MaLoki 20 AUs: ways it never was
setting/conditional AUs




3. A machine with broken workings
because Heimdall wasn't that far off from insanity to begin with

There is a light in Heimdall's eyes that Freyr has never seen before. It burns brightest when Heimdall is talking about Loki, of course: gloved hands clenched into fists by his side, gaze fixed on a future only he can see. Add to that Heimdall's habit of muttering to himself or the decidedly unchildlike curve of his grin, and Freyr is beginning to wonder if joining Heimdall on Midgard was such a good idea. Not that Freyr, great and noble god of the harvest and all that, has anything to fear; Heimdall was never particularly powerful in his original form, and is even less impressive as Higashiyama Kazumi. But Freyr cannot deny that something is different, wrong -- the Heimdall that Freyr now knows is not the same person as the stoic, composed Watcher of Asgard.

( This, once: Heimdall with his gloves off, clawed hands curling in on themselves as he speaks of what he will do to Loki once he gets the chance, how thoroughly he will break him-- the blood drips from his torn palms and Heimdall keeps speaking, words tripping over themselves and falling into the usual broken litany, Heimdall will kill him kill him kill him, and only when his words have given way to unsteady laughter does he look down at his hands. And then the silence falling, the light in his eyes going out. )

Freyr knows how to deal with machines ( even if, in his case, they run more often on magic than on any force recognised by physics ) and has always understood the rhythm of the seasons. Mechanics and natural clockwork, things that obey rules; he does not know what to make of Heimdall's anger when it flares sharp and uncontrolled, or of the moments when Heimdall's laughter falters and chokes on its own desperation, dissolving to something dangerously close to sobs. Tonight Heimdall stares out of the window at the storm that rages outside. Freyr sees the familiar glow in Heimdall's glass-reflected gaze, and is not sure which is more unnerving: the strange light in Heimdall's eyes, or the emptiness that it leaves in its absence.




4. Shadow puppetry
because his name is Koutarou. I mean, come on.

"Don't I know you?" Koutarou says, tone edged with amusement. "We've met before, surely."

Loki never thought he could be uncomfortable in his true form; he is learning that he was wrong. "I don't know what you mean," he begins, just as Koutarou steps forward and says, "Oh, but you do." Koutarou’s manner is confrontational, alien, and does nothing to make the moment less surreal. It is like watching shadows on a distant screen playing out a story you should but cannot quite remember; Loki draws a deep breath against the wakening panic and cannot figure out why this feels familiar yet wrong, as though it already happened half a lifetime ago. He tries again: "This is--"

"This," Koutarou says, and there is something dark and hungry in his voice that makes Loki take half a step backwards, cautious despite himself -- "this is nothing yet. But that can change. It's been such a pointless game, sending them out one by one and watching them go through the motions -- no, I think it’s time for something new. Isn’t it, Loki? Time to bring everything out into the daylight."

Realisation dawns slowly, far too late, and Baldr laughs at Loki’s shock as he reaches out with Koutarou’s hand and grasps Loki’s wrist with inhuman strength. The smile on Koutarou’s face is unsettlingly familiar, and for once it is not because it resembles Loki's own.




21. Blowing bubbles by the railroad tracks
because the MaLoki ED sounds like it should come from another decade? Okay, I know that's not a reason.

Loki watched the bubbles rise, the late afternoon sun glazing their surfaces with fire. The telegraph wires beyond the station reminded him, quite inappropriately, of gallows. "And this is what mortal kids are supposed to do for fun?"

"I think abandoned buildings - railroad stations count as well, I hope - and diversions such as this are the norm, yes." Yamino's voice was worried, but then again it almost always was. "Would you prefer to return home, Loki-sama? I'm sorry to have suggested this--"

"It's okay, Yamino-kun." The floor was dusty under his hands; he brushed them off on his shorts, his legs swinging lazily over the edge of the platform. "I suppose one can't expect too much of Midgard." What little Loki had seen so far had been unimpressive. There had been talk about the moon, lately, which interested Loki up to the point when the townspeople had asked him to watch grainy images of moving people in a box. There was something unsettling about Midgard phenomena - technology, Yamino called it, with distressing enthusiasm - and Loki had made up his mind to have nothing to do with it.

