𝖎 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗.

YOU DO WELL TO RESPECT THE BOY.  THIS IS HIS KINGDOM.

[urmajaesty]

𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙾𝙱𝙸𝚄𝙴𝚂.    this is an independent portrayal of    KID LOKI   from the marvel cinematic universe.    NOT   affiliated with the comics or 616. 

VERY DUPLICATE FRIENDLY.    LINKS :    LAW OF THE VOID.

[urmajaesty]

moved to multimuse <3

[urmajaesty]

THOR

“ you  are  tiny. “  the words rebuttal the child’s own statement flawlessly. the sort of child like repertoire that he had grown up with his own brother, the familiarity was  uncomfortable. mobius was in his peripherals and by the gods  he wanted to throw him into an infinite time loop for thirty minutes   ― it felt like eyes had been tacked onto his back though, he guessed it might be the other variations   ― staring.   because he is  thor, and they are abandoned from their timelines. it was sad, really.

   “  loki as ..  a child. “  he answers, confusion reading blatantly  on the god’s face.  why ? why a child ?  some anxiety had taken over  though this could be only seen when looking into his eye, paying close attention. he inhales a shorter breath. “ let me guess, you had turned into a snake since you know how much thor loves them and scared him  jumped into your regular form at the right time. “  were  his  memories  shared between other timelines  ― mobius would need to explain it again. please  be a stupid reason for his attendance here.

   “ this is no place for a child  ― nevertheless you, small loki. “ 

you are tiny  —    and the child snorts,   but not quite meanly.     he is fully aware of his stature,  fully understood that,   having been casted to the void for as long as he could,  a place where time does not continue,   that ageing simply does not apply to him any longer.   although,  if he is honest,   the child does not see the appeal to having grown up.   the other versions of him,  all full adults,  seems rowdy,  narrow-minded,  and are bunch of idiots.  and as much as they’d worn their cool facade,   they’d always break   —   one way or another.

sentiment,  really.   history.   the child hadn’t grown up enough to hold the full complication of whatever the other adult version of him has gone through,   but he’d like to argue it has simply made him sharper,   much more brutal,   far more objective to things.   and yet  —  a small smile frames the sharp corner of his mouth at the mention of that long lost memory.   ah yes,  the snake trick.   that was quite neat,  wasn’t it ?

❛    has mobius told you of my nexus event,  then ?   the general census,  i imagine.   very lovely.   although it’s far more gruesome than that,  really.   you were trying to comfort,  or the brother i remember had tried to,   but i’d gotten too angry.   and—   ❜    the child raises his hand up,   emitting the familiar green mana,   but explosively,  like a spark,   and shimmies them away.    ❛    —  next thing i knew,  i’d blown you to pieces.    you think me small now,  thor ?  ❜

thor,  said so like he hadn’t whimpered the name out the first hundred years he was here.   like he still doesn’t have his hand reached out,  as if he could get to his brother in time,  fix him back together.   but the child does not think of that.   ❛    you’re asked to help find mobius’ loki,  then ?   i thought with all the betrayals you’ve endured at our hands,  you would’ve had refused.   hadn’t the loki you knew died ?   does this not hurt you,  mighty god of thunder ?   ❜

[urmajaesty]

VARIANT 1130​

   he notes the tight grip, the familiar green glint in the blue of the child’s eyes;   danger threatening to cackle and combust, but it never does.   for in that green fire, there is thoughtfulness and ultimately, the child backs down from its challenge.   what a feat!   loki just won a bet with himself.

   “never did i insinuate such a thing.   and even if you did, you would be in luck.   he is absent in the time i’ve picked.”   cast away, oh how deserving it sounded!   music to his ear, honey to a sore throat, silk under freshly bathed skin.   but of course thou had soon been forgiven and had returned in all his glory;   for the allfather always forgives his son.   his true son.   and then—bingo.   the allmother.

