.
I must never forget that I am one, until finally I am not.
Most of the weapons on the more accessible racks had the look of some sort of sprayer or something of the sort. Wide openings and the tubing and backpack really gave it away. It really piqued his curiosity.
Loki paced to the cabinets, the catself standing as a man, tall, with opposable thumbs, dead useful they were. And, ah, a treasure trove.
There were manuals in the cupboard, they were piled up really. Someone had been dutiful and packaged a manual for each sprayer and gun, and the big boy toys. OSHA in his government facility? Amazing, even if it was just a police station. Would wonders never cease? Maybe there would be hand rails on catwalks.
He didn't touch the manuals for the locked away rifles, however; there weren't many of them and the basic solution to guns that went 'ouch' was to not get hit in the first place. But something that sprayed? He couldn't even guess at the ballistics.
Besides, what if it sprayed horrible fluorescent fuchsia that would not come off so he could be identified later? What if it stuck to his horns? He was not going to let fuchsia ruin his skim milk complexion, the only thing worse would be blond hair or blue skin.
With a thought he touched up the illusion of having a healthy complexion; Loki thought it made him look a bit more trustworthy. Anyone with power would feel it to be false if at all, their eyes going right through as if it were not there, for such fire in his cheeks was not of Loki. But Loki lived in the mortal world and posed as a mortal, doubly so now, so it sufficed.
He should probably find more interesting things to do. His 'Important Meeting Sense' had been tingling for the past few minutes. Maybe he could, discreetly, ruin it?
Loki ambled out, followed the glances and looks that varied between awe, nervousness, and praise, traced back the footsteps of people standing with unaccustomed proudness, and looked for suspicious characters, and you know, spandex.
He ambled down the hallway as a man, then as a woman for the narrower profile as she twisted out of people's way. Look left, look right, look for people standing proudly, or working furtively.
Ah, guards, close enough. It took him a little longer to sweet talk this locked door into letting him pass, by but a few seconds. Poor thing had never been complimented before.
And here was his meeting, wonderful. Though it seemed like he was a bit late judging by the talk.
Nice ascot.
-*-
He didn't stay in the cell block, of course. That would be too easy, and too safe for Loki. After assuring himself that there was only one exit he tagged it with a small spell; too small to be called a spell, really. Two motes of his power, one on the frame and one on the door, when they separated he would know.
Now, how to get out? There were no bars here for a serpentine form to slither though. There was nothing stopping him from opening it except for not wanting to be seen, nothing stopping him from a simple switch except not wanting to give himself away. No shadow of man through the frosted glass. Nothing stopping him from bigger ways of big red buttons, except not wanting to burn.
There was no chance in his mind that they could hold him, SHIELD could not hold him, and they were ready for his bad old self. No this place of sluggish power and still wills had nothing that could threaten him.
But, perhaps that was unwise.
Perhaps he should slither back into his cell and pretend this never happened. It's a fresh start, after all, no stories about him, about Loki who he was. Nothing holding him back but himself.
But, what they don't know they can't tell. What they don't know can't hurt him.
Loki grinned, he was no primordial god like Odin, or Bor. Not a god of Thunder and Lightning. He was a God of Magic; not some petite sorcerer who was granted it by beings beyond them--we was the granter, when he had mind to at least. He was a source.
And Magic? Magic was no particle, no wave-form, though it could be that. It simply was, the same as gravity. Time plus Space equals Narrative, and Narativium is Magic. So long as Loki Was, Loki Would Be, and so, there must be a space for him, here.
So, Loki grinned. Doors were not walls nor windows. Unlike the other two, doors were for passing through. Really, a door was already halfway convinced, it would let him pass. He learned against the frame of the door, told it to exist, and smiled at it, Hey, sexy.
Now this is more like it
--
He changed his tune shortly, however. Exploration revealed hallways and offices and police officers who were fitter than the American average. Croissants owned the market share over donuts in France.
In essence, it was boring. Still, when one lacked adventure one must make it. But why waste the energy? Loki was here, so the story would follow. There was something to play just around the corner, he was sure.
With whiskers a'pricked he took in his surroundings. Where the humans went to, and came from, and where they looked to. Their baring and what they hid. Pride, nervousness, a cleaning of desks when no ranking officer was present.
Perhaps useful later, but boring for now.
The armory was intriguing at least. Tony Stark's it was not, but some of them, the ones locked up in cages that needed keys and keycards, looked like they could sting. Maybe more than sting, he thought, looking at what he thought were powerpacks. These were obviously made to keep people out and it would take significantly longer to sweet talk them. Luckily he didn't want them, any ways. He turned away with a sniff and turned his eyes to more common tools, for the commonness meant that they would commonly be turned against him.
There I go, thinking like a villain again.
I am the crime that will not be forgiven!
I must never forget that I am one, until finally I am not.
Most of the weapons on the more accessible racks had the look of some sort of sprayer or something of the sort. Wide openings and the tubing and backpack really gave it away. It really piqued his curiosity.
Loki paced to the cabinets, the catself standing as a man, tall, with opposable thumbs, dead useful they were. And, ah, a treasure trove.
There were manuals in the cupboard, they were piled up really. Someone had been dutiful and packaged a manual for each sprayer and gun, and the big boy toys. OSHA in his government facility? Amazing, even if it was just a police station. Would wonders never cease? Maybe there would be hand rails on catwalks.
He didn't touch the manuals for the locked away rifles, however; there weren't many of them and the basic solution to guns that went 'ouch' was to not get hit in the first place. But something that sprayed? He couldn't even guess at the ballistics.
Besides, what if it sprayed horrible fluorescent fuchsia that would not come off so he could be identified later? What if it stuck to his horns? He was not going to let fuchsia ruin his skim milk complexion, the only thing worse would be blond hair or blue skin.
With a thought he touched up the illusion of having a healthy complexion; Loki thought it made him look a bit more trustworthy. Anyone with power would feel it to be false if at all, their eyes going right through as if it were not there, for such fire in his cheeks was not of Loki. But Loki lived in the mortal world and posed as a mortal, doubly so now, so it sufficed.
He should probably find more interesting things to do. His 'Important Meeting Sense' had been tingling for the past few minutes. Maybe he could, discreetly, ruin it?
Loki ambled out, followed the glances and looks that varied between awe, nervousness, and praise, traced back the footsteps of people standing with unaccustomed proudness, and looked for suspicious characters, and you know, spandex.
He ambled down the hallway as a man, then as a woman for the narrower profile as she twisted out of people's way. Look left, look right, look for people standing proudly, or working furtively.
Ah, guards, close enough. It took him a little longer to sweet talk this locked door into letting him pass, by but a few seconds. Poor thing had never been complimented before.
And here was his meeting, wonderful. Though it seemed like he was a bit late judging by the talk.
Nice ascot.
RoboRenee
Trans of gender
- Location
- FFXIV, probably
- Pronouns
- She/Her