"I've heard there's been something called a World Expo in the city, Loki-sama," Yamino offered hopefully. "There are exhibitions from Iceland and all the rest-- it'll almost be like--"

"It wouldn't," Loki said, contemplatively blowing another stream of bubbles out into the cool April air.

The silence that followed was slightly wounded. "It's-- it's a good idea," Loki hastened to add, glancing over at the forlorn figure seated next to him. "But it's far to travel, and you know I don't like those automobile things."

"We could ride a bicycle?"

"You could, Yamino-kun. I certainly couldn't. Here." Loki passed the bottle of solution to a surprised Yamino, and leaned back complacently on his palms, forgetting that he had just cleaned them.

"They burst very easily," Yamino said after a while. "Er, Loki-sama, are you sure--?"

"It'll do for now," Loki replied absently, watching the bubbles drift across the sunset and disappear.




24. A box with white ribbon
because it's a pity that Sleipnir never made it into the manga

There is something familiar about the deliveryman at the door, although Yamino has no reason to recognise anyone on Midgard. It is the small grin on his face, perhaps: a knowing, complacent smile that unsettles Yamino and makes him sign for the package with more haste than usual. Yamino watches the deliveryman speed down the road on a motorcycle, but the sense of unease does not leave with their visitor.

The package is tied with a white ribbon, which is an odd detail on the otherwise unremarkable grey box. There is also a marked absence of mailing labels -- Yamino hesitates for about two seconds, then hurries up to Loki's study.

The box turns out to be empty, except for a slip of paper with a scribbled symbol on it. "'M'?" Yamino says, frowning. "Or it could be 'W', if you turn it the other way, but sending a random English letter--"

"Ehwaz," Loki says abruptly. Yamino looks up, but Loki has that pensive look in his eyes again: the one suggests that Yamino will have to wait for any further explanation. Yamino does so. When Loki speaks again, his gaze is still lost somewhere or somewhen else.

"What did he look like? The one who brought it here."

Yamino has heard that tone in his father's voice before; it is the one in which Loki speaks of Odin. "Um -- about Narugami-san's age? He had his uniform's cap on, but his hair was pale, from what I could see of it. He had green eyes--" And your smile, Yamino thinks, but catches himself before he says it.

"Ah," Loki says. His fingers are not trembling as he runs them across the silky surface of the ribbon, in the same way that his voice is perfectly calm as he says, distantly, "I suppose it was a matter of time."




25. I would imagine that
because it always seemed a little odd, to me, that Norse gods would be in Japan

Loki supposed it was fitting that Odin had sent him there, out of all the possible places in Midgard. A pity about the lack of forests -- Norway would have been lovely, for forests -- but at least he was used to the weather, and the summer sunsets were almost as lovely as they had been in Asgard. He supposed it was something like kindness on Odin's part: exile to a familiar land.

However. The problem with Reykjavík, Loki decided, was how everyone knows everyone else. The arrival of a young boy and his guardian had attracted much more attention than Loki appreciated, and even now it was hard for him to go anywhere without people looking askance at him. His clothes may have had something to do with it, granted, but Loki thought they were probably more interested in the fact that he was a stranger than in his unique fashion sense.

Yet the smallness of the community could also be useful, as Loki realised when he heard about a teenager who had been taking various jobs in the city centre. 'Thor' had not been a common name for some time, but that was not what made Loki pay attention -- what did was the rumour that said teenager was oddly attached to his motorcycle, which for whatever reason he was calling 'Mjollnir'.

In a way it was comforting to know how little his old friend had changed. The circumstances of their first meeting in their new forms were less comforting: Loki was not very thrilled by how Thor tried to run him down on his motorcycle.

"I would imagine," Loki said much later, when Thor had bought him an ice-cream and was looking appropriately sheepish, "that someone who's known me so long would be less inclined to kill me."

"Only because they're patient enough not to have done so yet," Thor pointed out from his perch on Mjollnir's seat. He ignored Loki's unimpressed stare, choosing instead to gaze around him. "There's something nostalgic about all this, isn't there? Almost like old times."

Except for the cars and strange 'electronic' things and how we aren't causing any real mayhem, Loki thought. Still. "I suppose so. And I'd imagine that you're still up for a tour of the old place, homicidal agenda aside?"

Thor grinned, his grip not shifting from Mjollnir's handlebar. "I guess I am."