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It was easy enough to steal a TemPad this time around.
With all of Loki’s knowledge and experience, and without a brace in his neck to hamper his magical capabilities, procuring a TemPad from one of the Minutemen chasing after him the Archives was almost effortless. It was very much unlike the first time he’d stepped foot in the TVA, where his cluelessness meant that all his efforts to escape or trick people were futile, and were it not for Mobius, then he’d have likely been pruned then and there and met Alioth much, much earlier. And on his own, too.
(Sylvie was far better than him, of course. Even as a child she’d managed to trick Ravonna; she’d even managed to figure out how to escape a whole organization that was after her all on her own.
It was only when Loki had begun tagging along with her that she’d actually been caught, but he doesn’t want to think about that fact. Not yet.)
Haven Hills, Alabama in 2050 was unchanged, seemingly untouched by what he and Sylvie had done in the Citadel. From the torrential rains to the glaring signage of the monumental supermarket housing all the evacuees—Roxxcart, it shouted in neon blue—everything was the same as it had been when he’d last been there.
The only difference was there was no significant sign of Sylvie anywhere. Loki couldn’t feel her presence in any of the forty-or-so aisles, all of which were illuminated only by weak, blinking light bulbs; he couldn’t feel her presence in the back and storage rooms either, where all the people were. He thought about leaving, to search for her in another place since she clearly wasn’t here and he had no way of going back to the Citadel, but he needed a concrete plan.
“Excuse me, Sir.”
Loki turned, and a Roxxcart employee—the same one Sylvie’d enchanted when they first met, though he couldn’t remember the employee’s name—was there, standing a few inches away, surveying him up and down. He caught their eyes as they widened at the sight of the blood on his sleeve; Loki hadn’t had time for a change of clothes, though the blood had staunched on its own. He couldn’t even feel the sting of it anymore.
“It seems you’re wounded,” the employee said calmly. “The disaster shelter is this way. If you could follow me, please—we can have one of our nurses clean it up for you and provide you with a fresh set of clothes.”
Mobius hadn’t recognized him. Neither did Hunter B-15—they were both responsible for sending the other Minutemen after Loki for the purpose of pruning him; perhaps thinking that he was just one of the many Variants that had escaped in the disarray that had occurred in the TVA as a result of the multiple branches that had formed on the timeline.
Quite surprisingly, the thought induced a certain melancholy in his chest, weighing itself on top of the sorrow he already felt at what happened between him and Sylvie. Loki considered Mobius and Hunter B-15 his comrades, if not friends. Especially Mobius, who was the only reason why he hadn’t been pruned in the first place.
It was a different Mobius and B-15 that he’d met in whatever timeline Sylvie had sent him to. She didn’t seem to have a place in mind when she got rid of him, even if his last glimpse of her had been her emotionless features just after she’d asserted that she wasn’t like him.
Sylvie had kissed him.
Then she had betrayed him. And yet—he still cared for her; not an inch of him wanted to hurt her. The opposite, really—every iota of him wanted to find her, to make sure she was okay. That part hadn’t changed. That was still all he wanted. He was also in a lot of pain, and not the physical kind.
Loki left Alabama just before the worst of the typhoon came. The only concrete plan he could formulate while he was being tended to was to search for Sylvie the same way he did when he first found her, and so he jumped from one apocalypse to another, escaping the TVA’s notice, hoping to run into her someway. Somehow.
Pompeii, 70 AD; Japan, 2012; Gujarat, 2001; New Orleans, 2005—Loki jumped from one apocalypse to another, taking care to keep his TemPad charged while he was on the lookout for Sylvie. It was a more arduous task than he initially thought it would be, and he wondered how Sylvie had done it all by herself her whole life. She’d probably lived with the constant worry of her TemPad running out of batteries, or it suddenly malfunctioning, as electronic devices were wont to do.
I was pruned before you even existed. I have been waiting for this moment my entire life.
His thoughts frequently strayed to her and their last moments together, and he also often caught himself thinking about all the banter they’d shared, from the train—he could hear himself telling her Love is a dagger at least once a day—to their final walk to the Citadel, just after they’d enchanted Alioth. It happened all the time, especially during dull moments in his pursuit of her where he got bored of waiting for the disaster itself to happen, wherever he was, but he always stopped himself just before He Who Remains offered them both to rule in his place.
