#the-emo-asgardian asks

[cozy-the-overlord]

Free Fall

Summary: Tony Stark arranges for an Avengers Teambuilding Day at a local amusement park. Loki had been hoping to avoid it -- he's had enough thrills to last a lifetime, he has no desire to seek out more -- but you and your endearing enthusiasm for roller coasters convince him to come along. However, the free fall drop tower you start out with turns out to be a bit more thrilling than he bargained for.

Word Count: 3,482

Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Drags self out of the grave and awkwardly waves

So it's been a minute since I posted lol. Those of you who follow may be aware that I recently graduated from college with the Final Semester From Hell that involved my computer hard drive dying on me in class and causing me to lose not only forty pages of my honors thesis two weeks before it was due, but also almost every WIP I had been working on in the past four years because I am an idiot who chronically forgets to back things up :D I did make it through college, but between stress, burnout, depression, and the death of any motivation to work on anything because of having to restart from the beginning for all of my projects, I went a while without writing anything. But I'm slowly getting back into it -- I have several projects in the works and I'm hoping to get back to posting more regularly. This fic was a short piece that I had started prior to the computer death that I had a lot of physical notes on so they weren't lost when my hard drive decided to yeet itself into the sun. I'm not entirely happy with it, but honestly it feels so good to finally finish something that I don't care.

Anyways, sorry for the obnoxious A/N. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, panic attack, a bit of motion sickness?

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :) (I also realize that this taglist is Old so if I need to update it please let me know)

Read it on Ao3!

Standing in the shadow of the great tower, heart thudding in his throat, Loki is suddenly aware that he’s made an enormous mistake.

Next to him, Stark whistles. “This is what you usually start with?”

You grin up at the spire, a massive construction of electric green cutting through the cloudless sky. Two elevators, one on either side, are creeping slowly up the length of the tower. They linger at the top for just a moment before plunging back down to Earth, their occupants screaming. Loki feels ill just watching, but you’re practically vibrating in place. “It’s good to get the blood pumping.”

He can’t bring himself to look at you.

It’s your fault that he’s here. Loki hadn’t planned to come today at all. A day spent outside in the sweltering summer sun, following Stark’s gaggle of misfits onto various machines designed to fling mortals from side to side to simulate the feeling of a near death experience? Loki couldn’t imagine anything more torturous. Thor’s begging and cajoling received nothing in response. No, he hadn’t the slightest intention of coming today, not until last night, when he came across you restocking the main refrigerator.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” you had asked as you arranged rows of Red Bull on the top shelf. “I can’t wait to take you guys around Rapid Rails—I’ve been begging Mr. Stark to do a teambuilding day there ever since he hired me.”

Your eagerness caught him off guard— as Stark’s personal assistant, you had been present at all of his godforsaken teambuilding events, but Loki had never known you to be particularly excited about any of them. “I … I wasn’t aware you had such an attachment to it.”

“Oh yeah—I grew up just down the street from there!” You beamed at him, breaking down the cardboard box you had used to carry the cans. “We used to have season passes – they were way cheaper when I was a kid – and we’d just go there to hang out all the time. Gosh it was so fun. And now I get to go for work!” You let out a merry laugh. “I guess some things never change, right?”

Loki huffed a soft chuckle. He had never seen you like this before, practically bubbling over in excitement. It was … rather endearing. “I suppose not.”

“You are coming, right? Thor said you hadn’t made up your mind yet.”

Were the circumstances different, Loki might have scoffed. Hadn’t made up your mind yet—Norns, his brother lived in denial. Instead though, he hesitated. “I … I’m afraid I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Really?” The way your face fell actually hurt his chest. “Why not?”

“I—” He glanced away, pressing his lips together. “I’m not sure I’m one for your roller coasters,” he said, finally. “You’d likely have a better time without me there.” It was an attempt at lightheartedness, but you only seemed more disappointed.

