Tumgik
#im listening to one direction and i thought of mobius and loki
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A Second Chance - Chapter 5 (LokiXOC)
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After the snap and losing her husband, Raven tries to settle on New Asgard with Thor and Valkyrie. But even after losing Loki twice before this time around doesn’t make it any easier. Until a variant of Loki shows up looking for her. Could this be the second chance they both need?
This the next fic in my canon Loki/Raven series. Obviously theres a big time jump from Thor (2011) to Avengers: Infinity War but this fic will tie up lose ends and cover that time jump at some point. So you will be filled in on what I have not written.
A/N: I am very sorry for the massive wait between chapters for this fic, was dealing with burnout and took a break and Im still dealing with day to day mental health struggles. But I will do my best to upload more regularly.
Warnings: Angst, Feels, Flashback chapter, Canon Character death, Technically no Raven in this chapter 
Chapter 5
Loki
After a drastic change in clothing and scenery, I was only given the bare minimum information by a small orange talking clock that called herself Miss Minutes. I was still just as clueless now as when the TVA had shown up. And what was more frustrating was learning that my magic didn’t work here, meaning I would have to go down the more difficult route if I wanted to escape. But if I could get one of their portal opening devices, I could go anywhere I wanted. And I wasn’t just limited to time and space. I could travel to an entirely different universe. Somewhere they wouldn’t find me.
Now I was sitting in what felt like an interrogation room, opposite Mobius. Whilst he claimed to be a fan and wanted to help, I couldn’t help but feel he was mocking me, being patronizing, and asking me completely irrelevant questions. Eventually, he grew tired of my metaphors and my refusal to believe that the TVA were the ones pulling the strings on everything in my life, in everyone’s lives. Pressing a few buttons on his computer, a scene was projected on the wall for us both to view.
It showed me being led into Asgard’s throne room in chains before there was a cold interaction between my mother and I. Whilst my mother was trying to lessen my punishment; I was still determined to push her away, as if she were to blame for all this. The scene changed to another interaction between us, mother was still trying to get through to me, but I was too stubborn, too angry to listen.
I didn’t understand what I was watching. It couldn’t be real; I didn’t recall any of this. “What is this?” I asked. “Your timeline. All the things that were supposed to happen, that have happened to another you. This is more of a highlight reel, though,” Mobius explained. “Another me?” “We’ll get that in a second.”
The scene changed again, showing me giving directions to a horned beast. “You thought you were telling them where Thor was,” Mobius spoke, “when really you led them to her.” I watched in horror as my mother’s death played out before me, a pit forming in my stomach. My eyes glassed over, and I averted my gaze, unable to watch any longer. “Stop it! If this is some kind of torture method, then you’ve made your point!” I declared.
Mobius fast-forwarded the tape, the audio continuing to play even as I refused to watch. “Loki, this is beautiful,” came Raven’s voice. Hearing her voice again hurt more than I thought it would, but it regained my attention. Even if it was just to see her through someone else’s memories. Raven and I were standing at the edge of a meadow on Asgard.
“I know I haven’t spent a lot of time with you lately, but I wanted to make sure we had our wedding anniversary together,” I said to her. We were soon sitting on a picnic blanket, sharing food, before I produced a square box and handed it to her. Raven opened it, her smile growing. She pulled out a gold choker shaped like a snake, its eyes made from emeralds, and put it around her neck. “It’s perfect, this is perfect. Thank you,” she said.
Scene after scene played out before me, Odin dying, Thor and I fighting side by side, the destruction of Asgard, and finally Thanos invading the ship for the tesseract. This was all too familiar to me, only this time it wasn’t Raven that was murdered by him. It was me. The footage ended and Mobius turned the computer off. “So, if I hadn’t taken the tesseract and escaped. If I hadn’t lost my wife and avenged her, I would have still died. All of that would still have happened?” I asked.
“It, technically, has happened. When you escaped The Avengers with the tesseract, you made an alternate timeline, meaning another you, he explained. “And Raven is alive in that timeline?” “Yes. She’s still alive.” Now I began to put two and two together. Mobius was using her as bait to get me to do what he wanted. But if it meant I could see her again, I’d do anything. It would be like her Loki had never left, I could replace him with ease and vice versa.