Loki thought they’d be a united front, or that she’d at least allow them both time to think about such a choice, especially a crucial one that could send the whole world toppling over as they knew it. But Sylvie had been so angry; so absorbed in her resolve that she hadn’t hesitated to fight even him when he got in the way of her killing He Who Remains, and Loki’d had to defend himself even if it undeniably pained him to have to fight her.
She’d even egged him on to kill her and take his throne.
That hurt more than he cared to admit.
Out of new apocalypses to go to, Loki tried in vain to wrack his brain of apocalypses Sylvie likely could have travelled to, but found himself cycling through the same apocalypses anyways. He had no idea if the TVA were after him or if they’d simply forgotten about him after what happened with the timelines, focusing on other, more dangerous variants instead. As it stood, he remained undetectable within the apocalypses, even though it seemed ironic that apocalypses were where he—and Sylvie—were safest.
He continued on trying out more and more apocalypses until it suddenly came to him: the small bit of information Loki had read about himself—the Sacred Timeline version of himself—when he and Mobius were going through the TVA’s files; information about his final exploits in Asgard and a group called the Revengers, which had consisted of him, Thor, a Valkyrie, and the Hulk. How they’d saved the Asgardians from Hela by summoning Surtur instead.
It seemed then that it was one of the apocalypses Sylvie had likely gone to, and wanted to shake himself for not remembering it sooner.
Loki could feel her presence the moment he stepped out of the Timedoor and into Asgard. She was here, somewhere, though he didn’t have an inkling as to where she was and why he could feel her. But he wasn’t about to leave without her; he knew that. He’d been looking for her for so long that scouring the entirety of Asgard and the Seven Realms from top to bottom meant nothing if it would lead him to her.
As it turned out, he wouldn’t have to look so far. She was outside Asgard, and Loki had finally seen her, perhaps by luck or by some unseen force, watching the events in the city from a vantage point in the mountains.
“I should’ve known you’d be here.”
“You found me,” she said without turning, not in the least bit surprised.
He didn’t know what to say. Loki felt a plethora of emotions within him that he couldn’t quite put names to; he felt relieved, like a burden had lifted off him, and also a little vexed, because he’d been everywhere but she’d been in Asgard all this time.
There was one thing Loki was sure of, however: that he wasn’t angry at her. Not at all.
And even if he were—he would have looked for her regardless.
“Wait,” he said, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder, but pulling it back at the last minute should he somehow scare her away with his touch. “You aren’t—you aren’t going to shout at me to leave?”
“I don’t suppose anything I say will make you,” Sylvie replied, finally pivoting around to face him, “so I won’t waste my precious energy.”
With a startling jolt, Loki realized just how much he’d missed her. He had no idea how much time they’d actually spent together—time moved differently when you kept on jumping around timelines, and Mobius himself had told him that the TVA operated outside its bounds—but he was sure that it was enough to get him to cherish whatever it was that they had. He’d felt as much when they faced the fake Timekeepers, and again when they found each other in the Void, and finally, when they enchanted Alioth and walked all the way to the Citadel together.
And now, after so much time spent jumping around apocalypses, it felt surreal to finally be in front of her. She looked different yet the same; she was still wearing the same black suit, but her hair had gotten a little longer, and she’d grown a little thinner, too. He also caught the shadows under her eyes, which were almost akin to crescents.
“No.” Loki shook his head, before realizing his mistake and immediately backing off, his voice a nervous stutter. “I mean, yes—”
“Let’s get out of here,” Sylvie interrupted. “Hela’s about to fight Surtur, and I don’t want to be here when everything turns to shite.”
“Hela. What’s she like?”
From all the time he’d spent going through the files at the TVA, Loki knew, of course, what Hela, their adoptive sister, was like—the broad strokes of it, at least. She was long gone by the time Odin had brought him home from Jotunheim, but without her Odin’s reign would not have gone as successfully as it did.
Loki would have liked to talk about something else, something more pertinent to the both of them rather than the topic of their deranged adoptive sister, but he didn’t want to rush her. She could easily slip away from him once more, and he couldn’t risk it, not when he’s just found her.
“Oh, you know,” Sylvie replied in that casual manner of hers, like he hadn’t spent so much time trying to find her; like she hadn’t kissed him and then pushed him into a Timedoor back to the TVA.
He felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “I don’t.”