“Oh, that’s not true at all! I was really looking forward to—” you stopped suddenly, and when Loki looked up again, you were biting your lip with a nervous laugh. “I mean, it would be really fun if you came with us. But it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“I suppose I could come, if you so desire.” He hoped he sounded nonchalantly cool, and that you couldn’t see the way his heart fluttered at the idea that you might want him there. “I wouldn’t wish to let you down.”

“Oh, I mean—” You looked away, the light from the refrigerator silhouetting your frame. “I don’t want to force you, if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t do it just for me.”

“No, I …” He inhaled, then smiled. “I think I would like to join you.”

And so here he is, at the base of this great metal monstrosity, intently studying the sign outside of the line entrance to avoid Thor’s knowing smirk. His brother has never worn self-satisfaction well.

DEATH DROP: THE TALLEST AND FASTEST DROP TOWER ON THE EAST COAST

 The description is illustrated with a photograph of two people strapped to their seats, mouths wide in mid-scream as their hair flies every which way. Loki lets out a shaky exhale as he reads. The tower, it claims, is 400 feet tall. It reaches top speeds of 85 miles per hour. The ride itself lasts about 90 seconds in total. The measuring stand besides the entrance indicates that participants must be at least 48 inches tall.

400 feet. That doesn’t sound too terrible, he tells himself. The concept of a foot as a unit of measurement is still something he struggles to wrap his head around, but he knows that Stark Tower stands at over a thousand. So that’s not too bad. 400 feet would be a drop in the bucket, really, compared to …

No. He pushes the thought down, back into the dark recesses of his memory. None of that. Not today.

Stark smirks at him. “You’re looking green, Tommy Wiseau.”

Loki swallows, straining to maintain his stiff mask of composure. It’s bad enough to have Stark reveling in his discomfort, but now you’re looking over at him too, brow furrowed in concern, and he wishes he could melt away on the spot. “I’m quite fine.”

“Of course he is!” Thor booms, slapping his shoulder with a hearty thwack that does nothing for Loki’s stomach. “We’ve fallen from much higher heights, haven’t we, brother?”

Weightless. Breathless. Engulfed by inky nothingness, the air so thin he can’t even scream —

Loki’s smile hurts. “Yes, very true.”

“You don’t have to go, Loki,” you interject. “It’s totally okay— I have friends who love roller coasters and refuse to touch this ride. It’s a lot.”

He knows you mean it as reassurance, but he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, as if he were a frightened child, too fragile to be brought along. Are you regretting having convinced him to change his mind? Do you feel that he’s only holding you back? Somehow, the idea that you no longer want him here is almost as sickening as the thought of the fall.

Loki huffs a breath. No. He will prove himself worthy of your coaster. “I assure you, I am fine.” His voice is more strained than he’d prefer it to be. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

…

The attendant seems rather starstruck as he ushers the group onto the ride—he stumbles and stammers through the explanation of the seating arrangements and the harness. Loki’s not really listening as he follows you to the left side of the cart, trying not to ignore the buzzing that seems to be settling behind his ears.

You smile up at him. “Would you rather sit on the side or in the middle?”

He frowns. “Does it make a difference?”

“Well, personally I don’t think so, but I know some people who get scared of heights think it’s easier to sit in the middle.”

“I’m not scared of heights.” The words come out far too quickly to sound believable, and he curses inwardly at himself. “I can sit on the side.”

“Are you sure?”  You eye him uncertainly. “It’s okay if you—"

“I’m quite capable of managing such a seat.” He sits before you have the chance to question him again.

The seat is rather tight—Loki wonders if that’s intentional, or if it’s simply built with a smaller frame in mind. In the cart off to the right, he can hear Thor fumbling about with the attendant, and he chuckles despite himself. If he’s finding it to be a bit of a squeeze, he can’t imagine the troubles his bulky brother must be having.

It’s a momentary reprieve from his darker thoughts, and Loki is actually smiling when you warn him to sit back against the seat.

“The harness is going to be coming down soon.”

“What?”

You motion to the contraption above the cart, two plastic green masses shaped like upside down u’s that hover above your heads like the top of a clam shell. “It sits over you and keeps you from flying out of the cart.” You let out a small laugh. “It’s like the harnesses on the Quinjets, but way less cool. They also have little handles that you can hold on to if you want.”