“I need your help catching a variant. I need someone who thinks like a Loki and who better than you? You do this for me, catch this variant, then I’m sure I can work something out and you can go to that timeline, be with Raven, and live happily ever after. But if you try anything or double cross me, then I’ll prune you myself,” Mobius warned. “Where do we start?” Mobius smiled, happy to hear I was going to be cooperative. The sooner I caught this variant, the sooner I could be with Raven.
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Mobius had agreed to let me have a few of Raven’s tapes, only when I made progress. It proved to act as further incentive, although he was very selective about which tapes he gave me. Thankfully, it was nothing from her past before she had met me; I didn’t wish to see the abuse she’d suffered as a child at the hands of her father. Each tape came with a timeline number, date, time, and location. November 23rd, 2013, Asgard.
Raven was led into the throne room before Odin by two of the guards. Her wrists and ankles were shackled together, the cuffs likely special so that she couldn’t use her abilities to escape, much like I hadn’t been able to use my magic. “Those won’t be necessary,” Odin declared. The guards freed her from her bonds before being dismissed by Odin, leaving him and Raven alone.
“What do you want?” She spat, “unless you’re going to let me go back to Earth after I have buried my husband, I don’t care for what you have to say to me.” “Raven-“ “You know, whilst I didn’t agree with all of Loki’s actions, I know that he only did them based on what he’d seen or heard you do as a boy. Everything he ever did was to impress you so that you would love him in the same way you love Thor! But nothing was ever good enough for you! You're nothing but a cruel old man who didn’t deserve either of his sons!”
I watched, completely stunned by Raven’s words, her bravery to stand up to my father in a way I never could. I half expected him to banish her or strike her down there and there. But strangely, he only smirked before his form changed to her Loki. He’d been pretending to be Odin after having faked his death. This took both me and her by surprise. “Darling, is that any way to speak to your king?” He asked. Raven’s surprise turned to anger in a matter of seconds.
“You had me believe you were dead this whole fucking time?!” Raven yelled as she stormed over to him. “I had to make it seem believable, I didn’t want to keep the truth from you, but I needed you to play your part,” Loki explained. She still wasn’t impressed and slapped him across the face. “I deserved that,” Loki said.
There was a knock on my door, and I paused the tape, calling Mobius inside. It was only ever Mobius that knocked, anyone else barged in thinking that because I was a variant, I didn’t deserve privacy. Mobius stood in the doorway, smiling kindly. I had to admit, over the few months we had worked together; he had grown on me. “I got a lead for you,” he stated, “it might not be much.” “Something is better than nothing.”
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The female variant had been successfully captured and pruned after a year of chasing her across timelines and universes. A part of me doubted Mobius would stay true to his word, mainly because Judge Renslayer was still not a fan of me, nor I her. But thankfully Mobius managed to talk her round.
Mobius opened his tempad and input the details before an orange doorway appeared before us. I knew this would likely be the last time I ever saw Mobius, and I had to admit I felt a little heartbroken at the thought. He’d been a good friend in a time I had needed one most. “Well, this is it, one-way ticket to freedom,” Mobius smiled, “maybe if I ever get some time off, I could come visit.” “I’d like that. Perhaps we could rent a jet ski for you to finally try.”
Mobius chuckled, “I’d like that.” He offered his hand to me, but instead I pulled him into a hug. Mobius was surprised at first, but soon accepted it. “Thank you. For everything,” I said. We pulled away and Mobius wished me luck before I stepped through the orange doorway, ready to find Raven.
Taglist: @jana-banana-fana​, @afangirlshideaway​, @kittyofalltrades​
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starkomens · 3 years
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Loki & Mobius : "Is it too much to ask for something great?" 🥲💔
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Alone, Alone, Alone
Prompt: Prompt idea! (Im assuming youve seen Loki though, so IF YOU HAVENT DONT LOOK AT THIS) Mobius doesnt come for Loki when he's stuck in the memory prison for a while, so he hears that he's not loved over and over and over, and he gets out, sad boi, then hugs from Mobius. - anon
 ah yes our favorite boys
Read on Ao3
Warnings: implied/reference child abuse and sexual assault
Pairings: can be platonic lokius or romantic you guys choose
Word Count: 4672
“You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.”
A time cell is designed to do one thing and one thing only.
To hold.
The cell captures one moment and plays it over and over, on an endless loop, never letting its captive step off the path. A self-contained story, designed to revolve around a single stretch of spacetime and never let go.
“You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.”
  Loki suppresses a groan, wrenching himself up from the floor. He aims a half-hearted glare in the direction that Sif had gone, brushing down his shirt and pushing his hair out of his face.
