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arting-block · 1 year

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𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝟏) | Eleventh Doctor x MCU!Sorcerer Reader

❝𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶?❞

Summary: Something is wrong...very wrong.

Genre: Romance, AU/Crossover

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, heavy cannon divergence for this series as a whole going forward.

Words: 4.5K

Reader: POC friendly, she/her, 24 y/o.

A/N: REPOST since I stupidly uploaded the wrong draft 💀. That post and timeline won't appear. I spent the week editing and I'll get to finalizing the second chapter. Sorry if the plot seems slow, I want to flesh everything out.

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Forces of the universe contort and stretch your atoms mercilessly. Colors, light, and sounds shred your senses until your mind can only process pain. You can discern if you’re traveling up, or down; all you feel is the skin of your flesh searing off. Plasma glides around you, lulling you into its embrace. The sea of cosmic energy passes through your body and your soul eagerly accepts.

Then it stops.

Daring to open your eyes, you are met with a vast, multi-colored plane of existence. White dots of all shapes and sizes surround you, connected by a web of energy. The temperature borders on scalding, but you don’t flinch. You know this place. The edge of your universe.

Being here with a physical body hurts more than you imagined. Sorcerers only come here in astral form. You’ve already reached beyond the limits of your physical universe. You feel movement around you. Space-time distorts and you feel your body being pulled down, down, down—

You hit the ground with a deafening BOOM. The Earth caved under the force of your descent as your body drags a couple of feet into the soil.

The air sizzle around you as you try to open your eyes. Everything’s hot—burning. Your skin barely contains the heat that your blood emits. Power, raw and ancient, boil your veins. It’s all-consuming.

A magic beyond your mortal understanding is now fighting for dominance against your one soul. The pain you feel goes beyond your torn skin and burnt muscles. Your spirit is being burned—decimated.

You try to sit up; gritting your teeth at how stiff your sore muscles are. You notice the lack of feeling in your limbs. Dull pin-pricks trickle around your hands and up your arms as if your limbs went to sleep. You roll to one side and use your forearm and your other palm to push yourself upright. Letting out a shrill cry, you try to command your limbs to move. In the fog of your mind, you think rigor mortis is starting to take place.

Every inch of movement is sharp and painful. Your lungs struggle to keep your breath even as you push up off the ground. You catch a glimpse of how damaged you were. The skin around your arms is peeled and caked with dried blood. Burnt muscles are exposed between the gaps of your exposed dermis. Enchanted sorcerer robes were no match for primordial cosmic energy it seems. The sleeves that would’ve normally protected against magical fires were burnt off.

“Get…up,” you croak weakly. You can’t even curl your fingers around the charred grass beneath you. Your limbs obey no command.

Between the blackened muscles of your hands, you see slivers of multi-colored light. It peaked around the veins of your hands and danced gracefully down your forearms. It was taunting you. The power of five Infinity stones rests in your palms and you cannot even muster the strength to even sit up. They might even be the reason you’re rendered immobile.

You knew one thing for certain: you were alive. Maybe not for long if you keep wallowing on the ground.

Thanos won.

If the pain from your marred arms was debilitating, the realization that you weren’t strong enough to save half of the universe stung worse than any physical wound. The ringing in your ears and the headache are distracting enough to stop you from going down a mental spiral.

Breathe. Stay calm.

Your body shuddered with every shaky inhale. Every little movement caused sharp pains and burning. You feel hot energy bubbling beneath the surface of your skin and you wonder if it’s going to burst.

“Get…up,” you wheezed. Tears started to prick your eyes and your arms were shaking trying to keep your upper body off the ground.

I’m weak. I was never strong enough, to begin with.

Clenching your teeth, you stubbornly command your limbs to move.

Why bother? It’s not like I’ll be much use anyways.

“Please!” your voice is raw and scratchy. It physically pained you to cry as your lungs pressed against your ribs. Your legs tingle but don’t obey.

Don’t listen to those thoughts. Prove them wrong. Get up.

Your arms collapsed under your weight and you slammed your head onto the dirt. All the fight left your body and you feel the metallic taste of blood in your throat.

— — —

An hour passed before the nerves in your body responded to your mind’s command. Every shallow breath sent waves of constant pain emanating from your ribs. You grit your teeth and swallow the searing pain. Stubbornly, you rise from the rubble on shaky, bleeding legs.

The sparks of your nerves and numbness in your hands combine to shield your mind from recent events. Survive now. Think later. Your mind obeyed the command, putting all of its efforts into moving one foot in front of the other. The small crater you found yourself in was shallow enough that you could crawl out of it despite feeling like you were immobile. Everything blurs and your senses dull. Survive, Move, Breathe. You remind yourself the need for oxygen is worth the throbbing in your ribs. The air scratches the worn cords of your vocal folds— mingling with the copper taste of blood.

