Disclaimer: All original characters and such belong to Marvel.

Summary: Loki needs to blend in. She can't believe she's agreed to help him.

Chronology: None specific

Pairings: None for the moment

Rating: K+ for over cautiousness

Author's Note: My brain did another thing that is mostly fluff and crack and I am only posting it cuz Starkreactor asked super nicely. Also, you are welcome Tumblr.


I blink as he hands me the scissors.

"I trust you," he says, and there's that grin again and what can I do? His face is like kryptonite. Or something.

I look away as I examine the scissor blades for sharpness and any kind of sticky residue that might make this project difficult. These are the scissors I use every day for everything, cutting wood and cardboard and paper and duct tape and fabric. "Are you really one hundred percent certain you want to do this?"

Loki laughs. "We already agreed that no one is going to believe I'm on your side, and beyond that you Earth creatures are always so suspicious of anyone the slightest bit different. I thank you for the clothes, but we can't leave it at that." He sits down in the chair, his back to me. "Proceed, please."

I make an uncertain little noise. "Just remember, I have only cut hair twice before. And they were both girls." I stop and recall how short they both wanted their hair cut. "Well, okay. I guess it wasn't all that different."

"Excellent," Loki replies, smiling again.

I think my knees are melting. He looks so strange in a burgundy button up shirt and jeans, but then again, the entire month since I've met him has been a giant slush pile of weird. I guess at this point the green cape and armor are familiar enough that losing them seems to throw off my new sense of normality, however loose it may be.

"Okay," I say, almost under my breath, trying to reassure myself more than anyone, even though it's him with someone about to use a cutting implement next to his head. I pick a towel up off the kitchen table and drape it around his shoulders. I try to ignore the comical effect of a so-called god wearing a worn Teletubbies towel as a pseudo cape-type contraption. I reach for the spray bottle filled with water that I use to tame my own wild curls every morning and start spraying Loki's sleek black hair liberally, soaking it through. He sits so patiently that I begin to squirm.

When his dark hair looks like an ebony waterfall cascading from every side of his head, I step back with the scissors and squint carefully.

"I trust you," he repeats with a laugh.

"A horrible decision, really," I mutter to myself.

He laughs again. "You speak of the movie you viewed with me last week! The girl with impossible hair!"

"Yeah, I quote Disney when I'm nervous." I gingerly pick up on of his locks.

"It has to be done, and you are careful in every aspect of your life. I see no reason why the outcome of this should be any different than that of the drawing you completed yesterday."

I groan. "I made my sister look demented."

"I know demons. You did not."

I have to smile at that, and in the couple beats of silence that follow, I decide to get a move on. I hold the lock of hair out flat between my pointer and middle fingers and gently ease the blades along the edge. A thin wispy line of hair cascades to the floor.

It doesn't take me more than twenty minutes, even though I am working slowly. He wants it short, and refuses to check my progress in a mirror as I move along. "Make me blend in," is all he says, and I think of the most stereotypical male haircut I can think of and work from there. As long as I don't completely screw it up, he'll be like any other guy in town. Well, on the surface anyway. Sort of.

I finish snipping away and step back, running my hand through his hair to remove any loose bits. "Okay," I say, nervous. "You're going to look now, right? And you'll tell me if you want it fixed?"

"I am not concerned." He stands and walks to the small hallway mirror outside the bathroom. He nods, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "This is more than acceptable. Thank you." He turns to look back at me.

This is the first time I've seen him properly since I cut his hair, standing upright and his head visible from normal viewing angles. I suddenly find that breathing takes more effort than it's supposed to. The longer hair muted some of his features, but these shorter locks make every detail about his face jump out in sharp relief, like an overdone 3D movie.

I drop the scissors.

Not much later, I can hear Thor enter the house and speak to his brother, even from where I have hidden myself behind the couch in another room.

"Where has she gone?" he asks.

Loki sounds genuinely puzzled, as he did minutes ago. "I'm not certain. She suddenly yelled something about 'perfect people' and said that 'she couldn't even' and ran off."