  “For a warrior who seems intent on fighting with honor,” he mutters to himself as he waits for her to come around the corner again, “you sure do enjoy hitting people below the belt.”
  Sure enough, a few seconds later, he hears the familiar footsteps again and barely suppresses the urge to roll his eyes long enough to hear her grit out the same drivel she’s been spewing for the past who knows how long.
  “Look, Sif, I really think—ah!”
  She sends him to the floor with a well-timed kick. As he doubles over, groaning in pain, she spits out her last insult.
  “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.”
  “Yes, yes,” Loki mutters, “so you’ve said.”
  He gets up again, wincing as his shoulder pops. That’s new.
  “If I’m supposed to be left alone,” he calls out to the empty room, “then why do you insist upon coming back? Huh? Aren’t I supposed to be alone?”
  He spreads his arms wide, spinning around in a circle.
  “If I’m supposed to be alone,” he calls, dragging the word out of his mouth like sap, “then why am I still being visited? Why must you prolong my exposure to others if I’m supposed to languish in my solitude?”
  No response. Not other than the tromping of boots that signal the approach of Lady Sif.
  Another kick. Another wince. Another jibe shot off his tongue as soon as she gets out of earshot.
  He stands in the empty Asgardian hall and looks around. He remembers this place. Well, he’s probably supposed to, this memory was picked out to torture him, it should be something he remembers.
  But he remembers this place.
  Remembers running through this hall, Thor hot on his heels, one of their many pranks gone wrong before they got caught by the guards. He looks up, sees the sconce on the wall offset just a bit, from where Thor burned his fingers the first time he tried to use Mjölnir.
  He scoffs, turning aside as if to physically block them. He doesn’t need to give this place more information to feed off of.
  Not just because it would mean they have more information on him—even though they’ve seen every second of his life, beginning to end, backward and forward, and probably know him better than he knows himself.
  But…maybe, just maybe, if he absolutely had to give another reason, he’d rather not have another private aspect of his life corrupted by this place.
  Before he can spend too long on that train of thought, however, there come the footsteps of Sif around the corner.
  “You—“
  “Sif,” Loki says, holding his hands up, trying to placate her before she can keep going, “Sif, please, listen to me—“
  No luck. She’s extra vicious as she drives her knee into his groin this time, his words morphing into a surprised howl as he collapses to the floor.
  “You deserve to be alone,” she spits as she leaves, “and you always will be.”
  Loki grits his teeth as he stands back up. He spares a glance at the door that she vanished from and immediately turns away from it. No use dwelling on what could have been now, he’s about to have another chance.
  “Sif, Sif, please, one moment, I just have to—ah!”
  And again.
  “Wait, wait, please—Sif!”
  And again.
  “Please, please, just—just wait one moment—I know you want to—argh!”
  And again.
  “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.”
  Loki doesn’t bother to groan as he picks himself off the floor again. No use, the pain won’t fade in time to bloom again when the next Sif comes around the corner. No, instead he just grits his teeth and waits.
  The next time Sif comes storming into the room, he attacks.
  He never did get paid as much attention as Thor did in their sparring lessons, but what he did learn, he learned fast. Fr—someone had taught him that even if he couldn’t fight like the others, that didn’t mean he could win.
  So he gets low. He gets in close. And when it really comes down to it, he fights dirty.
  Sif recovers quickly, because of course she does. She’s an Asgardian warrior in her prime, trained to fight and survive the worst the Nine Realms has to offer. She might not be armed to the teeth as she normally is in combat, but she is fierce.
  Loki has the upper hand for about three seconds before he’s got a fire burning in his groin again and he’s being wrestled to the ground.
  “You deserve to be alone,” Sif spits, only partially out of breath, “and you always will be.”
  Well. First proper fight in a while, and without his magic too, he’s bound to be a little rusty.
  He tries again.
  Lets the burn of the fight reach into his muscles that don’t quite know how to do this in this form. Feels the bile and spittle rearing in the back of his throat from blows absorbed too quickly, too harshly, tries to force it down enough to bare his teeth. Tries to make the blood rushing in his ears drown out her vile spits of the mantra this cell so desperately wants him to remember.
  “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.”
  He doesn’t know how many fights he manages on his own two feet.
  He doesn’t know how many more he weathers when he starts off barely staggering up from the last.