Loki is eyeing the harnesses uncertainly. “What do you mean they’ll be coming down soon?”

“You used to have to pull it down yourself, but they have it all programmed now.” A great mechanical creak cracks through the air, and you press yourself against the back of the seat. “Oh, here it comes now!”

He frowns, mimicking your movement to sit as far back as he can. The green restraint descends slowly over his head, with a metallic groan that does not give him much faith in the construction of this monstrosity. He expects it to stop once it was hovering over his torso, but it continues until it’s pressed snuggly against his chest, pinning him to the seat. The attendant is saying something over the intercom, but Loki barely registers it over the feeling of the restraint. It’s … it’s not a painful sensation, but the firmness with which it holds … he’s been restrained before. Little flames of memory spark in the corners of his mind, flames he can’t seem to douse no matter how hard he tries.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

He gives an apprehensive tug on the metal handles that now rest on either shoulder, a tug which quickly turns into a hard yank. The harness does not move. His mouth has gone dry.

“Loki?” you’re frowning at him, your head only barely visible through your own harness. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You’re not bothered by the restraint. Of course you aren’t—how many times did you say you’ve ridden this ride? It’s fine. It’s fine. Goodness, what must you think of him, seeing him panic over the safety harness that you’ve worn hundreds of times before for fun? He nods his head, shaking away the feelings and memories and emotions and all the other thoughts that he wishes he could just wash down the drain …

“Are you sure—?”

“Perfectly,” he spits, but it comes out more snappishly than he intended, and you recoil with a look on your face that makes him despise himself.

I shouldn’t be allowed to speak.

“And enjoy your ride!” the attendant finishes with a flourish, and the thick metal cranking is all the warning you get before the cart begins to lift off from the ground. Loki’s heart jumps to his throat, pounding so fast he can’t make out the separate beats.

“This part is the scariest bit,” you yell at him over the grinding of machinery. “The anticipation kills me!”

Loki inhales. The elevator continues to rise, inching up slowly along the spire, the ground beneath their feet melting into miniature. This is alright, he tells himself. If this is the worst part of the experience, then he’ll be just fine. There’s nothing particularly frightening about it—he spoke the truth when he told you that he had never been bothered by heights. It’s all perfectly fine.

Perfectly. Fine.

Norns, they’re still going up. He risks a glance at the track above him—surely they must be close now? The movement makes him queasy, and he quickly turns back to face straight ahead. His knuckles are white from clutching the handles. The harness is digging into his chest and it takes all of his self-control not to rip it off. The elevator stutters—is this it? His breath catches, but no, they’re still going up. They seem to be slowing down though, don’t they? Or is that only his imagination?

I’m going to be ill.

They’ve stopped. That’s not in his head. Everything seems frozen in place. Why did he agree to do this? Loki presses his eyes closed. Any moment now. Any moment …

Still nothing.

His chest aches. He may have forgotten to breathe. Why have they stopped? Is something wrong? Loki turns to you—you look ecstatic, eyes crinkled with elation, mouth wide in an open grin.

“When is it going to—”

You drop.

The world goes silent. He feels it, that awful sensation in his stomach as the line goes slack and colors rush before his eyes in a blur until it all fades to darkness, airlessness, weightlessness, his lungs burning and drowning on the empty void of space—he’s falling, he’s falling again, he’s falling again oh please Norns not again—

There’s ground beneath his feet. He’s not sure where it came from. His knuckles ache. You’re talking – to him? He’s not sure, he only barely can make out your voice …

“Loki? The harness is coming up. Can you let go?”

He’s still clinging to the handles. Can he let go? He’s not sure. His body feels like lead. He pries his fingers from the metal tube and the pressure against his chest vanishes with a woosh over his head.

“There you go.” Your voice is soft, encouraging, closer than he remembered. He looks up to find you kneeling on the ground before him. You flash a nervous smile. “You alright?”