   loki’s smile widens;   it seems his younger, yet so many eons older, variant was capable of a smidgen of guilt.   but above all, the child is capable of level-headedness;   not a given for their variants, unfortunately for the lot of them.   the wickedness of his smile chips at its harsh edges as the sorcerer nods and holds his hands behind his back;   standing proud and graceful, bearing the weight of princely centuries despite the melancholy that dares to crack his voice.   he does not allow it.   though, his eyes darken with something nostalgic.   “she would, she does, and she is.   but she can’t, if she does not see us.   she is not the allseeing, like the great guard of the bifrost.”   he stares at the door again and almost, just almost, he considers backing away from his own plan.   well, why would he?    no one would know they had ever been there.   but oh, how he would love to see the chaos of their priced artefacts missing;   he wondered whether the loki behind that door would be accused of theft.

   he chuckles dryly, a bitter curve bending his lips as he dips his chin in.   “yes, we are.   always.   but i am being definitively realistic in what i tell you;   the allmother is too busy nurturing her bedridden husband.   our counterpart is with her, mopping by her side.   the casket of ancient winters and gungnir are ours for the taking—valuable weapons for what awaits us.   have i dispersed your doubts, your illustrious highness?”

no,  she is not all-seeing.

and yet the fear does not completely dispel from him regardless.   he is still,   however,   a body devoid of their usual tremble when one is usually afraid   —   but he is too still,   something he’s trained himself to do so it does not crack under the pressure of the void,   and the flesh-eating or murderous occupants the void has lovingly hold.   the portal seemingly pulsates;   or rather it shines in this constant throb,   as if pleading for the intended user to walk through.   to walk through them quickly.

and the child has it repeated to himself,   that this older variant is right.   that the allmother is not all-seeing,  unlike heimdall.  (   yes,   he remembers the old goat.   for a moment he’d almost forgotten him in the wake of everything else,   but now that it has been brought up,   it turns something inside of him sideways with remembrance.   everything he thought he’d left,  it returns.    )   —   but what if he’s wrong ?   what if the allmother knows regardless ?

he shakes his head of the doubt.  finally,  his too-still trance is broken.   when he looks sideways to his older counterpart,  it is in a sneer.   he’d almost wished alligator would’ve come along.   he’d known exactly what to do.   maybe he’ll gladly take a bite.    ❛   you are so envious of my crown —   ❜    he says instead,   deflecting,   and tightens up his shoulder.    ❛   —  i did not have it because i conquer,  you know.   not unlike most lokis would want.   i did it because i lived the longest.  because with a throne,  i could have a territory.   i could shelter the ones i truly trust.   what have you done with yours ?   ❜ 

the child rolls his shoulders and then   —    concealment.

an excellent tactic to walk pass group of cannibalistic tribe.   this one was taught by a loki as well,  although the child has long forgotten about that variant.   all he’d known was that her nexus event was that she’d ran away with someone she truly loved.   her kingdom was in someone she trusted.   that was all she needed,  she told him.   and the sacred timeline disapproved.   how had she been killed later ?   right.   by another traitorous loki.

❛   but fine,   ❜    a sullen sound escapes him,   very teenager-like.    ❛   we’ll get your trinkets and escape.   if you dare leave me behind,  i shall have the allmother at your heel.    never you forget i am also a loki.  i’ve seen thousands of you weep.    ❜    he steps closer,   taking a deep breath once.   short.   and then,  turning to the older one,    he makes an expectant face,    ❛   come on then,  crown-envy loki.   we do not have all day.   ❜

[freddyfreebat]

Jack for American Studies on TikTok 🇺🇸✨

[urmajaesty]

VARIANT 1130​

   “perhaps.   though i somehow doubt a loki variant would stick by their morals.   isn’t that what we are?   change?”   and change wasn’t always good.   just like lokis.   change could bring about success or inescapable misery.   perhaps he ought to be more optimistic and have some faith in their variants.   [ … ] no, he would stick to cynicism.   not everyone had the confidence of mobius m.   mobius in this matter.