One foot drags in front of the other. Half stumbling, half dragging, you move your defeated body. You are nothing more than a ghost possessing a long-dead body; desperately clinging onto life as if you have something worth living.

Vines, branches, leaves, and dirt swirl in your vision in a dizzying pattern. Move.

The weight of your sling ring anchors your thoughts. Its cold surface stings against your chaffed skin. Once polished and sturdy was now cracked and brittle. Like your hands, it took the full force of five Infinity Stones; you think it will snap in two with one use.

— — —

A shrill whirring sound accompanied the arrival of The TARDIS. Its blue paint contrasts with the natural landscape of Rwanda. The TARDIS’s doors slam open as The Doctor stumbles outside. Immediately, the humid air makes the clothes on his body stick and his hair damp. The heat though is unnatural. His nose smells of smoke, but no cloud of ash would indicate a fire.

The Doctor is no stranger to odd happenings. Things that don’t quite line up, but come together in a glorious puzzle that only he knows how to solve. Smoke in the air, but no visible fire. Air that seems to simmer when the weather is supposed to be cool in this area. His fingers reach towards his sonic screwdriver and use it to scan the air.

Amy finds the jungle fascinating. Sure, the purple ferns on Pandora are bioluminescent and the waters of Jahroda are hot pink, but she never got a chance to explore Earth’s own biomes. Most of the time they visit Earth it’s either a different period in Europe or her hometown Leadworth. Her sense of adventure heightens the possibility of knowing more about her home planet. Stepping onto moist soil, she notes how rich the greens of the leaves are.

Rory, ever the cautious soul, stands directly beside his wife. Something in his gut told him that an important change will be made. Although he cannot discern if that change is good or bad, it’s a feeling he cannot ignore. He keeps his thoughts to himself, however, not wanting to bring his wife’s mood down. Especially with something as flimsy as a “feeling”.

“Well that’s odd,” The Doctor inspects the findings of his screwdriver. A piece of this puzzle has revealed itself to him: high amounts of CMBR.

Amy looks over The Doctor’s shoulder at the screwdriver, “You gonna elaborate?”

“Cosmic background radiation—CMBR for short. It’s light from the time of the Big Bang which has been stretched as the universe expanded. What’s odd is that CMBR is as cold as -270 degrees celsius! The chemical composition of the air is relatively normal save for a bit of smoke—BUT,” The Doctor whips around to face his companions, “Those compositions don’t explain the heat we’re experiencing right now. The TARDIS says it would be 16 degrees, but in this area, it’s jumped up to 36!”

“But you said CMBR is super cold, how could it heat the air?” Rory tried to follow The Doctor’s rambling.

The Doctor snaps and points his finger directly in Rory’s face, “Why does CMBR—which is known for being cold, heat the air?”

Rory wasn’t amused in the slightest.

“CMBR isn’t always cold?” Amy tentatively asked.

“No,” The Doctor kept his eyes on Rory, but pointed accusingly at Amy, “It’s cold now.”

The implication of his words made the two uneasy.

“You’re saying that the energy from The Big Bang…is here?” Amy tried to piece her limited knowledge of cosmology to whatever nonsense The Doctor is saying.

“BINGO!” The Doctor clapped his hands, happy that Amy caught up to him somewhat.

“Wait—Pause,” Rory pinched the bridge of his nose, “You said radiation, right?”

The Doctor waved dismissively, “Don’t act like you haven’t inhaled toxic fumes in the boiler room of spaceships. The dosage of CMBR right now is far below the lethal limit to kill a human.”

The Doctor says it so nonchalantly that at first glance, it seems he forgot he wasn’t human himself. His choice of words—radiation, dosage, lethal—should send bouts of anxiety inside his human companions. The unknown is a primal fear second to the fear of death.

Rory’s heart beats steadily at The Doctor’s words. Amy’s curiosity eats away at her mind, ready to experience another new adventure with her two favorite people in the universe. Beyond their instincts, their trust in The Doctor had overwritten their biological code. Conditioned by life-threatening events and planet-saving memories, Amy and Rory accept the unknown.

Walking along the crowded terrain, the trio huddles together and observes the frightening wonder that surrounds them. Long, spindly trunks and densely packed leaves block out the harsh Rwandan sun. Dew drops permeate the air, the vines cascade off branches in soft waves, and the sweat of their skin imprints on their minds. The wind is still and sounds are few and far between. Only the sonic screwdriver and The Doctor’s mumbling breaks the natural silence.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the anomaly. The rapid sounds that come from the screwdriver make both of The Doctor’s hearts leap. His mind already conjured theories on what exactly the anomaly the TARDIS picked up.