He’s not sure what to say. His instinct is to apologize, insist that yes, of course, he’s quite alright, he didn’t mean to give any impression to the contrary, everything is fine, but the words catch in his throat.

stars melting together smothering his last breath

Loki lets out a shuddering breath, settles for a nod.

“What’s the hold-up?” Stark calls out. “Barton and Romanov are waiting with the kids on the other side of the park.”

“We’re just taking a break for a minute!” Your reply is hurried. “You guys can go on, we’ll meet you there.”

“Is something wrong?” Thor sounds concerned, and—oh great—now both him and Stark are walking over to their cart. “Loki? What happened?”

“I—” But words, so often his steadfast ally, seem to be failing him right now. What happened? He has no answer; at least, none that his brother would accept. For nothing had happened, not really, and yet that was enough to send him spiraling through the fabric of reality.

He hates this. He hates feeling so weak.

Stark is chuckling. “If I knew that this was all it took to shut him up, I would have rented this place out sooner—”

Enough.

Loki forces himself to stand – far too quickly, his stomach churns at the movement, but he swallows the bile in his throat. He needs to get away. It doesn’t matter how, but he needs to not be with them. Besides him, you scramble to your feet too.

“I’m well.” His voice doesn’t sound right—it feels foreign, and thick like syrup, nothing like his own. “You may go on without me.”

“Are you certain?” Thor is frowning. “We can wait—”

Please don’t.

“I’m certain. I just need to sit for a moment.”

“There’s a bench nearby!” You’ve taken on the same cheery inflection typical of your working voice, and it adds a sense of normalcy to a distinctly abnormal situation. He’s grateful for it. “I can show you where!”

Both Stark and his brother seem reluctant to leave, but you insist that it’s fine. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

He feels slightly steadier as he follows you to the bench—it’s just a wooden thing on the side of the concrete path, across from what appears to be a diner of some sort. You mumble something about going to get water. It’s a relief when you turn away, so you don’t see how he collapses against the seat.

There’s ground beneath his feet. Loki closes his eyes, focuses on that. There’s ground beneath my feet. The asphalt is firm, hot with the summer sun, anchoring him to reality. He lets out a breath. It feels safe.

Unless, of course, it crumbles beneath your step and flings you back into the abyss –

“Hey.” He jerks up at the sound of your voice, and the suddenness causes you to jump as well. You shift apologetically, standing in front of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Loki swallows. How did he not hear you come up? “You didn’t.” Although it must be obvious that you did. At least you’re kind enough to allow him the lie.

You offer him a plastic cup. It’s a flimsy thing, but quite cold, relieving against his feverish skin. He takes it with a mumbled thanks, pretending he doesn’t notice how you’re studying him with a quiet sort of concern.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask after a moment.

Loki bites down on the inside of his cheek, relishing the way it stings. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just – I mean – ” you glance down, tugging at your shirt sleeve. “I get panic attacks too.”

“I don’t—” But he stops himself, stops the urge to argue. Gives a gentle nod instead. “I’m well, thank you. I just … I need a moment to catch my breath.”

“I’m sorry …” You look away guiltily. “Death Drop is kind of a lot – we shouldn’t have done that first.”

“It’s not that. I –” He wants to explain to you. He wants you to know that he’s not usually like this—he never used to be like this, he’s strong and steady and perfectly capable of anything you could ask of him, but his voice is failing once again. Loki huffs a sigh. “You ought to go on with the others. I don’t wish to ruin your day.”

“Oh, you haven’t ruined anything. I’ve been on every ride in this park about a million times. It’s fine!” Your voice is bubbly and light as you sit down next to him on the bench. There’s something oddly comforting about the sound. “Besides, it’s bad etiquette to leave a friend by themselves at an amusement park. Buddy system and all that.”

A friend. He can only stare at you.

You falter. “Unless … unless you’d rather I left?”

“No—” Loki surprises himself with how quickly he answers. “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Several minutes pass in silence, the frantic beating of his heart slowly tapering off into something softer as he drinks in your presence. He’s grateful for it, grateful for how you let him soak in the quiet. Thor would never have allowed him such a moment’s peace.

