for all time.

indie mobius of the mcu's loki. carrd.

[varyation]

indie m.obius of the m.cu's l.oki carrd // rules // mobius // verses

[varyation]

first two pag.es of fra.nkenstein is everything i thought it would be and more

[varyation]

@goldfanged asked: what are you getting out of this ? morbid curiosity prompts (accepting)

What does he get out of this. If he were human, he might want a lot of things. People want money, power, and fame. They want a two-story house and perfect marriage, a boy and a girl that has their shaggy hair and mother’s eyes. They want to live forever. Be young forever. They get what they want until they want something else, a never-ending cycle, relentless in its permanence. 

Theo has gold eyes and even golder teeth. Mobius gets this look on his face, and he says, head swaying, "It's not about what I want, what I don't want…" 

Maybe they’ve caught on that Mobius talks with his body. The side-to-side of his head. The turning of his hands. The rise and fall of his shoulders. He shifts his legs under the table somewhat and seems to find Theo's face, something to search for.

"We bring order, prevent literal apocalypses..." He lists them off like some larger-than-life thing, bobbing his hand in the air. It is. "Without the TVA—knock on wood—there wouldn't be life as you know it. And the fact that I like it here? In my very own slice of heaven?" He sets his hand back down, the barest glimmer to his face. "Just... icing on the cake."

Mobius can't want. He only needs the TVA and to play his role. That's that. A moment passes then, genuinely, he says, "Is that good enough for you?"

[untroubledkiss]

"Oh, Mobius, come on!"

[varyation]

@vindicain asked: what did you think was gonna happen? morbid curiosity prompts (accepting)

"Kinda what I just - saw." It came out low with a seesaw nod on 'just' then 'saw'. Punctuated.

Mobius stands beside Cain and the crowd dissolves in hushed murmurs, people chatting by unaware, both of them invisible. There's the news flashing on a screen about an assault-turned-mugging; a man pummeled on the street with onlookers watching on, no one stopping to help. Not rare. What do they call it? The bystander effect. Not that Mobius could do anything, either. He can't disrupt history. 

"Most people… you know- They see trouble, they head for the hills," he starts, flipping his palm upwards as he explains. He turns half around from a vending machine and had been eyeing a Pepsi. "And I thought—for a fleeting moment, and let's call it intuition—maybe you'd do something different."

[varyation]

@prvtocol asked: do you have any evidence of that ? morbid curiosity prompts (accepting)

First thing's first: commit her to memory. Brianne Corinne Landry, client relations specialist of Landry Capital Management. She's prim. She's proper. Not a hair out of place. 'Check in on our girl across the pond,' Willis' voice had crackled in from a recording two days back, the air unit in the office broken. 'And, oh, hey, don't let that boarding-school civility and pretty little smile get you thinking she's clean.'

Boarding-school civility. At least that's right.

He arrived at her home unannounced. Agent Mobius, CIA. Brianne let him in with her flawless courtesy and clicking heels, all black and whites like that's what she wants you to think—simple with nothing to hide.

He wonders if that's true, and Mobius smiles. He gestures to a manila folder he'd set on her table.

"How about the daily double?"

Inside is a grainy photo of her jet on Rook Islands. Another one beneath it, a photo of her zoomed in and unmistakable. If there's more, it's not here.

Mobius waits, and he looks at her face.

"Drug cartels. Angry pirates. 'Welcome to sunny Rook Islands.'" He says it low and exaggerated with his hands, like some slogan he read off a brochure. Even amused. "Nice- lady like yourself," he wonders. "What? Miss your turn?"

[varyation]

wondering what life inside the tva is like. do they all have homes? are there neighborhoods? recreational places, restaurants, any semblance of a life outside the tva? i have a feeling everything in the tva exists only to reinforce and aid each worker's ability to serve their role in protecting the sacred timeline.

i don't think the tva allows for non-work relationships, either, or, more exactly, anything beyond "friendship" is forbidden. no fraternization. nothing that compromises your ability to serve or makes you feel anything is more important than the timeline.

i get the feeling human desires are, in a way, conditioned out of you in the sense that it's even unthinkable to want anything else. the culture makes it out like you shouldn't want anything but to protect the timeline. you were made to protect it, and that's all you exist for. and, like, the thing is they're mostly content because they will genuinely believe this, too. that this is all they need.

