[It's a simple memory to grab; a spell book in Taako's hand, full of messy scrawls, that he shoves into his bag with a mutter of something about figuring it out later.
In the present, Taako shoves angrily at Loki's chest, knowing that he has about zero chance of pushing him away if he doesn't want move, but he has to do something and his next option is conjuring up a fucking sleet storm in his kitchen and he still has the sense to know how bad that idea is.]
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In the present, Taako shoves angrily at Loki's chest, knowing that he has about zero chance of pushing him away if he doesn't want move, but he has to do something and his next option is conjuring up a fucking sleet storm in his kitchen and he still has the sense to know how bad that idea is.]
Get the fuck away from me.