 He’s considering asking if you’re sure you don’t want to go on any other coasters (he feels guilty for keeping you here—perhaps he can accompany you through the queue and wait on the ground?) when you suddenly sit up stock-straight. “Oh!”

Loki frowns. “Is something wrong?”

You turn to him with a wide grin. “I just remembered they have Dole Whip here!”

“They—what kind of whip?” What sort of ride would a whip be, he wonders? A human sized slingshot, perhaps? His stomach lurches at the thought.

Luckily though, he’s proved wrong. “Dole Whip!” you giggle. “It’s like ice cream, but fruit flavored. Like there’s pineapple and strawberry and whatnot—it’s like soft serve.” You look at him with a kind of hopeful excitement. “Do you want to try some?”

Loki hums. He has yet to try soft serve ice cream, but he knows his brother practically swears by the stuff. “Is it good?”

“Supposedly. I’ve actually never tried it— we never wanted to spend money on park food when we would come as kids. It’s stupid expensive.” You smirk. “But today’s all on Mr. Stark’s dime, so…”

He chuckles. “And you would take advantage of your employer in such a fashion? I didn’t realize I had such a Machiavellian on my hands.”

“Hey, I’m just taking advantage of the opportunities presented to me!” You stand with a grin, holding your hands up in a mock surrender pose. “You can’t blame me for that, can you?”

“Oh, I’d never,” he teases as he stands, and he’s relieved to find that his legs have regained their steadiness. “I’d be honored to experience this Dole Whip with you on Stark’s expense.”

“Fantastic,” you beam. “It’s not too far from here. And it’s right next to a bunch of these little shops—they have this ridiculous giant sea monster toy that costs like $300, I can show you—”

You continue on as the both of you walk down the path, telling him all about the park’s various hidden gems and the inside jokes you and your friends have concocted around them, and Loki finds himself laughing more than not—he can’t help it, your giggles are just too infectious.

Huh. Perhaps joining you today wasn’t a mistake after all.

[pochisometimesdraws]

This is a Tumblr hug, pass it on to your ten favorite followers and mutuals! 💞💝💖💘💗

Thank you so much,, 🥺👉����💕💓

There my love for u ✋💖💗💞💓💕💝💖💗

[gaitwae]

Headcanon for a kiss under mistletoe

Yes!!!!

Loki is the type to trick you into going under the mistletoe instead of just letting it happen.

Or he'd carry it behind his back to ask for a kiss.

"Come on, darling, it is a Crystas tradition!"

"Oh, whatever, I'll say it the way I want. Now, kiss me." He grinned.

He grows his own mistletoe.

If you refuse to kiss him, his face would fall.

But that would be okay, because then he would play it off like some kind of warning or lesson.

"Well, it serves you right. I brutally injured Baldur with mistletoe; don't ever fall for it, silly mortal."

He would kind of look down for the rest of Christmas.

If you decided to give in, he wouldn't even let you kiss him.

He would kiss you as quickly as possible.

It would be the sweetest kiss ever.

After Christmas (whether you refused him or not) he would try to kiss you for New Year's.

Tags under cut

Tag List: @make-me-imagine @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @naterson @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @itscomplicatedx @sophlubbwriting @darkacademicfrom2021 @lilyofthesword @xlehukax @electroma89 @joucebox @high-functioning-lokipath @lokislittlesigyn @funsized-mimi @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @kingix-the-confused-earthling @moonchildmp3 @mayday-romanogers @moumouton4 @marvelouslovely @thewindandthewolves @theaudacitytowrite @lostgreekgod @agentkinghorn @lokistoriesblog @cosplayingwitch @myriad501st @wolfsmom1 @lowkis 

[wrenhyperfixates]

I have a challenge for everyone (Who wants to do that) !!!!!

Draw a little doodle of Loki in any form and shape. It doesn't have to be a masterpiece- just a doodle

Ohhhhhh I love this challenge!!!