  He doesn’t know how many beatings he takes when he can’t even raise his hands in time.
  He just knows that, eventually, after what feels like hours of being thrown, bitten, punched, kicked, beaten into the ground, he’s on his knees, on the cold stone, panting, when he hears footsteps.
  “You—“
  “Sif,” he gasps, holding up his hands, “Sif.”
  “—pathetic worm—“
  “Please,” he gasps out, back on his knees, his chest burning, aching with the effort of breathing, “please, no more.”
  The sight of him must give her pause, because she slows, a tad. Some of her righteous fury gives way to wariness and he seizes it.
  “Please, I beg you.”
  She stops. She stops in front of him, still regarding him with the fiery ice of Asgardian judgment, but she stops.
  Loki swallows, trying valiantly to remember that this is Sif. Not only is this Sif, but a reconstruction of Sif. This is not anyone else. Anyone else.
  “I’m a horrible person,” he says, trying to stay here, in this weird limbo where he’s breathing, “I get it. I really am. I cut off your hair because I thought it'd be funny. And it's not.”
  It…really isn’t, is it? Hair grows back. It’s not worth the temporary satisfaction, nor the wrath incurred by anyone who it might have offended.
  Sif stays. She doesn’t move, but the subtle quirk of her eyebrow tells him she needs more.
  This is Sif. This is Sif. This is Sif.
  But a confession is a confession.
  “Uh…” He was his lips. “I crave attention... because I’m…”
  He sighs.
  “I’m a... I'm a narcissist.”
  That isn’t enough. He knows it isn’t enough. His chest and throat burn with how much it isn’t enough.
  “And I suppose it’s…it's because I'm scared of being alone.”
  There is a moment. One glorious, stupid, hopeless moment where Loki lets himself earnestly believe that everything might be alright.
  Sif offers her hand to him.
  He takes it, suppresses a shudder at the feeling of someone actually touching him as he stands.
  She regards him, the ice and fire leaving her gaze as they stand there, in the old Asgardian hall, just looking at each other. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, Loki’s heart racing every second she does so.
  Surely…surely…
  “You are alone,” she murmurs, indifference the sharpest sword she could wield, “and you always will be.”
  The Frost Giant feels cold.
  Indifferences ice the floor behind her as she leaves, detachment sucking the air out of the room. He stands there, wavering, unable to breathe in the wake of the soft words that cut much deeper than anything else could have.
  When she next comes around the corner, he doesn’t move.
  Lets the words run over him like water over stones, lets the punch to his face and the knee to his groin fell him like some great tree. Lets the sound of her footsteps be his cue to get up, wait for the next one.
  He should say something. He should respond. Should play his part, act the role, the way he’s supposed to. Maybe that will get him out of whatever hell this is.
  But he can’t.
  Every word he would say is snatched from his mouth at the mere memory of someone telling him so gently, so softly, you are alone, and you always will be.
  He remembers this. He never did learn some lessons fast enough. He remembers the rote of getting back on your feet so someone could knock you down. He remembers the pattern of being told to fix something, to do better, only to be knocked below square one. He remembers.
  He remembers.
He lets his eyes go blank. He lets his hands hang loosely by his sides. He lets his face cool into the perfect neutral expression. And he waits.
  The punch winds him but he doesn’t let the pain linger. The knee to the groin burns but he doesn’t wince anymore. He gets up, ignores the screams of his body to stop, to rest, and pushes himself to stand. Sif keeps coming. Over and over and over.
  You are alone, and you always will be.
  The one fatal flaw with his current plan—is it even a plan? It’s a technique he perfected in these very halls, that doesn’t make it a plan—is that before, he knew there was an end. If he could just hang on, just make it through, just survive, it would stop. Everything would just…stop.
  And then he would go. Would retreat to his chambers and lick his wounds, would bury himself under showers and baths and then blankets and robes until he couldn’t see himself anymore, until he could drown in the safety of his own demons, not the ones put there by everybody else. There, there he could breathe.
  But there isn’t an end to this. This is a time loop. This is a time cell.
  He isn’t on Asgard. There is no one to help him here.
  There are only people that want to use him. Only people that see him as nothing more than a tool to be used and discarded the moment he becomes more trouble than he’s worth.
  There are only people that know him so well, manipulating him is no harder than pressing the buttons on an elevator. There are only people that know him from files and memories they had no right to, that they would shamelessly exploit to get what they wanted. There are only people that knew, somehow, that this one memory would be enough to make it past every single defense he could’ve thrown at them.
