Rememberance
The God of Stories had been known by many names during his time within the timeline, Loki Odinson was the first, the gods least favourite. Memories clung to the name bad and good that the young god would never forget, so he remembers.
The god remembers sitting on the throne of Asgard at a young age, whispering and giggling with his older brother. He never forgets Thor, he clings to the memories of his brother with a sick desperation like a moth to the flame. It was just the gods nature. The two princes ever so different yet so alike, always falling back into the others life eventually no matter how much they cursed the other. The light would shine on them again, one version of himself had said but it never came to be true, the two seperated for eternity.
The next name he remembers, Loki Laufeyson a version of himself he would never forgive. His name he had used for all of his life was stripped from him with force, then replaced with the name of a man he had never known. For the young gods entire life he was used as a pawn in a war he didn't have the armor for, hands bare of a sword and a shield to protect him, clueless to who he was. Loki rebeled, furious with Odin, the man he thought was his father, who was his father. The only man that would've shown a young frost giant mercy. That man raised him on a lie, on a planet full of warriors that would've killed him within a moments notice if they knew. But little did the young god know, was that the love The King of Asgard felt for him was real at one point, and he took that and destroyed it, crushing it between his palms and letting the residue fly away. That terrified him, he was a teenager, a child. So he betrayed his home, his mother which he would never forgive himself, his brother and his father. All for a throne and a war that he never desired, not really. His glorious purpose.
When the god grew on his own, alone and furious he refered to himself as Loki Friggason. To the world the God of Mischief was a silver tongued liar, a backstabber. To Freja he was her son, loving him regardless of his mistakes and that meant the world to him. Loki was bad person and his mother loved him regardless. The god remembers the day the guards told him his mother was gone. What they didn't know was that Loki gave the prisoner responsible for her death the directions out of the dungeon, out of pure dumb spite. Maybe the warrior would kill Thor he had thought, but no, his mother. The young prince mourned, neither Thor or Odin visited him, much less invite him to her funeral.
He was enraged at everything, especially himself. He threw his furniture at the walls, anything and everything reminded him of his mother. It wasnt fair. Loki would never forget when Thor came to visit him, asking for help to save his human girlfriend. The vacant god cast an illusion upon his room, making it appear tidy and put-together. He knew it wouldn't fool his brother, the two had been together for hundreds of years, inseperable for most.
"Loki, no more illusions."
The God of Thunder had said, pity in his eyes. Loki was angry, so angry at this brother. No more illusions? Fine. The 16 year old god sat upon the floor of his cell, furniture strewn around the room, scuffs and scratches on the walls. He leant against the wall, his hair down without composure. His eyes were red from tears, he had dark circles under his eyes. Thor looked at his younger brother with such sadness, that made him so angry.
Later on Loki lost his want for titles, but it was not for a long time. It was not until he sat in that interview room with a middle aged analyst that worked for a organization called the Time Variance Authority, TVA. The place that tore him from his reality, that he still grew to love in a selfish way. He knew it was bad to control the timelines, to take away free will and innocent lives for something as simple as stepping on the wrong leaf, or being late for work. So, he helped Sylvie in her plan to destroy He Who Remains until it was too late, it would destroy everything. But she wouldn't listen, she thought he wanted the throne, a purpose. Was that all that he was to everyone? A greedy god, seeking his glorious purpose?
The time god tries not to remember all the awful things that happened to his friends during his time at the TVA, but all there was to do now was remember. All the lonesome god could do was remember.
He remembers running though the sand after his older brother, barefoot and unaware of his future. His brother ran ahead of him, his blonde hair had a ring of sunlight around it from the setting sun as the two ran along the beach shore. Visits to Midgard were strictly forbidden, but secretly once every decade Freja would sneak the boys a trip to the beach, to eat saltwater taffy and play in the sand. The two never got to go to the beach again. Now the two brothers are never to have the sun shine on them again.
Loki pulls at the constraints of the timelines, he chose this fate. Stuck alone for eternity. A familiar voice rings through his ears, over and over as he turns to gaze within a timeline right within the palm of his hand. There he sees Mobius M. Mobius, standing on the curb of a suburban town somewhere in America. The analyst observes the family across the street longingly, he looked dim since the last time the god had seen him. Next to Mobius stood Sylvie, an alternate version of Loki himself, she watched the analyst with careful eyes. She had always reminded Loki of a bird, always ready to fly away at any sudden movement.
"It's weird without Loki here isn't it?"
Mobius smiled softly at the mention of the god,
"Yeah."