“Mad at Odin, hell-bent on reclaiming Asgard and getting the throne. She carved Thor’s eye out. Has her own wolf who’s thrice her size, all the theatrics.” She waved a hand around as if to further punctuate the extent of Hela’s love of flair.
Despite not having met Hela, Loki understood the vitriol she’d felt towards their father, Odin. He went through a period of loathing Odin himself.
“Did you ever meet her?” Loki asked. They’d never broached this topic before. “Did they ever…?”
“No, not really,” Sylvie said. “They were honest about a lot of things, but they never told me that Hela existed.”
It was this conversation that set the pattern for their succeeding conversations: light exchanges, topics far removed from the TVA or the Void or anything about the Citadel and He Who Remains. They acted as if nothing had happened at all, like they were apart because of normal reasons, and not because they’d fought about the two choices He Who Remains had laid out before them.
Loki had had more than enough time imagining what that conversation—though confrontation would be a better word—would be like, but now that she was here, in front of him, all his plans had seemingly turned to dust, and he didn’t know what to say anymore. And so he preferred this. It was easy enough to pretend everything was alright, now that he’d found her.
You can’t trust and I can’t be trusted.
Loki would be lying if he said he still didn’t feel both hurt and betrayed. He and Sylvie had fought against each other, and during Loki’s last-ditch effort to stop her from killing He Who Remains, Sylvie had kissed him, asserted that she wasn’t like him, conjured a Timedoor, and then forced him into it.
Of course they weren’t like each other—Sylvie was different; he’d said as much to the other Loki variants in the Void when he was trying to convince them to help him. But even so, remembering what had happened in the Citadel left a bad taste in his mouth. Not that he’d ever take his frustrations out on her, lest he cause her to run away from him once more.
Finally tired of the same, old topics, Loki and Sylvie were in Indonesia in 1883 when he decided to ask her the question that had been bothering him for quite a while.
“How did you get out of there?” He didn’t have to specify what place he meant.
“Rummaged through his things, found a TemPad, jumped around apocalypses. You know. The usual.” Sylvie spoke in her usual, nonchalant way, but Loki hadn’t missed the surprise that flitted through her pretty features when he asked her this.
Loki thought about asking more questions, but before he could do so, Sylvie hurried away, citing the need to go back and peruse the trinkets she’d seen at the marketplace and that she’d meet him back at the place they were staying, as if they didn’t have mere hours before Krakatoa exploded and took everyone and everything around them with it.
One of the common misconceptions when one was on the run was that there was no time for relaxation; no time to enjoy worldly pleasures such as liquor and gambling. But there was—especially when an apocalypse event was about to happen in a highly-developed metropolitan area.
It was Sylvie who found the place—Taipei, 2031. She said she’d only been there once before because she was too busy with other matters, but that it was nice, and certainly a notch above any place she’d ever stayed in before. (She hadn’t mentioned what matters she was busy taking care of, but Loki knew it probably had something to do with the TVA.)
They booked the finest hotel rooms with money Loki conjured. Loki and Sylvie each had rooms of their own; Sylvie didn’t seem to want to be stuck with him as they waited the earthquake out, however, and had set out after they’d both settled into their respective quarters. She did advise him to make good use of the casinos on the lower levels of the hotel complex, however.
Loki was enjoying himself at the hotel bar when Sylvie finally reappeared.
Time seemed to stop completely as he took her appearance in. Loki couldn’t keep his eyes off her; she was wearing a burgundy dress with matching crimson-soled black heels, and her hair was up, adorned with jeweled accessories
It was the first time he’d seen her in anything other than the black jumpsuit she was always wearing, and Loki didn’t think he’d ever forget the sight of her any time soon, especially with the way her dress was hugging her figure. Sylvie was already very beautiful, but the makeup she currently had on only enhanced her features, making it increasingly difficult to turn his attention onto anything else.
It did seem that Sylvie was aware of her effect on him, though she tried not to let it show that she was.
“Good evening to you, too.”
He couldn’t help but stare. At her lips. He’d thought about their kiss over and over, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to kiss her again. To feel her soft lips against his.
Sylvie ordered her own drink while Loki attempted to focus on the pianist playing Chopin just a couple of meters away. But he remained hyper aware of her presence next to him, attuned to her every movement in an almost forensic manner. By the time he turned back to her, she was sipping on her drink, and staring at him as if she didn’t know what was going on.