  There is only him.
  He’s alone.
  He doesn’t know how long he lasts like that, moving like a broken doll to stand perfectly still for Sif to beat, only to move back into position when she’s finished one round. But he doesn’t last forever.
  There is a time where he can only just stagger to his feet before Sif is knocking him back down, a ‘pathetic’ tossed over her shoulder as she leaves.
  There is a time where he makes it to his knees, only for Sif to grab his hair and shove him back down, raw contempt on her face as she leaves.
  There is a time where he can’t move at all, only there on the ground for Sif to look at, the soft indifference hitting much harder than her fists as she leaves.
  But she always, always leaves.
  You are alone, and you always will be.
  It blurs after that. Flashes of gold and Asgardian leather and licks of pain at the corner of his bruised and battered psyche. But always those words.
  You are alone, and you always will be.
  At some point, he cries. He only knows by the way a puddle grows under his head and his split lips sting with the salt.
  You are alone, and you always will be.
  He doesn’t know if Sif stops coming or if he can’t tell what’s real anymore.
  You are alone, and you always will be.
  It doesn’t matter.
  You are alone, and you always will be.
  It doesn’t.
  You are alone, and you always will be.
  He doesn’t.
  You are alone, and you always will be.
  He is alone, and he always will be.
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Mobius sighs, swinging the set of keys around his finger a few more times as he strides back to Time Theater 5. Honestly, he got the need for scrupulousness as much as the next analyst, but taking so long just to get gear checked back in was really unnecessary. Especially since most agents hadn’t even left the TVA.
  Time wasn’t really a big deal to them, though, so he supposes it didn’t do much.
  He steps into the theater and sighs, glancing at the stack of files on the table.
  “Oh, Loki,” he mutters to himself, “why’d you have to go and pull a Loki?”
  He knows the answer to that the same way he knows the nebula next to Orion is going to alter the planet’s gravitational presence in the galaxy.
  Mobius scrubs a hand over his face and suppresses another sigh. He doesn’t want to have to do this interrogation, if he’s being honest. He’s too close to it. He tried to say as much to Ravonna only to realize that if he’s not the one talking to his Loki, someone else is going to have to and they’re going to make an even bigger mess out of the already big mess they have.
  …he’s also calling him his Loki.
  In another version of this, he would walk inside and ask if Loki was ready to talk. He’d pull him out, sit him down, a strange mirror to how it was when he first arrived. He’d pretend he wasn’t burning inside from how easily Loki left him, pretend to laugh uproariously at how Loki seemed so enamored by the female variant. He’d pretend, Loki would tell him a grand story about how everyone who works for the TVA is a variant, and he’d huff quietly, because Loki could only be lying. In another version of this, Loki would go back to the time cell again, but just for a little while, before Mobius found out what he needed to burn the whole TVA down.
  But that’s another version of this.
  In this version, a red door opens in front of Mobius and he steps through, expecting to see a Loki spitting vitriolic barbs at whatever version of Sif was here, or perhaps see him standing defiantly, refusing to give a single inch.
  Whatever he expected, it wasn’t an empty room.
  He frowns, looking around. There’s no way Loki would’ve been able to get out of here. The only way in or out was with a TemPad, one Loki definitely wouldn’t’ve had access to.
  Then he spots the crumpled body on the floor.
  “Shit,” he mutters, rushing over, “shit, shit, shit, Loki?”
  The body is cold, limp, and as he rolls Loki over onto his back, his head lolls uselessly to the side. Mobius’s heart stops.
  “No,” comes a voice that is far too close to a whimper for his liking, “no, no, no, Loki—“
  Clumsy fingers jam themselves against the cold neck and there, there, is a thin, thready pulse.
  Tension unspools from his chest in a rush, bowing his head in a silent thanks of oh god, he’s not dead. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.
  “Alright,” he manages breathlessly, “alright, you big drama queen, let’s…let’s see what’s the matter with you, okay?”
  A little less frantic now, he turns Loki fully onto his back, hands running over him to make sure he isn’t injured. No sighs of permanent injury, nor any blood, but he’s cold. Too cold.
  “You’re a Frost Giant,” he murmurs, as if Loki can hear him, “don’t suppose you could tell me if you’re supposed to be this cold, could you?”
  He pauses for a moment, reaching up to cup the cold face in his hands. It comes away damp and he automatically lets loose a comforting noise at the evidence of tears.