Sylvie turned to face the family across the street as they played within their front lawn, "What are you going to do now?"
"I think I'll wait here for a little bit," The analyst paused, his eyes were glossy, "Let time pass."
Sylvie said something else, but The God of Stories wasn't paying attention to her anymore. He looked directly ahead at the timeline that was held within the palm of his hand and he smiled, he felt sick. His hands started to shake as he gazed down at Mobius. Oh, Mobius. The best the god could do was bring the timeline up to his lips, ever so gentle as he placed a soft kiss upon the stream of time. Flowers bloomed across the timeline the colours similar to something Loki had seen before, but the god could not recall what. He let the timeline go, as it returned to become intertwined with the tree of the timelines as flowers began to bloom upon every timeline, but none had the unique colour of the first.
Loki smiled softly, all there was left to do now was let time pass.
So thats what the god did.
Over time The God of Stories remembered, he remembered shattering rainbow bridges, ravens and daggers. Soft looks and quiet laughs within the shadows of the night, within a pod too small. The god remembers things that never belonged to him, a throne, a helmet. A father a mother, curly gray hair and green eyes. He remembers blue skin and anger that felt as cold as ice. He remembers falling.
"I could've done it father. I could've done it! For you. For everyone!" The young god had cried out as he let go of his brothers hand, plummeling down towards the edge of Asgard.
Rememberance brought with it a gaping wound, raw and stinging. He remembers when his father loved him, he grasped at memories that weren't really there. Screaming and pulling at his shackles of time. Changing, from shape to shape, he would beg, but there was no one there to hear. No one would come for him and he would choose this fate over and over if it meant he could save everyone, everything. Loki wonders with his tired mind, throat sore from screaming, if anybody would ever know. The Thor he knew had seen Loki die with his own eyes, unfiltered and true, as he held his younger brother in his arms. Cold and lifeless, Thor had cried.
Loki watched himself in every universe inevitably falling down the same path each time, he watched his mother die thousands of times to his own hands. It never hurt any less. He watched The Avengers meet their demise, Asgard get destroyed and his older brother loose himself again and again. Sometimes, the god watched The Guardians, more of a family than The Avengers as they took on missions. He had never met them, though he was eternally grateful to them.
Sometimes he would gaze upon beings that reminded of him of himself. Lonely and angry. He watched over a young boy who sat at a desk, hunched over a sketchbook. This boy sat at a table of people, but was completely silent, even though he spoke. He listened as his friends talked about things, and whenever he joined, it was always abrubt and sudden. He understood this boy, no matter how different the two were, they were inevitably alike. Lonesome and angry, surrounded by people who couldn't understand. Loki realized he could do simple things to the timelines, nothing drastic, but his illusions carried over.
On the sketchbook appeared a small illusion, one of a flower, a familiar colour, sprouted upon a golden helmet. Worn and polished with dedication. The boy tried to touch it, reaching out with his hand, making the illlusion scatter into green sparks, leaving a small flower. The boy picked up the blossom and upon the warmth of his hand it melted like ice, leaving nothing in its wake.
Loki remembered sitting in the gardens of Asgard, next to his mother. He held her hand as they watched Thor pretend to lead an imaginary army, baring a wooden shield and hammer. His mothers hand was soft, and he remembered leaning against her. She smiled down on him, a smile that Loki would never see again. He remembers when she taught him magic, how to cast illusions and shapeshift. She was almost like the embodiment of sunshine, a glowing protective light, keeping Loki from the dark.
There was few people that made Loki feel that way in all of his time in the universe. First it was his mother, a bright protective light but then suddenly, it was replaced by Mobius, a dimmer, calmer light. Like the sun on a winters day, eternally shining, casting a comfortable warmth across his skin. Loki tried not to think of Mobius but inevitably he always did, remembering the taste of keylime, soft laughter and teasing words. Oh, how he longed for him. He ached.
Over time, The God of Time, The God of Stories, whatever title you must choose, watched every single timeline. Every little possibility, pass right infront of his eyes. He watches every life that is and ever will be. This is his glorious purpose and yet, he doesn't feel complete.
He would make this choice, to be stuck at the end of time, forever and alone everytime. Even if it meant losing everything he ever knew or would know, his loved ones and his future. He would do it for every universe and every lonely boy who sits at a table alone, for every jetski salesmen, for every prince meant to be king, because, if his freedom is the cost for everyone and everything that ever will be to be free and safe, he would sit in his throne of time, alone forever and always.