[vindicain]

the change is instantaneous. their smile drops, expression closing off like shutters pulled in sharply against a window. he's completely relaxed, the lines beside his eyes amused, and for a single second, cain hates him.

“ i'd like to know how you know that, ” he says, deceptively soft. his gaze dips briefly to the steak knife still wrapped in the napkin placed to his right, but he discards the idea just as quickly. stabbing him is appealing; however, there is the tired waitress to consider, the man clearing his throat behind his newspaper, the wide windows facing out to the street. “ it sounds like you have the whole story already. ”

he'd never get away with it. anger rises in him like a great, crimson wave, and cain narrows his eyes in the wake of that ocean.

“ i don't think so, ” he responds flatly, without an iota of inflection. he kicks his legs out, boots knocking against the other side of the booth. “ i don't do friends. i'm sure you know that, too. ”

[varyation]

Tires rush through puddles. A kettle boils. Steam diffusing past Mobius' face, lined. Calm. Curious. 

"It's my job to know," he finally says, voice softer, no follow-up. He rests his elbows onto the table, and the corners of his eyes crease. "See?" he starts. "I have my secrets, too."

He'd caught on. Cain only shares the truth with his friends. Only Cain doesn't have friends. Half-truths, not quite a lie but not forthcoming. His mouth quirks and he hears Cain's boots click against the bottom of his seat, a low, single tap. Mobius picks up coffee.

"Looking daggers," he muses. A swallowing sound. His mug clicks down. A steak knife sits by Cain's hand, and he'd followed his eyes to it. Cain's eyes, narrowed and alert, a dog ready to bite. "Maybe I want to hear it from you." Mobius sits deeper into his seat, and you can hear his tongue unstick in his mouth; Mobius tucking his fingers under his palm, now, balled over the table. "You give me what I want, I give you what you want. Some... good ol' fashioned tit for tat," he says, starting the bargain.

The song in the jukebox shuffles. Cheap fluorescent lights drip over them, their skin bleached sick. "How's that sound?"

[vindicain]

they watch the steam rise from his coffee rather than him, a smile lighting up in their peripheral, and wait him out. conversation drums in the space between them. cain listens to the sizzle of the grill, the crease and crackle of a newspaper being folded, and leans back until his spine touches creased upholstery.

“ it's honest, isn't it? upfront. i prefer that. ” his food remains untouched, but cain drags the pad of his forefinger around the edge of the plate anyway, salt and sugar gritty against the print. the smile doesn't flicker, but his eyes are cool. appraising, like a scientist peering through a magnifying glass.

he's smart. cain can't figure out if they appreciate that or not.

“ yes, cain. my mother fashioned herself a comedian. she didn't quite know how prophetic she would turn out to be. ” he lifts his mug, sips at scalding, bitter coffee. black, as always. “ i can't give away everything, can i? there's no fun in that. ” another smile, thin and sharp as a razor blade. “ i'll tell you what i tell everyone else: my truths are reserved for friends. ”

[varyation]

She didn't know how prophetic she'd be. Mobius half-laughs, and he does not look away.

"About what?" he asks, never batting an eye. "The part where you kill your brother?" He can't be serious. It's just a biblical story; the one thing there is to know about Cain. A minute passes, Mobius still eye-to-eye. He reaches for a spoon. "Living up to your name," he says to no one, partly amused. He takes it and puts it in his mug. "Why don't you tell me about it? Could use a little... 'eye-opener'."

Cain's all knife-sharp smiles. There's a lot to take in here. Mobius hears the squeak-slide of the waitress wiping down the counter... the man in the booth and his rustling newspaper... Shania Twain skipping a word and warbling, Cain sticking his finger against the chipping, fake-gold edge of his plate, the food untouched.