  “Oh, kitten,” he murmurs, slowing his hands for a minute just to stroke his thumb along one sharp cheekbone, “it’s okay now, I’m right here, I’m so sorry.”
  He looks up and around the time cell and curses.
  “I left you in here,” he mutters, “I left you in here for—for too long and now—“
  Mobius sits the limp body up, propping his weight against his arm and cupping his face again.
  “…now look at you.” He rubs gently at the teary spots on Loki’s face, neck, chest. “I’m so sorry, Loki, I’m so, so sorry.”
  He glances behind him at the red door. Then back down at the man practically lying in his lap.
  “Hold on one more minute for me,” he says, laying Loki’s head down as carefully as he could into his lap, “just—just one more minute.”
  Rigging a TemPad isn’t necessarily in his job description, but he does know his way around some of the sneakier mechanics. The red door closes behind him and a gold one appears in his place.
  “Okay, Loki,” Mobius says, leaning down and picking up the man with a grunt, “let’s—let’s get you somewhere safe.”
  He makes it through the door and into his quarters, staggering a little under Loki’s weight but able to lie him out on the bed. Panting a little, he clicks the TemPad again and the door closes, leaving them alone.
  “Alright, let’s have a look.”
  From the files, he knows what not to do when it comes to Frost Giant biology, but he has a feeling this is more to do with what happened emotionally in that damn cell than anything else.
  Which means the best thing he might be able to do for Loki right now is…leave him alone.
  The very idea twists his gut until he thinks he might be sick. But the idea of potentially taking advantage of Loki right now is worse.
  He does his best to make Loki comfortable. Props his head up on a pillow, loosens his tie and top buttons, tries his best to make the collar just a little less of a weight on his throat. He removes his shoes, sets them neatly on the floor next to the bed, and smooths the covers out. On second thought, he fills a glass with water and sets it on the side table.
  “Loki,” he murmurs, knowing the man probably can’t hear him properly right now, “Loki, you’re safe now. I’ve—I brought you to my room, no one else can get in here but me. I’m gonna be just next door—I’ll hear you if you need anything, okay?”
  He reaches out and makes sure Loki’s head won’t fall off when he sees another tear roll down a pale cheek. He reaches out to wipe it away.
  “You’re not alone, kitten,” he whispers, “I’m right here.”
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Loki blinks.
  The ceiling he stares at isn’t the Asgardian hall, nor is it Time Theater 5.
  He sits up.
  He’s in a bed.
  His muscles groan and protest as he looks around, shaky and nowhere near as sure as he should be. He turns his head and notices the glass of water on the table.
  No. No, he knows a trap when he sees one.
  Footsteps.
  He jerks his head around, eyes wide, only for Mobius to come around the corner.
  Mobius’s eyes go wide too and his breath leaves him in a rush. “You’re awake.”
  His throat closes up. No, no, Mobius didn’t—he wouldn’t—
  He isn’t on Asgard anymore. He isn’t there. He’s—he’s in the TVA.
  “Hey,” comes the gentle voice, too gentle for Loki, “hey, Loki? You with me?”
  Loki blinks again, focusing on Mobius with his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.
  “Hey, there, bud,” he says softly, a quiet smile crossing his face, “there you go. You just stay here with me now, okay? Can you do that for me?”
  Loki blinks. Mobius is here. Mobius is here. He’s—he’s not on Asgard. He’s not in the time cell. He’s—he’s—
  “You’re in my quarters,” Mobius says in that same gentle voice, almost as if he can read Loki’s mind, “I brought you here so you could be safe. No one’s hunting you, no one’s angry at you, it’s just little old me here.”
  Just…just Mobius. Just Mobius.
  “Loki, hey, Loki, I need you to look at me.” Mobius’s face swims back into view. “That’s it, you just keep looking at me.”
  His throat feels dry. His body aches. Something, deep within him, is still crying.
  “Can I come over to you, Loki?” Mobius indicates the bed next to him. “I won’t touch you, not unless you want me to, but can I come a bit closer?”
  He barely registers that he’s nodding.
  “Thank you, I’m gonna move real slow, okay?” He keeps his hands raised as he takes a small step closer. “Just like that. No surprises…nothing’s gonna happen to you…I’m just…walking a little closer.”
  He keeps up the litany of reassurances until he eases his weight down onto the bed. He tilts his head and smiles at Loki.