A time field was an obvious guess, save for the fact that any rupture in space-time the anomaly caused sewn itself shut. As far as anyone could tell, no rupture occurred in the first place. Time fields would also not cause the rapid appearance of CMBR within the immediate area. Then, there was the anomaly itself. Something—or someone—caused the sudden rift and swiftly sealed it. Another time traveler perhaps? A new piece of alien technology that had yet to be known by The Doctor?

The space between the sonic screwdriver’s beeps became shorter and shorter until it emitted a constant high-pitched whine. The Doctor stopped his movements; his view ahead was obstructed by a conveniently placed curtain of vines.

Anticipation crept up in the trio as they watch The Doctor swat away the vines. Sunlight blinded them for a moment before they laid their eyes on the scene before them.

— — —

Time blurred the moment you tried taking a few steps out of the crater. Your body started to buzz and dots danced along your vision. Quick, fast heartbeats, uneven breathing, and lightheadedness were the only signs that you weren’t going to stay conscious for much longer.

A muffled voice picks up in your fuzzy mind. Were they muffled or did your hearing fail you? You vaguely feel your body slump to the ground. A pair of arms grab you. You existed outside of your body. Any feeling you possessed faded, leaving you to watch as people drag you off the ground. You were lifted and your arms were slung around two shoulders. Panicked voices barely registered.

Slowly, the voices were overpowered by ringing in your ears and your pounding heart. The black in your vision grows larger until you feel the weight of your eyelids dropping. Your mind bears no thought as you slip out of consciousness.

— — —

You have a close relationship with pain and all of its forms. You’ve been subjected to the universe’s worse foes and clawed your way to victory. Bones have been broken, and blood—both yours and otherwise—had been shed. Parts of you have been lost and you gained more armor to guard your weakest points. When you crashed into the jungle, it was undoubtedly the worst your body had been subjected to.

The pain in your shoulders rudely snaps you back into the waking world. First, you feel the burning soreness in your upper back. It traveled all over in the form of stinging and aching. You audibly groan as you shifted in your bed.

The cot let out an audible squeak as you swung your legs over the edge. Aches and pains made you stiff in your movements. The metal floor sent a cold sting to your feet as you tried to stand.

Glowing orange walls surrounded the expansive room and gave an ambiance. The whole structure of the walls and vents that decorate the walls seemed to be a campy alien spaceship from a movie in the 90s. The ceiling had large air ducts, circular tubes, and multi-colored wires jutting out. A metal sink and mirror were situated on the other side of the room. Between you and the sink was a metal table with multiple shelves. On each shelf were bottles of disinfectant, medical tools, and vials with substances that glowed.

You inhaled deeply, ignoring the sharp pain from your lungs expanding, and used the wall to guide you to the sink and mirror. Your joints creaked painfully and your steps were uneven. Half shuffling, half limping you pushed your aching body. Breathe, you had to remind yourself. When approaching the sink, you grabbed the edge of the counter. The arch of your feet was sore and your knees ached in protest.

The first glimpse of your reflection made your heart jump to your throat. Your eyes snag on the numerous discolored patches of swollen skin. Your cheekbones and jaw were various shades of black and blue. Between the bruises were bandaged stitches crisscrossing irritated skin. Whatever small cuts that were too small for stitches were scabbed over in a dark red crust. The smaller cuts decorated the marred skin down your neck and—you assumed—underneath the white shirt. When you shifted closer, you saw a haunting ghost staring back. Despite how the sight of your face left you sick, you couldn’t move your eyes away. Lifting your head around, you let your eyes capture every new gash and bruise. 24 cuts. 7 of those had stitches. 4 large bruises.

“You’re supposed to be on bed rest,” an accented voice cuts through your thoughts.

You whip your head around to meet the stranger. Were you so caught in your thoughts you failed to hear his footsteps?

The man was a few paces ahead of you. Brown hair framed his boyish features. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his brown tweed jacket. He stood leisurely, but his eyes analyzed every movement of your face. It wasn’t curiosity. He was cautious.

Whatever moisture was left in your swollen throat dried up at his stare. The cracked skin on your lips stretched painfully as you forced a few words out, “Who are you?”

“I’m The Doctor,” he says simply. As if it was a simple truth of the world.

“Did you stitch me up? No offense, but…You don’t look like any medical professional,” you mumbled. More accurately, he didn’t remind you of Stephen. The Doctor lacked the crisp demeanor and commanding aura that Stephen possessed. If anything, the man in front of you looked more like an English professor than a medical doctor.

“Why yes, I did! Are you in pain? No itching, fever, aches?” he stepped closer to get a better view. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him and he had to bend slightly to get to your eye level.

“No, none of that. Where exactly…” you trailed off looking at the room around you.