   “have you?   my, i wonder what kind of variants odin borson could have.   i am certain that you made his stay in the void pleasant.”   and short-lived.   however, he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to see that eye-patched face ever again.   not because his loathing had dried out   (it never would)   but because time iced its surface into indifference, and indifference soothed his wounds.   forgetting seemed favourable to holding on.

  the older jotun curled his lips in a disapproving, but agreeing frown.   he was sure he’d distaste the god of war, too.   the older loki quirks a brow and awaits for the child’s moving forward;   but it never comes.   it appears he wasn’t staring for no reason, as the youngling’s reaction confirms the sorcerer’s assumption;   the child knows.   loki cannot help but grin, feel accomplishment run through his veins at the sight of shocked eyes and flustered cheeks.   i got you.

   “i will admit i thought about it, but concluded that this is neither the time nor the place to carry it out.” he doesn’t do as little as raise his arms in surrender.   he merely stands there, holding the child’s raging eyes.   if anything he takes a step closer;   allows the edge of the ancestral blade gingerly dip into his pale skin.   “what will you do, child?   will you slit my throat?   what will you tell to the likeable agent then?   my apologies, i panicked at the notion of stepping foot on asgard.   here!   i brought his carcass for you.” 

   the tempad disappears from his hand, though the door does not close, nor does loki step away.   instead he furrows his brows, tipping his grinning face to the side.   “would you let your efforts go to waste because of your fear?   is this how strong willed you are, slayer of thor?”   his eyes shift from the child and stare at the door.   he decides to leave it at chaos’s hands;   if he dies there, on jotunheim as he was supposed to, so be it.   if an einherjar sees the door and comes through it, so be it.   he wanted to see what the child would do.

   “no sort of trick awaits you behind that door, little one.   i will conceal us both from good heimdall’s and everyone else’s eyes.   we will retrieve a couple of artefacts and we shall be on our way.   now, will your lower your weapon your majesty?”

the thought of disappointing a time agent  —  pleasant of a company as he’d been  —   does not wilt the child’s form.

if anything,   with each word this loki has spoken,   the child only tightens his grip on the blade.   his eyes glow :   hints of their well-known seiðr pouring out of him in specks of familiar green,   except the colour is darker.   a testatement to their anger.   though then again,   his own power hasn’t felt light and bright and childlike in years.   not ever since the allmother has taken his young hands into hers and taught him the ways even a wrist moves can make a difference.

and it sickens him how he does not remember,   but he does.   years and years in the void has taught him well to be as pointedly indifferent as he could,   to hammer in the fact that he does not belong on asgards  :   couldn’t have,   with what he’s done and what he is,   so nearly all sob stories that has come forth after were merely that   —    sob stories.   oh ,  this one killed the allfather ?   fine.   this one mourned for the allmother ?   fantastic.

he no longer belongs in the narration    —     so why must he care ?

and yet there’s one thing having heard stories from the many mouths of an expert liar  (  himself  ),   it is another when the home he has long forgotten is only inches away.   if it could even be called his home.   after all ,   he is the foreigner.   he is the relic that father kept,   the son he did not truly want.   and most importantly :   the god who cannot came to be.   ❛   it is not thor i fear,   you absolute buffoon.    ❜    he finally hears himself speak,  his breath uneven,  his chest heaving with each intake of air,  before—

❛   the allmother would know.   ❜    a still confession.   the child lets the sentence hangs in the air,   until,   finally,   he retracts the blade.   his posture has gone rigid,  still.   he looks back to the gate,   and whatever anger he has shown before is as if swept under a metaphorical rug.   it is gone.  it is locked away.   it will not see the light of day.   ❛   she always does.   is she not our master ?   ❜ 

when he meets the older loki’s eyes,  it is asked so in a distant tone.  objective.

do you not play the games i did when you were a child ?   do you not know that your mother could pick you apart from the crowd no matter what face you chose,  no matter the colour of your hair,  or the shape of the body ?   did she not touch your hands and watch your power grow and help you master it ?    does your seiðr not parly come from her ?    —    he does not ask,   but he knows his counterpart knows.

❛    us lokis are always so arrogant,    ❜   the child finally mutters under his breath,   but it does not come out in a way to harm.   merely to point out.   ❛   do you not think ?    ❜     what will you do if the queen mother recognises you ?   both of us ?    her child who is dead.