Sleepover Taglist: @theaudacitytowrite @whatafuckingdumbass @mythicalgarlicknot @lucywrites02 @cozy-the-overlord @high-functioning-lokipath @twhiddlestonsstuff @xlehukax @writing-from-the-shadows @leucoratia @thatonevideoilike @lokistan @silver-lupines @loki-wants-an-army @patches-of-mist @bimbo-bongo @lunarmoon8 @lokislittlesigyn @electroma89​ @funsized-mimi and anyone else who wants to!!

here’s my contribution:

Cat Loki!!!!

[electroma89]

Abuele!!! Look at this macaron I got!! It’s black sesame and cookies & cream 😋

It's so beautiful

I want 100 😍😍😍

[lokislittlesigyn]

Ok ok. For how I found your blog: you started interacting with @cozy-the-overlord and you followed me and you seemed really nice so here I am 😄

Cozy is the central hub of this tumblr friend group, it’s true. Angst binds us all.

But you’re another person saying I’m nice??? Goodness my dear, I’m so flattered! Thank you! 💙🥺

[lostgreekgod]

Hi. I’m here now :)

hihi lauren welcome to my blog. things you can expect: lots of loki, loki series discourse, extreme obsession with 2012 loki, sometimes antisylvie & antimobius, some anime (just atla rlly), tua, music, books, and a lot of desi ranting. happy blogging!

[lucywrites02]

Most memorable scene: in True Colors a) when Loki first goes to the reader and b) when the reader goes to Odin. Was literally just thinking about those scenes this morning 👀

(also try not to stress too much; you’re going to do great, sunshine!!! 🥺😘❤️)

Awww, thamk you so much 💖💖💖💖 no I'm not freaking out because you were thinking about my fic

I hope the exam goes well. If not then I will come to you and cry

The most memorable scene from any of my fanfics?

[cozy-the-overlord]

Through Panes of Glass

Summary: A mission in an alternate timeline brings Loki face to face with a relic from his past. Against better judgment, he finds himself seeking out one far more dear.

Word Count: 1,435

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: So after months of writer's block and worsening mental health struggles, I suddenly got really inspired yesterday to write something based on "I Look In People's Windows." It's a really quick little thing, and I'm not sure if it will appeal to anyone but myself, but it feels incredibly good to have written something. Also, while this is technically series flavored, it really has nothing to do with it-- I just really liked the concept of Loki being in an alternate timeline, and the details of how and why he ended up there weren't very important to me.

Thank you so much for reading!!

Warnings: Grief/loss

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

He found himself looking in windows.

A shameful act, he knew, but he tried to push through the abashment by telling himself that if the mortals cared about their privacy, they wouldn’t be living out their lives so readily in front of unobstructed glass. No, the houses on this street were all alight with life, the curtains drawn all the way back. It seemed as though it was meant to be.

He glanced through another and locked eyes with an elderly woman huddled in her chair beneath a cocoon of blankets, fixing him with a scowl as deep as the lines on her face. Loki whipped his gaze back to the pavement, cheeks burning as he hurried along.

He was wasting time. They had come to this timeline with a purpose, and that purpose was certainly not leering through windows with the hope of catching sight of a ghost. He was late to the rendezvous point as it was – it was only a matter of time before they sent someone looking for him. Loki knew this. And yet he kept going.

This wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t met Fandral at that bar. It had startled him out of his laser focus – he understood the concept of variants, of course, but he hadn’t expected to find relics of his past here on Midgard, so far away from where they existed in his mind. But there he was: cozying up on the counter, his arms around a woman’s shoulders, that same Fandral smirk tickling his lips beneath his mustache as he whispered something against her skin that made her giggle. It was all so familiar.

Loki’s mind had gone blank. He forgot all sense of protocol, nearly calling out Fandral’s name out of some stunned instinct, but thankfully his partner had held him back with a sharp whisper.

“Different timeline, remember?”