The Doctor seemed to understand what you intended to ask, “Ah, well you’re safe first and foremost. We’re in space and while the chances of encountering other life aren’t zero, it’s safer than where we were on Earth.”

His words threw you in a loop. Space? Taking a good look around the room, you would expect this place to be a cafe at Tomorrowland, not a spacecraft. It didn’t look like any of the alien spaceships you’ve encountered. Back home, ships were sleek and minimal with neutral colors. Even flashy party ships made 100 years ago still had a level of pristine that wasn’t reflected in the room you were in.

Your heartbeat started to rise; pieces of a puzzle started coming together. You were in another universe. That in of itself isn’t hard to believe and you’ve had your fair share of multiversal adventures in the past decade. Something was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. Beyond the torn muscles and barely-functioning organs, you felt the unease deep in your soul.

“How did you find me?”

“Who didn’t find you is the real question,” The Doctor dug his hand into his pocket and retrieved a strange cylindrical device. Clicking a button, the tool let out a high-pitched whine and he used it to scan your upper chest area, “A rip in space-time, though not normal, wasn’t anything to write home about. What did catch my eye was the amount of CMBR lingering in the impact area. Practically every fleet within a few hundred light years and a working broadcaster would pick up the radiation. ”

“Cosmic background radiation? From the hole in space-time?”

“Not exactly,” the device stopped ringing and The Doctor looked at a window on the side of it, “In fact…it came from you.”

You scoffed at his accusation. When you met his deadpan expression, your smile dropped.

“Oh, you’re being serious. Like…Radiation from the Big Bang inside my body…Right now?”

“For some reason, your body is keeping it stable and housing it within your veins and muscles. When we moved you from the crash sight, your body seemed to absorb any leftover radiation from the clothes on my body and in the air.”

Looking down at your wrapped hands, you see the split skin around the skin of your fingers. A thick layer of scabs prevented you from seeing the muscle underneath. You could feel the stones’ powers weaving between your fingers and down your arm. Your nerves were too numb to determine if the heat of the magic hurt or warmed you. Everything felt static.

“Listen to me (Y/N), I need you to—”

The Doctor’s words died when he saw you back away immediately.

“I didn’t tell you my name,” your voice wavered.

Sensing the change in your mood, he brought his hands up, “It was in your wallet—”

“Wallet? Y-You have my wallet? You went through my robes?”

Your robes were your pride and joy. For four years you intricately stitched runes into the inside fabric, seams, and the lining of your pockets. Layers of protection interlocked and knotted together to not only make the pockets seemingly disappear when you’re not wearing it but were physically incapable of opening up when it was off your body. It would take years to even get rid of the knotted magical energies before you could even begin to undo your runes. You made sure of that.

The Doctor dug into his jacket pocket before revealing a familiar rose-colored rectangle. Before he held it out toward you, you snatched it from his hand. Flipping it open, you were horrified to see the black-and-white image of your driver’s license. Your pocket change, gift cards, and stacks of talismans were still where you left them. Without a doubt, you were holding your wallet in your hands. Everything from the frayed ends to the scratches of the leather was the exact same.

Not even Wong had the ability to break your runes. Three hundred and forty-one runes, thirty-five charms, and twenty curses. Yet some wimpy Englishman with no eyebrows seemingly had the skill needed to break down your life’s work.

I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.

“How the fuck did you break them? The runes, the curses—How the fuck did that happen?” you gawked at the items in your hand.

The Doctor had his hands up and backed up slowly to gain distance from you, “You were bleeding! We had to remove your clothes and hoped we could identify you.”

“And the wallet fell out?”

“Yes! I swear,” fear was evident on his face. His words slightly wobbled and his breaths were quick.

He tells the truth.

Your body had a way of connecting with others subconsciously. It wasn’t telepathy or some magical spell. It is a primal instinct. Fear, truths, and lies crackled in the air and your body could sense the change. The Doctor’s words didn’t leave an ache in your gut or a tingle down your spine. Anxiety pooled in your stomach, taking root and branching outwards.

When placing runes, one must embed power into them. Eldritch magic drew power from external dimensions and those energies expanded into the greater multiverse. No matter where you were, those energies should feed into the runes and power them.

Unless…

“Who protects Earth from external threats?” you tried to keep your voice even.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes at you, “Depends on the threat. Not to toot my own horn, but I have been the one to stop many of the otherworldly threats that plague our universe.”

“The Avengers? S.H.I.E.L.D.? Guardians of the Galaxy?”

“Nope, never heard of ‘em. Sounds like cool band names wouldn’t you think?” The Doctor gave a small, cheeky smile.

“Iron Man? Spider-Man? The Sorcerer Supreme? Do none of those names ring a bell?”

“No—Wait, what exactly are you asking for?”

“Are you seriously telling me that you—” you point your finger at his face, “ —are the sole protector of Earth?”