[urmajaesty]

VARIANT 1130

   his acknowledgement of the child’s unwillingness to bite the bait was as large as his disappointment.   he had hoped his jab would shake the child, poison it with doubt, but seemed the millenia old variant was far too confident in his adoration for the elderly.   how peculiar.   a loki, steady on his feet.   “and as always, it went horribly.”   the older sorcerer would have shared condolences, but he knew they accounted for nothing.   for one because he didn’t mean them, and for two because the child didn’t need them.   and until the child could return to the void—assuming that he ever would—the older jotun would look after the younger jotun.   no more than necessary, no more than the child wanted.

   he fixed his gauntlets with a soft hum of agreement.   “do you think there is a single loki out there that isn’t a murderer?”   he didn’t think it possible.   even if they had claimed no lives before being pruned, he was certain that they had upon reaching the void.   that conclusion filled him with no contempt, but revelation.   it would be too hypocritical even for him to treat his counterparts with contempt.

   the sorcerer grins, does not hide his taunting amusement.   a god is not forced.   “but a god can be pruned?”   a small jab at an inescapable fate.

   he nodded ahead of them before he began walking.   the frozen lands of jotunheim no longer served them;   loki had put the wrong coordinates in the little tempad he had stolen before fleeing the tva.   the wrong tva.   the tva that did not foster the mobius he wanted to find.   you like him too, right?   loki stared at the frozen rocks they walked upon with furrowed brows.   truly, did he like him?   he supposed he did.   he knew he did.   he liked him not in a way he could confess, not in a way he could share with the child.   though admitting in any way, gleamed a threat in his eye.   the last stone that would tumble down everything they had built up.   so, he does not answer;   what he feels for mobius is for the analyst’s ears and no one else’s.

   “he can be infuriating when he wants to be.”   a golden door opened ahead of them and the tempad disappeared from the older’s hands.   the portal would take them to the golden city of asgard, as he still had things he wished to gather.   a casket, and a spear.   perhaps as decorations, perhaps as weapons.   perhaps he wanted to return to this branch one day and see how it played out.   fixing time is no fun, but disturbing it—that was something else.

   he looked at his younger counterpart, quirking a brow as he fixed his little helmet that was tipped to the side.    “children first.   watch your step.   did you ever learn how to conceal yourself?” 

❛   there’s bound to be one,  isn’t there ?    isn’t it why it’s called variants ?   since there are variances of ourselves ?    ❜    he says so haughtily,  knowingly,   a trait all lokis know well,   though he’s sure coming from a thirteen year old boy,   it’d come out sullen and petulant.

not that it mattered.   some days the child finds it amusing that he could be a reflective of how these adult lokis had once been when they were his age.   their annoyances a delight,   their huffs of disapproval is akin to a performance of sorts.   something he grins about when the bits about betrayal and killing and maiming one another gets too boring.   often time,  it does.

the subject of pruning curls the corners of the child’s mouth in distaste however,   but he moves alongside his older counterpart nevertheless.  he watches   —    not out of cautiousness,   although there is that.   but more so from curiosity.   just like it’d been when classic loki had first made his home under the child’s shelter,  until the elderly turns,  obviously agitated by his hawk-like gaze,  and instead offers to teach him the extent of their sorcery.   

the child does not think of the elderly.   he has passed.   many lokis have passed.  that’s what alioth does :   he consumes.

❛   you say so as if i haven’t seen the allfather in the void once or twice.   ❜    sometimes it became like a game to the lokis,  when an allfather arrives.  who gets to kill him first.  who gets to drive the stake through the heart first.  it was a childish game for the child,  not because he wasn’t also vengeful,   but because when the ordeal was done,  when odin had laid there,  choked on his own blood,  the lokis would almost always turn on one another.

the child may be many things,   but one thing he is not   —     stupid.     ❛   even the olympians too,  in fact.   ares is quite the chatter mouth.   i distaste him.    ❜    although he doesn’t add,   he reminds me of thor.

the shimmering door has him wary,  and so the child peeks,  ignoring the older loki’s question.   he squints :  usually one would not have much of an idea what holds the other side of the golden gate,   but if you squint,  you may be able to spot details.   it is wholly curiosity that has him leaned close,   but it is indignation that has him pulled back once he recognises the hints of the familiar hallway.   so long ago;   only so visible with classic loki’s iteration. 