  “See? That’s all, sweetheart,” he murmurs, still far too gentle. “I’m right here now.”
  Loki can barely swallow before his eyes start to burn again.
  “Oh, hey, now,” comes the concerned voice, “what’s all this? Shh, shh, darlin’, you’re okay.”
  Loki’s hands tense in the sheets, unable to look anywhere but Mobius’s kind face. “Is—is this real?”
  “Oh, kitten—“ Mobius moves slowly, always slowly, always gently, as he takes Loki’s face in his hands— “yes, Loki, this is real. I’m right here, sweetheart, I’m right here.”
  Loki’s eyes flutter closed as warm, dry thumbs sweep tenderly across his cheeks, his eyelids, his lashes, and it’s too much.
  “Shh, shh, shh, my scared kitten, come here,” Mobius soothes as Loki all but collapses into him, “that’s it, you just come here, you must’ve been so scared…I’m so sorry, Loki, I’m here now.”
  It’s so different. It’s so different from the cold inhuman comfort of layers of blankets. Mobius is warm and solid and alive and real and the gentle words in his ears threaten to unravel him completely. He has been starved for tenderness, starved for affection, and now that he’s being given it so freely, he doesn’t know what to do.
  “That’s it, pussycat,” he hears as he begins to sob in earnest, “you just cry into me for a little while, okay? I’ve got you, I’m not gonna go anywhere for a while, I’ve got you.”
  A warm hand cards through his hair, another rubs up and down his back. Mobius is everywhere, the smell of him, the rough fabric of the hideously brown suit, the soft lull of words in his ear. Everything is Mobius, Mobius, Mobius.
  Distantly, he becomes aware that he’s being rocked back and forth like a child, tender words whispered against his hairline as Mobius cuddles him. Some part of him wants to pull away, to laugh that if it was that easy to get out of that cell, he would’ve done it ages ago.
  The overwhelming part of him sends pleas and begs to the tip of his tongue for Mobius to never stop.
  They manifest as a whine as Mobius starts to pull away, only for him to be shushed gently as Mobius strokes his face again.
  “Hey, there, don’t you worry,” he soothes, “I’m not going far. I just think that I’m covered in half a dozen different types of TVA gunk and I’m sure you’d like to have a shower too, huh?”
  A shower seems so cold now that he’s known the warmth of another. The thought must register on his face because Mobius is quick to gentle it away too.
  “We don’t have to take long, kitten, but you’ll feel a little better. I promise, okay?”
  If Mobius promises…
  “Good,” he whispers, stroking a thumb along Loki’s cheek again, “can you try and drink that glass of water for me too?”
  Loki doesn’t want to look away from Mobius. If he does, maybe he’ll disappear. But Mobius wants him to do something, so—so—
  “Here,” Mobius says, reaching for the glass himself and taking a small sip, “I’ll drink half, you drink half?”
  Loki nods. Mobius winks and drinks half the glass, before handing it off to Loki. It doesn’t go down as smoothly, but he gets it down.
  “Good job.” He takes the empty glass and stands, gently tugging on Loki’s hand. “Come on, let’s go clean up.”
  He was right. The shower is nowhere near warm enough. But when he gets out of the shower, Mobius is there, clean and clothed in pajamas, with an extra set ready for Loki to change into.
  “There,” he murmurs once Loki finishes changing, “that’s better, huh?”
  Loki nods. He still doesn’t trust his voice to speak, to say all the things he should say, needs to say. But then Mobius is gently telling him to tilt his head to the side as he runs a warm washcloth underneath the collar and the words evaporate into a mess.
  “Sleepy?”
  Mobius sets the washcloth aside and takes his hands again.
  “Come on, kitten, let’s get you back to sleep.”
  He thinks that maybe, maybe he’ll have to convince Mobius to stay, not to leave, but he doesn’t. Indeed, Mobius slides into bed first, pulling back to covers and holding out his arms.
  “C’mere, kitten,” he coaxes, “come lie down.”
  Mobius is warm. So, so, so warm. He nestles into the crook of the man’s embrace as the covers are tugged up around them. He feels a chaste brush of fingers against his lips, checking to see that they aren’t still torn and bitten open. A soft hum that he can feel more than hear as Mobius turns off the lights.
  “Just close your eyes,” Mobius murmurs, “close your eyes, Loki, it’s okay, I won’t leave you. Just try and rest a little more for me, okay? I’ve got you.”