The Doctor straightened his jacket and gave a pleased look, “Well when you put it that way. Of course, I’m not the only one. You’ve probably heard of them, uh…U.N.I.T. and Torchwood? They’re Earth’s protectors against extraterrestrial threats.”

“What about mystical ones?”

“Mystical? Why on Earth would you need to—oh. I see it now.”

Hope bloomed in your chest. Maybe it has been a while since he’s seen Earth. You weren’t crazy, something in this universe must mirror your own. Maybe it was a niche superhero or maybe he knew someone who—

“You’re a Sporgatuu. Explains the weird robes and odd questions. Look, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The answer is, no! I will not join your stupid lil’ club no matter how many women you send!”

You gaped him. Is he seriously accusing you of being a missionary?

“I mean c’mon! After 2 thousand years you still believe in fairy—”

“Multiverses! Do you know anything about the multiverse?”

The Doctor scoffed at your question, “Again with the ol’ multiverse nonsense. When will you learn that our timeline is a fixed one? If so much as a single alternate universe was created, it could greatly distort our reality and cause everything to collapse in on itself!”

“I am from an alternate multiverse! You said I had CMBR in my body. It was because I came from a universe where I accidentally absorbed the physical energies of our universe and…Uh, unknowingly came here. I-I just assumed that the properties of your universe would be close to mine.”

You let out a shaky breath. In the span of a few minutes, you’re entire worldview came crashing down in one single blow. Never, in the years you’ve been a sorcerer traveling the multiverse and higher dimensions alike, had you encountered a universe where the fate of humanity rested on a goddamn Englishman. In almost every parallel universe there existed at least a group of like-minded powerful protectors. Most universes had a Sorcerer Supreme, Avengers, or The Illuminati. With the magical energies residing within the universe, it guaranteed that every single universe had magical protectors of some kind.

The Doctor’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape as he tried to process your words. The silence that enveloped you amplified the thoughts swarming in your head. You started to pick at the edge of the gauze around your palms trying to keep yourself calm. Breathe. In and out.

“This is ridiculous. You seriously believe in alternate timelines?” The Doctor ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what rock you’ve been living under. Unless you got a better theory on how I acquired numerous burn marks and radiation, I’m going to find a way back home. If you’re not gonna help me then just give me my clothes and stuff. I’ll be out of your hair.”

“No, absolutely not. I mean this with all due respect, but you’re a mess. When we found you, you were a writhing, bloody mess.”

You rubbed your face and let out a deep groan, “I don’t have time for this. Seriously, if you’re not going to help I’ll grab my stuff and leave. With or without your permission.”

Turning away, you start to walk away and toward the entrance of the room. You only made it a few paces before a hand gently grabbed your wrist, stopping your advancement. Turning your head over your shoulder, you meet The Doctor’s worried face.

He looked stuck in thought. Striking green eyes flittered between yours and around your face. You didn’t dare move a muscle.

“Prove it,” his voice is above a whisper, but there is intent behind his words, “Prove that your universe exists. If what you’re saying is true, I will help you get back home. In the meantime, you’re going to have to stay here until you’re fully healed. There’s a chance your body would reject the radiation.”

If what he said about your robes were true, and the fact that seemingly none of your allies existed in this world, Eldritch magic wouldn’t be possible. You feel it in the stagnant air around you. Beyond the humming of machinery and electricity flowing between circuits, the void of space is dead. Back home, energies were a powerful current that you could barely control. An ocean of power that could drown you if you did not respect it. The universe you crashed into is empty and cold.

“And if I can’t?” you clenched your hand to keep your voice steady.

The Doctor smiled, “Then you’ll have to stick by for a while.”

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 3 months

Text

"Time & the Trickster" A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

by ijuststareatstuffhereok89

Prologue: The Stone

The Loom is breaking. The Timelines are in chaos at the TVA. Just as Loki realizes he may have to sacrifice himself, O.B. offers one last Hail Mary that may spare his rueful fate...until it shoots him across time and space instead, to the most Norn-forsaken place imaginable: Syracuse, New York.

CHAPTER WARNING: violence toward our poor Loki

MASTERLIST

Time Variance Authority Outside of Time and Space No Time and Every Time, AM and PM

It was as if Loki was gazing at a gallows, just waiting for him on the other side of the door. A gallows just for him.

An abstract gallows, to be sure, one snarled and twisted by the fraying timelines. The Loom wasn’t going to hold them much longer. Victor Timely’s tens of repeated failures had yielded no progress. Loki had just finished spending centuries’ worth of time jumps learning everything he could about time, physics, and metaphysics. It all came to nothing but false hope.

Zapping his way back to Point A one last time, he knew what was needed. Only a God could survive in the temporal void long enough to reach the branches and save them. That left one of two people in the room with the ability.