the child backs away,  eyes wide and cheeks red  —  furious  —  before he turns.  finally,   his stance is broken.   this loki wants to see the boy king’s facade break  -   this is how it cracks.   ❛   that is asgards.    ❜    the lævateinn whips itself into existence,   heavy and familiar in loki’s hand,   and it is pointed to his counterpart’s neck —   ❛   do you mock me ?   ❜ 

[urmajaesty]

kid loki? totally verbally unhinged.  he just speaks whatever the fuck that comes into his mind.  although honestly he’s harmless as fuck.  (  like he won’t hesitate to kill if he has to;  and he has,  but it’s not something he enjoys or particularly wants to do.  in fact,  he actually wants to shelter the people he trusts,  that includes classic loki and alligator loki.  )  but alligator loki?  yeah, that bitch is actually insane.

[urmajaesty]

VARIANT 1130​

HIS  EXPRESSION  IS  COOL,   evenly measured & carefully crafted.     loki dips his chin in mock deference to the void’s king,   but inside the very core of his gaze is a flicker of  curiosity,   one that he doesn’t bother to hide now.

“  can you fault my curiosity?  ”     L1130 asks stiffly.     “  you’ve  killed  your  thor  & it’s given you the throne of this wretched place.     what’s not to wonder about?  ”

❛   killing thor did not give me my throne —   ❜     the child tips his head to one side,   and it’s an ominous movement.   eyes glinting with a sort of madness one could only have for having survived as long as he did in such a traitorous,  dead kingdom as he had.   before those flashes of mock glee ebbs away,   and what replaces it is a blank face.  a barely-restrained rage.

❛    killing lokis did.   ❜  

[urmajaesty]

❛   what ?   ❜    his word comes out biting.    but more than that,   it is simply reluctance that has him so agitated by the obvious stare.   turning,   the child gives the older version of him an unimpressed scowl.   his eyebrows minutely raised,   questioning  —

❛   you obviously have something to ask of me,  loki.   might as well  speak.    ❜

  for @seidrborn​ because kid!loki wants to.

[kafk-a]

Raymond Carver, from Late Fragment

[urmajaesty]

VARIANT 1130​

   he could see the child studying him, picking his hidden thoughts apart and shaming him for them, all with a single glance of his eyes.   it was infuriating.   it was infuriating how alike they all were.   how being known came with painful needling in the throat and scoffing of disapproval.   now, now he knew why resemblance with odin was so often mentioned to him.   an unfortunate, shameful thing.

   “i did not force him to join, you must be well aware.   perhaps death was preferable to your company, child.”   how vile it was, finding comfort in a fellow’s loki’s loneliness.   knowing that others were bound to the same maddening solitude, the withering of all they held dear.

   were he to be honest, he didn’t expect the child to throw back the ball.   he thought the child would avoid the question, play it off with a witty remark.   yet, he was proven brutally wrong, the child’s viciousness lay out in all of its glory.   loki could make it a perfect image in his head—kid thor crawling on the floor, clutching at the gaping of his torso, desperately sobbing for his murderous sibling.   a sad sight, he was certain.

  unlike the child, the sorcerer wasn’t afraid to laugh, flash his teeth like a wolf nearing his prey amongst snowed trees.   “oh no, though i wish i did.   my thor was too busy saving the world  while i was to rot on svartalfheim’s cruel soil.   do you remember that plane?   the realm of the vanquished dark elves.   whom, despite the house of odin’s repeating lies, returned to claim their birthright.”   he reached over his shoulder, unsheathing laevateinn.   he stared at the blade, running his finger along its flat edge.   a worthy weapon, truly.   “i killed his father in a very different way.   i held him over the ruin that was his throne and pierced a sword, like this one here, through his heart.   in the same way he let my mother die.   oh, how thrilling it was to see the light leave his eyes.”   oh, how cathartic it was to say it.   to feel accomplishment swell up in his chest without the pressure of remorse.

   the king of asgard, dying by loki’s hand.   thor odinson, dying loki’s hand.   it almost sounded poetic.   he pondered ‌the child would not only understand, but sympathise as well.

   the holster around his shoulders disappeared as he tossed the sword to the young jotun.   his filthy suit phased into something more of his liking;    all leather and gold.   “this is yours, i no longer want nor need it.   why did you agree to help agent mobius?   i somehow doubt he forced you into it.” 