Mobius has crow's feet by his eyes, and they crinkle when his mouth tugs.

"I like to think we can be friends. Can we do that?" he finally asks, palm up. "Be friends?"

[varyation]

m.obius has been continuously corrected.

when abducted by he who remains from his timeline and his memories wiped, m.obius became a blank slate. he needed a role to fill. a part to play in the t.va. at first, he was slotted into the minutemen, not exceptional and a poor combatant, needing to be reassigned. they designated him as an analyst soon after and, excelling, eventually promoted him to Agent. he was gifted a new name, then. m.obius m. m.obius.

but the version of m.obius we see isn't the version he's always been. throughout his tenure with the t.va, he's always been stubborn, not just in how he conducts his business, but in the form of residual memories. slivers of his past life, unlike most employees of the tv.a, tend to resurface, though never quite fully realized and always fragmented. they don't necessarily warrant a need to be re-wiped and reset—his love of jet skis is innocuous enough—but when too many fragmented memories resurface or if any one becomes too fully-formed, the memories are wiped. likewise, due to his penchant for investigation and his inability to keep his own curiosity in check, now and again, he runs into uncovering things he shouldn't, whether small or drastic. this is why he has no memory of leaving behind rings on r.avonna's table or why he has no trophies, effectively reminders, for his solved cases—the times he met with her in her office to debrief or talk could have followed some sort of revelation, personal or t.va-related, and immediately prior to a wipe. he becomes uncooperative or deemed a "threat". this is also partly why he stays in middle management. having access to higher-tier, restricted information would only invite and encourage future resistance.

there is also the case where, in his long pursuit of sy.lvie, he himself has gotten into contact with her and exposed to enchantment. his memories return. he's reset. the marks remain.

nobody quite catches on to m.obius' memory wipes, or soft reset, due to several reasons: 1) m.obius' behavior and personality never drastically shift. nobody has enough reasonable suspicion or evidence to think something has gone amiss. 2) once cases are closed in the t.va, they stay closed. there is no reason for further discussion or revisits. 3) m.obius does not disclose any aberrant thoughts or share unknowingly rediscovered memories or revelations to the greater t.va at large. they aren't the ones he comes to regarding anything at all.

it's r.avonna he confronts or who finds out. it's r.avonna who knows him best. and it's r.avonna who has him corrected.

[vindicain]

“ maybe i'd like to see you. the real you. ” ✖ horror themed starters

“ that's a nice idea, ” cain drawls, peering at him from beneath drooping eyelids. everything is a performance for him - an actor striding across the stage, hand over his heart, lines recited loud and bold for the audience to gasp aloud at. becoming someone new had been a matter of survival for him. without living as a chameleon, they surely would not have made it as far as they had.

either he would be dead, or he would be locked away in the bowels of a prison, never to see the sun or the sky with his own eyes. the idea still shivers down his spine, rattles deep and quaking in his bones.

“ there is no real me. he isn't around anymore. ” they flash white teeth in an assured grin. the admittance is an easy one. “ what you see now is all you're going to get. ”

@varyation

[varyation]

The lights hum, warm-dim-orange, a single bulb further down flickering with a buzz. A straggler clinks his fork in a booth. His coffee billows.

"What it says on the tin," he finally says like confirming an observation, unperturbed. He smiles back. "I like that."

If people could give off color, what would his be? Something red. Impossibly black. A color that plasters against the back of the eyes and washes over you, always there and present and unwanted, something that can't be scrubbed off. Mobius taps his finger once against the table and the song at the jukebox warbles.

Cain likes to smile.

"Cain—did I hear that right? Real biblical, by the way," he says. "Feels ominous." He reaches out and grabs at sweetener, Sweet'N Low, then tears it open. He looks back up. Shakes the last of it. "Can I be honest? '...No real me.' 'Isn't around anymore'— For a guy who's all about being an open book, you're awful cryptic."

[mischiefvariant]

OWEN WILSON as MOBIUS M. MOBIUS in Loki (2021)