Loki knew now that Sylvie would never see reason. The parts of ‘a Loki’ that were driven by self-preservation were too strong in her. Perhaps one day, after centuries behind that fast food counter, she’d have a moment of clarity. But reality couldn’t wait for that to happen. Even in the repeated attempts to calm her bloodlust in the Citadel there had been in no change in her resolve. Sylvie was lost, but pity would come later, after Loki took the glorious burden upon himself to save the universe.

I can keep the timelines stable as long as I keep my hands on them…at all times. For all time.

It was the single worst case of irony that reality had ever known, or at least that Loki in his thousands of years of travels had never known: that only now he would be getting a throne. The Throne of Time awaited him, only instead of eternal glory, it would bring him eternal imprisonment, forced to watch the eons pass by as if each were a vignette on a stage. He would have to watch Mobius die, as well as Sylvie and OB and everyone. Even Thor, for no creature was truly immortal. He would have to stand by as all of consciousness fell back into the void of death and rebirth at the end of it all.

And indeed, at the End of Time, where would he be?

After one final look around the room, everyone looking back at him with expectant apprehension, Loki took in one deep breath and began his march to the Loom. He felt a solid hand on his shoulder, and didn’t need to turn to know it was Mobius.

“What the SHIT are you doing?” he whispered frantically.

Looking into his worried eyes, Loki felt a stabbing pain in his chest. If only we’d met somewhere else, you brilliant man, I would’ve shown you the world.

"I know what kind of God I need to be. For you. For all of us,” he said, his voice faltering in spite of his wish that he sounded more sure.

“Wait!! I have one more idea! Look!”

Loki looked back beyond Mobius and Sylvie. OB was running back from somewhere he’d slipped away to. No one had even noticed that he’d left the room. He carried two small pebbles in his hand that to the unknowing witness would look like two small pieces of emerald, or perhaps tinted glass.

He was closer to Sylvie, so he pulled out her hand first, placing one of the dead Time Stones in it. It began to glow softly, a dull gray-ish green. The light was pulsing weakly, but it was clear that something in her skin was activating the time magic within the stone.

“Loki! Catch!” OB said quickly, tossing the stone at Loki, whose godlike reflexes caught the dangerous relic with ease. It also glowed green upon touch, only a much brighter, indisputable forest green.

“How is that possible?” asked Mobius. “How did we never think of that?”

The God of Tricks turned the stone over in his palm, as if doing so would give him some kind of clue. “Well, it’s quite lovely, OB, but I don’t understand--”

“Time Stones thrive off of the energy of the timelines and work by being linked to every single one, enabling the one who uses it to hop from time to time! Maybe if you throw one of those at the timelines while it’s active, it’ll act like a pill and regulate the streams again!” OB suggested enthusiastically. “But only if it’s active, and it looks like the only place they work in the TVA is…well, in the hands of a Loki variant.”

“Are you suggesting we give aspirin to the Temporal Loom?” Sylvie scoffed, the weakened stone in her hand blinking with every other syllable.

“You sure that’ll work?” asked Mobius with skepticism.

OB shook his head, “Oh no. It’s a long shot. Odds in the trillions, and that’s just a guess,” he admitted bluntly. He looked at Loki and twisted his lip into a hopeful smile. “But it’s worth a try, right?”

Loki looked down at the brilliant stone he held. Something within the stone felt like it was attuning itself to him. Small threads of green light were radiating from the stone and digging into his skin, illuminating it from underneath, as if his very veins were filling with the power of the Time Stone.

Looking up one more time, Loki shrugged. “Indeed,” he said under his breath. “Well, here I go.”

“Loki!” Mobius shouted one more time. “Let her do it,” he said, pointing back at Sylvie. “She’s the one who caused all of this.”

“I don't know, her stone doesn’t look as strong as yours,” said OB, now at Sylvie’s side and watching the pathetic pebble in her hand barely flicker in tandem with her breath. “If we have one chance to do this, I think it has to be you, Loki.”

The more Loki stared down his permanent imprisonment within the twisted vines of time, the more he realized that he’d been fooled the entire time…and by none other than himself! He’d assumed that every variant of himself would have every capacity to grow that he had. Perhaps Sylvie did, and Loki was only looking at a portrait of who he had been as a rash, physically-driven youth.

It didn’t matter anyhow. If this worked, Sylvie would be going back to the counter at McDonald’s. If it didn’t, Sylvie’s mind would always be at that silly little place, unable to see the world past the end of her own nose no matter how many people suffered for her choices.

“I’m sorry, Mobius, but I think we both know it must be my action,” Loki said softly, gently taking Mobius’ hand in his own. “Have an extra slice of pie for me.”

“Go throw it,” OB suggested. “Quickly! We’re out of time!”