❛   no,    ❜     and it is said so with a finality;   with the grace of someone who has seen nearly everything there was to see in the desolate of his grey,  alioth-infested kingdom.   the child is not stupid.   he knew this older variant of him baits :   perhaps death was preferable to your company,   but he does not bite.   does not even feel like looking at it,  metaphorically speaking.

after all,   the child was with the elderly for far too long to be assured that that was not true.   if a loki could live forever,   a loki would.   he has.   or it feels like he does.   the elderly is different;   he does not seek the throne when there were countless moments when he could have,   and yet the child knows he understood the hunger for it all the same.  there is a patient understanding that they’ve come to when the child has agreed to shelter the elderly.

but beyond that,   the young one could see that the elderly seeks something more.   beyond a crown,   he scours for something the child could not understand,  and never tries to.   i miss my brother,   he had told in many occasion;   could it really be that simple,   the heart of their desire ?   that they had just,  by the end of the day,   wanted something familiar who reminded them of home ?   ❛   he wanted to do what was right.    ❜

no more hiding,   no more schemes;   just an honest desire to unleash something long kept.

and he died for it.    that was the fate of a loki,  wasn’t it ?   even when one changed their mind,   wanted to be better,   wanted to be something beyond their lies and protect and guide and helpful,   everything ends.   the child knows this like he knows every scales on the back of alligator loki’s spine :    a deep-seated truth that he is not saddened nor particularly surprised by.   simply the truth.

the talk of the allfather has him darting his eyes towards the older loki.   he watches,   he listens.   and though there is an intimidating sort of air to the way this other version of him presents the story,   it is not unlike the countless others he has heard while he navigates the void.   always someone dying,   always a fixture of their anger and betrayal and hatred trailing closely behind when they plunge a sword or take a heart.   even the mention of the allmother does not cause the child to blink an eye.

he has heard this story too.   he has seen many loki shed their tears for their mother too.   he has forgotten his own;   just that his adoptive mother’s magic was gentle,   just that she was always so beautiful,   even if he could not remember.    ❛   we’re both murderers then.   lovely.    ❜    is all the child replies with,   the toss-away of laevateinn mildly offensive,  but he speaks none of it when he picks it up,  and stores it away with his enchantment.

❛   a god is not forced,    ❜    he huffs,   childish and petulant,   while he stares up to the other.   ❛   mobius simply asks.    you like him too,   right ?    he’s not infuriating.   even alligator is fond of him.    ❜

[urmajaesty]

very cute  (   totally not me launching this chaotic god at ur feet   )   starter call ?

[snakelaufeyson]

loki + get help

[urmajaesty]

VARIANT 1130

   “if you haven’t noticed, neither do i.” one could ponder that only loki could tolerate the company of loki.   unfortunately for loki, that was a bitter misconception.   loki often found the company of his own mind intolerable.   the company of a whole other loki, was borderline exasperating.   especially when that other loki was a chirping kid.

   “it is not me you should blame for my absence, but our dear darling sylvie, the genius of the bunch.   and if you think your beloved elderly is gone, you are sorely mistaken.”    loki stood from the rock which he had sat down upon, contemplating his options, eager to figure out what he should do, before his illustrious majesty appeared.   he had almost considered giving up and finding a new purpose across the multiverse.   well, he had helped free it after all, hadn’t he?   he ought to enjoy it.   now, his plans were taking a turn.

   the calmer side of him urged him to make no further comments.   simply accept kid loki’s accusations and simply go back.   (go back where?   this isn’t your home.   you will never find home.)

   his face twisted in a mocking expression, with narrowed eyes and a cruel smile.   the young jotun was not the source of loki’s anger, but he was the only near-by target.   it was cruel and unfair, but loki had never hesitated to treat himself with cruelty and unfairness. 

