Chapter Text
“So please understand, if you take her hand, you'll get much more than you bargained for.” – Little Boots, Meddle
Fun Fact: I can’t tell you how many artists I’ve been introduced to through Marvel crackvids and AMVs, but this song is one of them.
“So, we just got here, and you’ve already lied.” It wasn’t a great opening line for a date with my deity, but considering it was Loki, it might as well have been a compliment.
“Normally that would be an achievement for me, but sadly you’re wrong.”
I looked him up and down. He had on a motorcycle jacket, a faded Buzzcocks tee, and tastefully ripped jeans tucked into leather boots. Other than that, he looked like himself, with his slick black hair and handsome Tom Hiddleston face.
“You said you'd be coming in disguise.”
He gestured to himself. “This is my disguise.”
He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, but the moment Loki whisked me away to our destination, I recognized the opulent building as the scene of his grand villainous debut in the first Avengers film. He was going to gouge out a man's eye, and then terrorize the populace, forcing them to kneel as he made a grand speech about ruling humanity.
I received the first Avengers film on Blu-ray for my fifteenth birthday, freshman year of high school. I’d already seen the previous phase one Marvel films, and had a mild crush on Thor.
The switch to Loki was unexpected, and in no small part fuelled by my recent access to the wider internet and fan content.
To say this changed the course of my life would be an understatement.
“First off, people are going to notice there’s two Lokis running around. Secondly, why are you in punk getup at a gala?”
“It’s not like you’re dressed for the occasion either.”
I’d come in my barbie crop top, frayed black shorts, and my own leather battle jacket with all its colorful embroidery, patches and pins, and rainbow star beads around the sleeve cuffs.
“You didn’t tell me this was the occasion!”
Loki leaned against the stone banister and smirked. “Well, if it’s that much of a problem, we can always find a room to change in.”
Fuck. I was not immune to Loki in black leather, and I’d have been lying if I said I didn't think about letting him drag me into the coat closet. Dread, within me, whined.
“How’s about you tell me what we’re doing here,” I said instead. “Why are we visiting one of your variants?”
Loki slumped, but before he could explain anything, an agonized scream cut through the party, and he perked right back up. “Ah. The show’s starting.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the panicked crowd, too terrified to pay attention to the wayward punks in their midst. We ran with the pack outside until the other Loki duplicated himself and trapped us.
“Kneel!” he commanded.
We did. My Loki got on his knees with everyone else, so I followed his lead. “You, kneel? You?” I whispered.
“Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state?”
“Just wait.”
It would be pointless to ask what we were waiting for, so I stayed there, knees digging into the concrete, as the other Loki rambled on about his glorious purpose and the human nature of subjugation.
“In the end, you will always kneel.”
“This is the moment that made a thousand fangirls,” I told my spouse, Lurker.
They’d agreed to watch the first Avengers with me, and I got to share my fandom historical knowledge. I remembered which scenes were picked out for crack vids, which lines of dialogue became memes in their own right, and which interactions became the ignition fuel for ships.
And this scene, man. This scene was the nexus event for a lot of us in Loki’s army.
Nearby, an old German veteran got to his feet. “Not to men like you.”
“There are no men like me,” countered Loki.
“There are always men like you.”
“Look to your elder, people. Let him be an example…”
His scepter began to glow brighter in its unnerving cesium blue.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but our friend here is right.” My Loki took this as his que to rise. He paused for a beat to let his counterpart absorb the sight. “Men like us? We’re always mucking around somewhere.”
Around us were nervous whispers and confused glances. The Loki standing above us lost his sneer in a moment of utter bewilderment, then composed himself enough to raise his scepter.
“What trickery is this?”
My Loki showed his flat, empty palms. “No trickery, at least not this time. Just an invitation.”
An invitation?
He blinked. “An… invitation?”
“Yes.” My Loki flipped his hand with the craft of a stage magician to manifest a piece of cardstock, which he proceeded to hand to his increasingly confused variant. “I’m throwing a very exclusive party.”
“You’re invited to the first annual Variant Party in Las Vegas, Nevada. Lokis only, plus ones allowed.”
“Oh Jesus,” I couldn’t help but hiss under my breath.
“Is this some kind of joke? Did my brother put you up to this?”