Victor stood clueless behind everyone else. “This has been a remarkable day” he mumbled.

Finally going beyond the door and into the temporal space, Loki felt the stone begin to burn in his hand, the sensation not only pressed against his flesh, but in his bloodstream.

One last breath, and Loki reared back, pitching the Time Stone toward the Loom.

As if the air were too thick, the stone’s speed was almost too slow to make sense, slowly floating toward the fraying, entangled timelines in an arc. It fell in a spiral toward the Loom, increasing speed as if it were being sucked directly into the messes of fibers.

The God’s breaths slowed to a standstill, his veins still on fire with green energy from the stone. Loki suddenly felt as if he’d turned into a marionette as hundreds of points on his body were suddenly yanked, throwing him off of his feet and into the air behind the stone, flying at incredible speed toward the epicenter of energy.

As if the Time Stone was pulling him by invisible chains, Loki was dragged along until he reached the Loom, after which a strong updraft knocked him unconscious, the last thing to grace his open eye being Mobius’ frightened stare.

Around his lifeless, floating form, the green clouds, rogue lightning, and whipping winds began to form a time vortex, shooting the helpless god through each and every reality, one by one…

Syracuse, New York, USA June 9 7:19pm EST

“Get off my shit!”

Loki awoke with a start, his head roaring, his skin tingling, and his vision blurred. Hungover from the unexpected trip, he felt weakened and confused. The skinny man yelling in his face wasn’t helping him regain his bearings.

He was splayed rather unflatteringly among a pile of garbage bags filled with clothes and cans. Frommhis view, he could begin to see that he was in some sort of alleyway surrounded on three sides by brick. The sky above was dim and overcast.

“Oh, Norns, what is…?”

“I said, GET OFF MY--

“--my shit, yes, that much we’ve established…”

The angry skinny man was impatient to the point where he started shoving Loki to his feet, urging him away. “Find your own awning!” he called after him as he finally managed to throw Loki into the street. “And some clothes, too!”

Loki looked down, realizing for the first time that he was stark naked. His clothes had been torn from his body in transit across the realities. Well, at least it wasn’t my skin.

The street was full of potholes, the environment claustrophobic as it could be for being outdoors. The air smelled of sewage and tar. A sign hanging on the corner building nearby read S. Salina St.

Looking down into his palm, the stone remained aglow in his grip.

Now, where in the Norns am I? Loki asked himself, keeping to a nearby shadow in hopes no one was nearby to see his nudity.

It felt like dusk was at hand, though the thick greasy cloud cover did little to explain the actual position of the sun. The air was warm, humid, and unpleasant. Rain was inbound, as evidenced by a building darkness rolling in from the western horizon.

“Damn,” Loki whispered. “I…”

He took off down the street and around the corner onto S. Salina, scurrying in such a manner that a mouse could beat him in a footrace. He used his godlike ability to absorb detail in order to learn as much as he could about this place.

Wait a moment…I can control my time jumping!

How simple! Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled. He sucked in his breath and clenched, just as he’d taught himself to do in order to control his phasing.

Seconds went by. Perhaps a minute. Nothing happened when the reaction should have instantly drawn him back to the TVA.

“Hey Di, look at the naked guy shitting himself across the street!”

Two women were sitting on a porch across the way, a small white dog at their feet, staring directly at Loki as he squinted and attempted to force himself through space. He was suddenly the most self-conscious he’d ever been in his entire life.

“Hey Mister, what’re you doing with no clothes?” shrieked the other. “How much’ve you had?”

“Yeah, he’s drunk,” agreed the first lady, trying hard to hold in a laugh.

“It’s gone! My time phasing!” Loki whispered aloud. He snapped his fingers, attempting to bring some cover to his body with seidr, only for the stone in his hand to dim its glow. “Magic…none of it works here.”

The two gleeful ladies continued to mock Loki from across the street. “I’ll give him this, he’s hot.”

Di raised an eyebrow. “Kinda looks like that guy from the movies, doesn’t he? Loki! He looks like Loki!”

“Holy shit, you’re right! He’s dead on for Loki!”

“Of COURSE I look like Loki, blast you!” he swore, beginning to move towards them, not bothering to check and see if any vehicles were bearing down on him. “Because I--”

“--dude, don't come any closer! Just because I don’t like the cops doesn’t mean I won’t call ‘em if you’re gonna…” the larger of the two women got up to reach for a cell phone perched on the railing.

“What? No, ladies, I just need to know where I am and how to get to--”

“--dude, get out of here, and stop by the Salvation Army or something on the way because no one wants to see that!”

“Speak for yourself, Di.”

“Where am I?” Loki asked, slower this time.

“Yeah, he's drunk,” mumbled Di. “Dude, you’re on the south side! Near the park!”