“To the end of the world.” She tipped her glass towards his, and Loki lifted his by the flute to clink it against hers. He noticed the red stain on the rim of her drink, and wondered what it would feel to have the same red stain—but this time on his skin.
“The end of the world,” Loki said, weakly.
They wandered aimlessly from one apocalypse to another, never discussing what happened in the Citadel aside from the one time Loki had asked her about it.
Loathe as he was to admit it, but a part of him was growing impatient about it, too, though he did his best to hide it. They couldn’t keep on pretending that nothing was wrong; that they weren’t hurtling towards a war between universes. Loki himself saw the other TVA, which had a statue of He Who Remains—Loki assumed it was the evil variant of him that he’d mentioned to the both of them—in place of the three Time-Keepers he was familiar with. He’d been thinking about Mobius and B-15 too, and if they would ever remember him, or if they were variants of the Mobius and the B-15 he and Sylvie personally knew and never would.
They’d have to talk about it eventually. It was inevitable, and they both knew it. Pretending was a luxury they slowly couldn’t afford anymore, what with small disturbances popping up in apocalypses both of them had memorized to the dot, which should have been impossible but wasn’t—not anymore.
Of all the apocalypses they’d been in, this was the first that had gone awfully awry, and it had resulted in Loki almost getting caught and killed in its wake.
“What the hell were you thinking?!” she demanded, screeching on top of him as they landed back in the hotel in Taipei, one of the apocalypses Sylvie had saved on her TemPad. (His, too—they had the exact same apocalypses saved on each of their TemPads in case of an emergency.)
“You could have died!” She sounded angrier than he’d ever heard her; her hands were gripping the collars of his shirt, and her eyes were wide and feral and full of emotion.
“What the hell was I thinking?” Loki repeated, returning her question with almost the same ferocity, still feeling the fear coursing through his veins when he thought that they wouldn’t make it in time, and that she’d die. He’d just saved her from impending death but instead of thanking him, she was actually angry at him. “What the hell was I thinking ? I saved—”
He didn’t—rather, couldn’t—finish his sentence. Because in the next moment Sylvie was pressing her lips to his, tongue pushing past his clenched teeth, adjusting herself so that she was straddled, and not splayed, on top of him.
It took Loki a whole second to return her efforts, and then was kissing her with the same hunger, too: he’d thought about kissing her multiple times over since they’d left the Citadel, and especially after he’d seen her in that dress the last time they were in Taipei. He had imagined her leaving the same red lipstick stain against his skin; imagined her body pressed and writhing against his; imagined her gasps and moans as they resounded against his ear.
It had gotten to the point that he could hardly look at her without thinking of that damn lipstick stain.
She wasn’t wearing lipstick this time, but kissing her after fearing that she’d get hurt was a thousand times better than what he’d envisioned it to be.
Being in bed with her was a thousand times better than what he’d envisioned it to be, too.
By the time Loki woke up, Sylvie was gone.
For the briefest of moments—a fraction of a second—he thought she’d left him behind, never to return, and his heart seized painfully, like someone had wrapped a vice around it. But then the door to his hotel room burst open, and Sylvie strode in with purpose, stating, “We have to go.”
She led them to another apocalypse event; he recognized this as Pompeii, 70 AD. Loki let her take him to whatever place she wanted to go; it was clear to him that something was wrong, but when he’d asked her about it on their way there she hadn’t answered any of his questions.
“I’m sorry,” Sylvie told him. She bit her lip. “About what happened. At the Citadel. I messed up. Massively.”
She released a deep exhale before continuing. “And I-I did trust you. But I suppose I—”
“I understand,” Loki said. All her life Sylvie had been alone; she’d never had anyone, having been ripped away from Asgard at such a young age.
Sylvie had never had figures like Thor or Frigga, who’d never given up on her despite her faults. Frigga had died when she was very young, and she’d never had the chance to form a close, proper relationship with Thor because the TVA had taken her away before she could.
Loki did. He’d grown up with a mother and a brother who believed him to be capable of redemption and change despite his repeated betrayals. He even had Mobius, who believed Loki when he told Mobius that every member of the TVA was a variant ripped away from their original timelines. Sylvie had never had anyone.
But now she would.
“It’s as I said,” he continued gently. “I’ve been where you are, and I’ve felt what you feel. I understand.”