“No. But he is on his way at this very moment, along with a whole posse of heros. Would you rather fight them in some desperate bid for respect—”
Loki scowled and prepared to fire an energy beam from his scepter. Captain America landed on the ground in front of us with his shield.
My Loki snapped his fingers.
Everything was frozen in time. Steve Rogers stayed crouched and ready to protect innocent civilians from a deadly blast. Innocent civilians cowered and ducked. The german vet had a permanent expression of profound befuddlement.
The Loki in front of us dropped his scepter, unaffected by the pause.
“Or,” continued my companion, “would you rather come with us, and spend time with someone who already adores you?”
I wrote at least ten or twelve Avengers fics back in high school. Some featured Captain America, one predicted both Brutasha becoming canon AND Bruce finding a middle ground between himself and the Hulk, but most of them involved Loki.
While I created multiple original characters to pair him with, the one I favored was my True Blood OC, Erica Northman. I’d made her years before I even cared about the Avengers, or knew fanfiction terms like OC, fanchild, or self-insert. She was just an avatar through which I processed my adolescent self-hatred and suicidal musings on mortality. Pairing her with my newest crush, who happened to be from her ancestral mythology, was a natural next step.
Her story was the first I ever published on FanFiction.net, and it was a crossover trilogy with the Avengers. She was in an arranged marriage to Loki.
“How did you do that?”
“The pause? Oh, it’s nothing really. All us Lokis can do that with practice.”
He considered this. “Will you teach me?”
“That was the plan, but first!” My Loki leaned over to help me back up, then slung an arm around my shoulder. “Might I introduce you to Bow?”
My companion coaxed me towards him on numb feet. The Loki in front of us burned through me with his curious gaze.
“How come you’re not affected by the pause? Are you also a Loki?”
I craned my neck to show off the Elder Futhark runes tattooed just behind my ear. “No. I’m just one of your devotees.”
“Do you think he’ll recognize you when we see him?” I asked.
For my Loki tattoo, Lurker had recommended the artist who’d done two of their tattoos. First, a sakura blossom on their to match the one their brother, Faolan, had.
The second was a memorial tattoo for him, after he committed suicide in 2016. A beaded bookmark circled the sakura flower like a halo. At the bottom were the runes making up his name. I imagined that kind of thing would stick with an artist.
Lurker shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess we'll see.”
My ink caught the interest of the variant. “I have devotees?”
“In my world, yes.”
“Ah, of course, and you’re here to bring me to my adoring public.”
I was about to break the unfortunate news that this was nigh impossible, but my Loki spoke first. “In due time. For now, I’m bringing one of our adoring fans to us. Bow here has had a very rough go of things. I’d like to treat them to party with their favorite God, and I’d like to treat you to the respect and adoration you deserve. After a night of drink, of course.”
The variant Loki put his hand to his chin in thought, probably still deciding if this was an elaborate ploy.
“But, if you’re happy doing what you’re doing, Bow and I will take our leave.”
My Loki turned away and began walking towards a portal he’d summoned, not with the TVA tech, but his own magic. He gestured for me to follow, but before I could even decide to take a step, the variant hurried to catch up and grabbed his counterpart’s jacket sleeve.
“Hm? Are you coming?”
“…If this is a trick…”
“Feel free to smite me.”
He glanced at me, silently asking for more intel.
“I’m just here, man.”
“You’re right, why would he tell a mere mortal like you if he won’t even tell me?”
When I got a little older, a little better at writing and a little more embarrassed of my early work, I changed my account username and deleted all my stories. There were plenty of excellent Loki stories by much more talented fans. I didn’t think I’d be missed.
My Loki snatched his sleeve back, turned around, and pointed a finger at his counterpart to freeze him in place. The only thing moving were his frantic eyes.
“I won’t tolerate you belittling my followers. If you speak to them that way again,” he removed the scepter from the other Loki’s statuesque hand, “you’ll go back to your timeline without this. Do I make myself clear?”
Loki was unfrozen. He took a couple deep, gasping breaths and flexed his hands to reassure himself of his own autonomy.
“Crystal,” he said.
“Wonderful!” My Loki clapped his hands together. “Let’s be off, then.”
The three of us hustled through the portal and into an unknown chaos.