“Did you say that I need to find an army?” Loki asked, backtrack, unsure about which way was up.

“Mister,” continued Di, “head that way and you’ll be downtown in ten minutes. Someone’ll either help you or arrest you up there.” She pointed further up the road, which led to a bright district of flashing neon and nightlife about to get underway with the sunset. “Ain’t nothin’ down here for you except fentanyl.”

The larger of the women quickly ran inside and came back a few seconds later with a small fleece blanket in a nasty shade of hot pink. “My daughter doesn’t use this anymore. Use it to cover your junk. I don’t want it back.”

She threw it down to Loki, who gratefully wrapped it about his waist, tying it off at the hipbone. It hardly qualified for more than a belt, only covering him from below his navel to a few precious inches below his…other time stones.

“Thank you, madam,” he mumbled. Without further awkward conversation, he left the two women to their excited giggles and whistles and headed in the direction he’d been given.

He didn’t even have any shoes, as was quickly made evident by the painful tar gravel that burrowed between his toes and under the balls of his feet as he paced himself, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone as he fled from shadow to shadow, hoping to remain unseen despite at least being minimally covered now.

“Hey buddy, nice skirt!”

“The gay bar is on the west side!”

Loki was still exposed to catcalls and insults nearly the entire way up the trashy, unwelcoming city. Even as he approached a larger, brightly-lit square accompanied by live music from several different outdoor patios, he could feel the eyes bearing down on him.

This place is deplorable, Loki thought. No magic, no help…

“Ew, guy! At least put on a skirt that covers your crack all the way!” a woman called from behind him.

“Hey, there are kids here, man!” a huge man with a shaved head stepped into Loki’s path, causing him to stop short. The man had about three inches on Loki, and even though his Asgardian density made him about the same weight as the sizable human before him, Loki wasn;t sure he wanted to risk an altercation in his present state. He smelled of beer. “Put your dick away, alright?”

“Let me pass,” Loki mumbled. “Please. I’m on my way to the army.” He tried to throw up a defensive arm, which the man caught with ease.

The skinhead laughed. “Jesus, what I have to deal with…”

Without warning, the asshole laid out a direct punch to Loki’s temple, sending him to the sidewalk. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Regents Park, London, England June 10 12:19am GMT

“Oooh, talk to me! What did they do to you?!”

The Doctor, frustrated, removed the magnifying goggles from his face and squinted as he looked up into the undercarriage of the TARDIS console, trying desperately to find out what had stranded him here and how to fix it.

Having barely made it out of yet another fray with the Cybermen, The Doctor’s beloved TARDIS had been hit, or perhaps bombed from within somehow (who could tell?). Barely landing safety in a place the TARDIS recognized as a ‘favorite’ location (London, England, early 21st century), The Doctor quickly learned that whatever had attacked him had destroyed what held the Time Vortex in place within the TARDIS’ core.

The Doctor’s ship was nothing more than a wooden box, sitting in a public park on Earth in 2023. Nothing, not the screwdriver, not The Doctor’s own ingenuity, was yielding any hope.

“Maybe Jack could…oh no, no, no,” he thought out loud, shaking off the idea. While it was true that Captain Jack Harkness could always be assumed to be waltzing around somewhere at any given place in time, what did he really know about TARDIS mechanics?

The Doctor sighed. Thinking about Jack always eventually brought his thoughts back to Rose. She may have been as human as anyone else around, but sometimes her intuition would shine through, triggering some epiphany in his head and bringing about the best answers.

That was Rose: brilliant in the most unexpected ways.

“If only it were easier to fall through realities,” he bitterly mused. “Or at least find a good fix-it shop that has equipment to jumpstart an Eye of Harmony…very basic stuff, not sure why it’s so hard to find--”

He was interrupted by a sudden, instantaneous flash of emerald, brighter than the sun, sending The Doctor squinting and crouching to the floor. Though he couldn’t see what had happened, for a brief moment, he heard the TARDIS breathe, as if the Vortex had been restored within it for as long as the luminous green assault filled the interior.

“What?” he asked nobody. The flash of green ceased, as did the TARDIS’ temporary recovery.

“WHAT?” he asked himself, running up the stairs to the top of the console, looking at every screen and pulling every lever he could.

Something had triggered the Time Vortex within the TARDIS, as if it were being given a push by an external force somewhere else out there in the world…something with enough time energy imbibed in its core to do so.

Perhaps if it was something he could find and bring back to the TARDIS…

Running to the doors and flinging them open, The Doctor was just in time to catch a streak of green flash across the night sky, heading southwest and missing London by a long, long shot. As it left the airspace above England, the TARDIS grew dark and cold again.

The Doctor’s mouth couldn’t close as his brain tried to keep up with his eyes.

“What?? WHAT?!”

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