  Some part of him wants to hiss about this being part of a trap. That he’s falling right for it.
  That part of him dissolves as warm fingers tangle in his hair again and warm lips press a chaste kiss to his forehead.
  “Some timelines believe that a forehead kiss gets rid of all the bad,” Mobius whispers, “here’s hoping it works for you.”
  Tears prickle at the corner of Loki’s eyes again, but these don’t burn.
  He knows that someone will wipe them away if they do start to fall.
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bexfangirlforlife · 3 years
Text
~ 30 Questions Tag ~
Thx for the tag @anotherobsessedfangirl 😊
1. name/nickname: I'm going with Bex here
2. star sign: aquarius
3. height: 1.64 m / 5 ft 4.57
4. birthday: february 18th
5. favourite bands: Alte Bekannte (german a capella band), Wise Guys (same thing, broke up, some became Alte Bekannte), Måneskin, Jonas Brothers [to name a few, that funnily are very different from one another]
6. time: 23:08 (11:08 pm) [update: took me an hour to finish this, it's now 00:07]
7. favourite solo artist: Miley Cyrus (honorable mention: Daniel Donskoy)
8. song stuck in your head: none
9. last movie you watched: Monsieur Claude 2
10. Dream Trip: Scotland, Wales and even if I've been there so many times Austria (I want to see my fave mountain that looks like a sad elephant again)
11. Last Show: Loki on Disney+
12. When I started this blog: got into the Toris fandom, started sending crappy gifs I made to my friends, got told I'd love tumblr, created this blog late summer 2018
13. What I post: mainly reblogging stuff from various fandoms (currently mostly Loki/Mobius/Owen Wilson, Chris Evans, Cherik/James McAvoy/Michael Fassbender, Tatort Saarbrücken; if I still find posts Taron Egerton/Rocketman, Toris), sometimes random thoughts or experiences.
14. Last thing I googled: "Monsieur Claude 2" to make sure I spelt it right.
15. Other blogs: none
16. Do I get asks: not really
17. Why I chose me url: bex as my name, fangirl because that's what I am and came here for, for life because I'm passionate about it and let's be honest probably always will be.
18. Following: 😅 no idea (might look that up later 》 it's 65)
19. Followers: 166 if I remember correctly, but I don't think that many actually follow me in care what's going on here [if you're reading this btw Hi 😉♡]
20. Average hours of sleep: about 6 I think
21. Lucky number: my favourite is 3
22. Instruments: I don't really play anymore, but I learned accordion (from age 5/6-9), keyboard piano (age 10 and then 16-18 again), flute in school (age 8). But give me one of them and I probably sound like I never did...
23. What am I wearing: that does sound suspicious being asked online Shorts and print shirt
24. Dream job: I don't really know, but I'd love something bts on film or theatre, maybe something production wise, continuity sounds interesting or maybe even in the writing/plotting direction... Like I said I don't really know, maybe I'll end up wanting to go work as a librarian
25. Favourite food: I rarely eat but always loved potatoes squished up on the plate with butter and sweet corn; more generally pizza, good (mostly vegetarian) burger
26. Tea or coffee: I drink both on a daily basis. Coffe mostly just a cup after dinner and tea more casually im between.
27. Nationality: german.
28. Favourite Song: what a question to asked, last time I really said a song truly is my new favourite was "wonderful life" by Sam Cooke a couple years ago, but yeah I'm currently not on a one favourite song kinda vibe I think.
29. Last book I read: for university sei personaggi in cerca d'autore by Luigi Pirandello (german translation though); for myself still reading Clanlands by Sam Heughan and Graham McTavish.
30. Top 3 fictional universes I'd like to live in:
1 》 Harry Potter, because it's a magical world, it was my personal escapism whenever I listened to the audio books 24/7 and it will always have my full heart. [the fictional world, that for me has no longer anything to do with a certain someone from our reality]
2 》 [insert cheesy book/movie, without all that hero/villain crap and just the light romantic drama, but not like heavy super complicated drama, with happy end]
3 》 [insert a better world, where all my ships are canon and in all my fictional media just happens stuff I like, while the real world is much more peaceful and accepting in general]
I honestly have no idea, I like to read or watch all that stuff and enjoy my observing position, because I'm not physical adventure seeking person. Maybe some TV show, but I don't even know which of them, because they also have so much heavy drama going on...
I'm tagging whoever wants to.
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