   “i wonder what makes the void so appealing to you.   is it self-pity?   is it the sweetness of martyrdom?   oh, poor loki, cast to the edge of existence with naught but guilt.   is it the joy of a throne in the most hopeless planes across the cosmos?   perhaps that is it.   but, i’ve been wondering—what is it like murdering your brethren and still earning yourself a royal seat?   are you overrun with guilt or did you enjoy yourself?   was it laevateinn you used to end his breathing?   i’m dying to know.”

if he is honest   ...    any variant of loki who does not call themselves a  “ loki ”  are cowards.   what use they have to run from who they are :    do their hands not emit a glowing green-like magic   (   a shimmering thing,  something the child still remembers he takes after his mother   )    when they use their power ?   do their experiences not overlap with deceit and traitorous journeys and a lying father ?   or was it that their destined fate to be a fallen villain shame them so badly ?

cowards,   as he said.   and yet  —   wasn’t it the same coward that this variant had put his faith in ?   well   ...   perhaps not completely faith,   but something similar:   a hunger for a goal to climb and topple what’s on the top just so a loki could try and   have a seat.   so much so that this variant was willing to extend a hand just until the job is finished;   that he was willing to face alioth,  dragging the old fool into the fight.   the child has seen the same trick and con used again and again.

frankly   it’s pathetic.    yet the corner of his lips could not help itself from twitching into a smile.   so you were betrayed,    he thought.   of course this older version of him had.   by a spineless variant of themselves who couldn’t even face the burnt of being a loki,  no less.   when will his incarnations learn ?   or rather,   when will his incarnations stop ?   different players,   but always the same tiring theatre.

❛   had alioth taken out your eyes as well,  or did you not see the elderly crumpled,   turned nothing but to ashes ?   perhaps too busy chasing out your damned glorious purpose.    ❜    and he will not return,  the elderly.   that much,  the child knows;   he’d witnessed it thousand of times.   witnessed it so much that,  as he’d watched the older fool’s illusion shatter,  there was barely an expression to the child’s face.   merely a hollowed out feeling carving itself deeper.

but oh.  it seems his older self wants to take a bite.   what sharp teeth  —  it was almost terrifying  (   a lie  ).

❛   i blew out his stomach.    ❜     his eyes glint ,   snake-like,   and a hint of madness flicker over.   the child does not grin,   but there is a look to it that is almost similar.     ❛   — his heart was right there across the floor.  even in his final breath,  he still tried to call for me.   his last words,   my name.    ❜    a smirk,  the child angles his head,  and then :    ❛   why ?   did you kill your thor the same way ?    ❜     

[urmajaesty]

HEADCANON.     since we do not know his assigned variant number,   but we are aware that he is the oldest variant and has lived thousand of years on the void,   i personally would assign him as  Variant L0005 .   meaning ( kid ) loki is the fifth pruned loki.  he was under the guidance of a third loki,  who was betrayed by the fourth loki,  shortly before they were all killed.   he met alligator loki  (  headcanon’ed Variant L0167 )  years later.   he was the first variant kid loki befriended and trusted.  to avoid the confusion,  my narration will sometimes refer to him strictly as “the child”.

[urmajaesty]

❛    —    you’re shorter.    ❜    

it is not his first time seeing thor.   after all,   living in the void for as long as he did,   there was bound to be a thor or two that’d shown up,   clearly rejected by the timeline for whatever it is that they must have done wrong.   but   ...    he’d never once seen one up close.   alioth,   the demon,   was always at their heels;   and thor,   the foolish idiot,   would always try to fight it with his lightning.   a noble thing,  indeed,   but with alioth’s smoke of death,   no one escapes.

the child does not know how to properly react.   it is unlike seeing a ghost,   because the thor he remembers is young of face,   his features yet to be taken with facial hair and whatever fine lines age does to an individual once they’ve grown up.   yet,   at the same time,  there is that unmistakeable air to the god of thunder that loki thinks he could recognise anywhere.

so,  he thinks   -   this is the thor he did not kill.

[    his word goes unsaid :   you’ve grown up well.  ]

❛   do you recognise me ?    ❜    

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