“All this time, I just wanted to make sure you were o—” he began, but promptly stopped himself. He sliced away at the already-miniscule distance between them instead, closing in on her, wrapping his arms around her lithe frame exactly the way he’d wanted to when he first found her in Asgard. Relief flooded through him, and he found himself burying his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing her in.
Sylvie was holding onto him just as tightly. She didn’t say another word, but she didn’t need to—Loki knew, anyway.
He Who Remains—rather, the evil Variant of him—was up to something. It was becoming increasingly obvious as more and more disturbances popped up in the apocalypses both Sylvie and Loki had memorized to a T. It was clear that they had to act, and they had to do it soon, before it was too late. And yet neither of them knew where to start other than the TVA.
Dr. Stephen Strange was a powerful sorcerer that Loki knew from the montage he’d seen in the TVA. The Sacred Timeline version of himself and Thor had paid the man a visit in New York when they were in pursuit of Odin; Loki had watched as Thor blabbed to other-Loki about the man’s capabilities when other-Loki expressed his doubt and disdain.
Unable to think of anything else, Loki thought that maybe this Stephen Strange would know how to help them.
“Do you trust me?” Loki asked, after another one of their apocalypses had gone awry, and the volcanic eruption that was supposed to level a fourth of the United States didn’t occur.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m asking you if you trust me,” he repeated. Loki felt his pulse racing; trust was both a complicated and sensitive matter to the both of them, but at the end of the day, the answer all boiled down to two choices:
Yes, I trust you, or No, I don’t.
Loki watched as Sylvie clenched her jaw and bit her lip in the way she always did when she was seriously thinking about something. He’d seen it so many times now he could practically predict when she’d do it; he tried not to tease her about it, but it was one of the things that always sent a burst of affection through him.
“I do,” she said, finally, and it felt as though a weight had been lifted off him. “I do trust you.”
In New Orleans, just a day before the hurricane and the day before the two of them would finally approach Stephen Strange in the original timeline, Loki and Sylvie were sat on a small, wooden harbor next to the bayou, sharing a green blanket not unlike the one Loki had conjured for the both of them back in the Void.
“It didn’t feel like what I thought it would feel,” she said suddenly. “Taking his life. I thought it would make me feel better. All my life, I’ve been dreaming of the day when I’d finally get to stop whoever it was in charge of the TVA. Whoever was responsible for ruining my life. But it didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would make me feel—in fact, I felt worse.”
Sylvie hugged the blanket tighter around her, and Loki shifted closer even though he knew she hadn’t done it because she was cold. They were Frost Giants; they were impervious to low temperatures.
“It was real,” Sylvie admitted, and she looked devastated, her pretty features twisting into an expression of pain. “When I kissed you. I wanted—I wish that I’d—”
“I wish that I’d taken the time to think about it. I’d assumed the worst about you immediately. And I wish that I didn’t.”
She lowered her head, and not a moment had passed when Loki realized that she was crying. He spared no time taking her into his arms, where she spent the next couple of minutes seeking comfort from his touch. They were used to this now; they’d been sleeping together since after Taipei, even though they’d never spoken about their new arrangements at length.
“Mobius implied that we caused the Nexus event in Lamentis,” he said. “I’ve been wondering when the TVA would come and get us, but it seems they’re focusing on other threats. With the disturbances in the apocalypses, I think the timeline is as unstable as we thought.”
Sylvie’s brows furrowed, and a twinge of affection went through him. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
She looked at him then, and Loki couldn’t help but lean in capture her lips in his, and while the first two times they’d kissed it had been rushed and desperate, in the Citadel and again in the hotel, after he’d saved her, this time it was slow, sensual, like they had all the time in the world.
When they parted, there was an impish smile on Sylvie’s face, and Loki had to resist the urge to press his lips to hers once more.
“Then we’ll just have to show them how wrong they were to underestimate us.”
It felt strange to not be running from one apocalypse to another to escape the TVA. But there they were in Kamar-Taj with Stephen Strange, Wanda Maximoff, and her (magical) children, and they’d been there for a while now, planning what they could to avert the war between universes.
Maximoff and Sylvie were getting along well, and Maximoff’s twins had even taken an interest in Loki. One twin in particular kept on asking Loki about the magic tricks his mother, Frigga, had taught him as a child after Sylvie had told them all about it; he’d never been good with children, and even found them an annoyance, but wanting to spare himself from Maximoff’s wrath, he’d had no choice but to indulge them both, anyways.
(He blamed Strange for always being out. Loki suspected he did it on purpose, so that the boys would bother him, instead.)
In a way, he was glad to see Sylvie getting along with everyone, even though Maximoff was initially hesitant—and rightly so—about trusting and depending on a pair of Lokis. Loki couldn’t blame her for it, not when her teammates had had to fight the other version of himself numerous times throughout the years.
“You know we won’t have to hop from one apocalypse to another after all this,” Loki said. They were watching Wanda teaching one of the twins—Loki’d forgotten who, exactly; he was always mixing the both of them up—magic.
“I’m aware,” she replied. They’d had this same conversation in the Void, which seemed like an entire lifetime ago with everything that had happened to them since. Thinking about the Void made Loki wonder how the younger version of himself, as well as the reptilian version of himself, were faring.
“Do you have any… plans after this?”
Sylvie whipped her head in his direction then, shooting him a look that seemed to say, Why are you asking me this? . Loki agreed—it seemed ridiculous to still be asking the question when they’d been having physical relations for ages now, but he had to know; had to get a definite answer from her, just in case she didn’t want the same things as him.
“You mean after this war?”
Loki nodded. “Perhaps,” he said carefully, “you’d still like to figure things out. Together.”
“I don’t want a throne,” Loki explained. “I didn’t lie when I said that.”
“I know you didn’t,” she said, sighing.
Sylvie bit her lip. “And… maybe. Even if you are quite annoying.”
“I’m annoying?” he returned incredulously. “You’re the one who likes to take up all the space in bed.”
Sylvie huffed. “And you’re the one who’d sleep through the entire end of the world if I wasn’t there to wake you up in time.”
They lapsed into a strained silence after that, the kind of silence that was always present before the recognition of things long avoided, but Loki found her hand and took it, thinking it would help with the tension, and began sweeping his thumb across her knuckles in an act he considered affectionate.
“Strange said that if we fail, then we could all just… die.” Her voice was low, barely a whisper, and he caught the flash of pain that went through her face as she said this. Sylvie was watching him as he continued rubbing her knuckles.
“Wanda doesn’t want to talk about it, but I know she’s thinking about it. We all are. I suppose she’s just trying to put up a strong front for Billy and Tommy.”
They weren’t completely sure if they would win. But the mere idea of spending the future together made Loki act as if they would, as if there weren’t any other possible conclusion but to emerge successful.
“I don’t believe Maximoff would let anyone take her children away from her,” Loki answered, his tone solemn. He then bent over to press a lingering kiss to her temple. “And I do feel the same way. Just… towards a different person.”
“Oh? Who?”
“You already know my answer.”
In the end, Strange allowed him and Sylvie, as well as Wanda Maximoff and her children, to exist peacefully in a contained pocket of the universe where they could live without interference from the Time Variance Authority—which had been disbanded completely—or any other external force. They deserved as much after practically saving all of the universes from going into all-out war, and stopping the evil variants of He Who Remains from ever instigating any war of the sort ever again.
Loki would never admit it, but he felt a little melancholy at seeing Maximoff’s children go. After they’d pestered him daily for so long, asking them to play with them or use his magic tricks on them, it was only natural that he’d grow used to their presence just like he’d grown used to Sylvie’s.
Sylvie would miss Maximoff’s presence, too, even though she didn’t say it.
A variant of him who’d avoided being killed by Thanos had lived out the rest of his days on a lone planet on the edge of a star system far away from both Earth or Asgard. He’d grown lonely after thousands of years of being alone. And when he attempted to leave his planet to see Thor, the TVA came and pruned him, after which he made a noble sacrifice in the Void so that Loki and Sylvie could enchant Alioth.
Loki didn’t think he’d ever grow lonely, nor did he think he would ever be alone. Sylvie often kept him on his toes; the thought of world domination felt rather unappealing with her around. And after all that they had been through in the apocalypses, the TVA, the Void, the Citadel, the War—it certainly seemed as though that they’d had more than enough excitement in their immortal lives.
Loki himself believed that had his glorious purpose now, and that he was luckier than most.
(A God and a Goddess of Mischief, together.)
A pair of arms wrapped themselves around his midriff, and Loki didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. In their little corner of the universe, it couldn’t have been anyone else.
“Found you,” Sylvie whispered.