And it was. This Fandral was not the one Loki knew from childhood – this was a mortal man, who spent his days tucked away in some florescent cubicled labyrinth and his nights skulking through the city in a fruitless search for stimulation, before dragging his weary bones back to his overpriced studio apartment to start the whole thing anew in the morning. Seeing him here meant nothing.

Except, if Fandral’s variant was in this city, could that mean …?

He didn’t let himself finish the thought. It was silly, he told himself, even as he continued flittering down the sidewalk like a moth in search of light. Absolutely ridiculous. One Asgardian-turned Midgardian variant didn’t guarantee that there would be another. And even if it did, even in the off chance that he did find her, what would he do once he had? She wouldn’t know him – it wouldn’t even be her, just some person with her face and name, none of her memories, none of her soul. What could he do but stare at her like some sort of lunatic?

But you’d see her, whispered a small voice in the back of his mind, you’d get to see her again.

Loki swallowed. The last time he saw her – it had been before the Bifrost. How many lifetimes had he lived since then? So much of his memory from that time had turned gray and hazy, but she still glowed when he pictured her, swathed in the gentlest blue, her chestnut curls soft beneath his chin as she pressed her cheek to his collarbone. She smelled of the forest, fresh and free and forever unfettered, but she bound herself to him with her embrace. He took her hand in his and cherished the way her ring pressed against his palm, warm with the heat of her body.  

Was it a memory, or perhaps only a dream? He huffed – a dream would hurt less. She had died after his fall. Some sort of illness – they all told him it was unrelated, but Loki knew in his heart that he had killed her. He had sworn to live out the rest of his life at her side, but instead he abandoned her to the wolves of his demons, left her to face the fallout alone.

No wonder the void hadn’t the mercy to kill him.

There was another house coming up, another window – a busy one, if the cars jammed into the driveway were anything to go by. Sure enough, he found a party behind the glass, and a fancy one at that, the air abuzz with wine glasses clinking and the elegant swish of long evening dresses. He could feel the warm hum of their laughter, trickling out even into this starless night. Loki gazed at each face that passed before him, praying for some hint of familiarity, but they were all strangers to him.

And that’s what she would be to him, he realized. Nothing but a stranger. Perhaps she had been so changed by this timeline that he wouldn’t know her face even if he were to come across it.

Loki sighed. The signpost designating the end of the street grew nearer and nearer. He had wasted nearly an hour now on this little side mission, and all he had to show for it was a newly potent ache in his chest. He needed to get to the rendezvous point. Enough shadow-chasing.

It was the house on the corner. He told himself it was the last one, he’d give himself this one last attempt and then he’d move on. He didn’t expect to see her.

But then he saw her.

Loki froze – truly froze. He couldn’t have run even if all the realms were chasing after him.

It was her.

Hunched over a sink, scrubbing at a skillet with a yellow sponge, dark curls tied up behind a blue bandanna, glaring down at her work with the same steadfast ferocity he remembered so vividly from sparring pits of his youth — it was her!

He breathed her name, whispered it like a prayer as he took the smallest step forward. The tip of his boot grazed her front lawn, but he barely noticed. She … she was beautiful. His eyes burned, then misted over, a garbled cry falling from his lips. She was there. She was moving, she was breathing, she was right there just behind the glass—

And then she looked up, and their eyes met.

His breath caught in his throat. He should have hurried away, should have left before she had the chance to catch a glimpse of him, but he felt rooted to the pavement, held captive by the power of her stare. Oh those eyes — how many nights had he dreamed of swimming in the amber pools of her eyes once more? He remembered her laying against him at night, the way he’d cup her head to kiss over each eyelid as she pulled him in closer and let out the sweetest sigh ever heard. For one beautiful moment, he looked into her eyes, and it was like coming home.

But then the moment passed. There was no recognition in her gaze, no warm smile or sweet relief. No, her brow only furrowed in confusion, head cocked as she studied this stranger gawking at her through her window, and the spell was broken. She might as well have doused him in ice water.

Because wish as he might, it wasn’t really her.

Loki stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet. What was he doing here? What must this woman think of him? How could he explain that he was leering at her through the glass because she looked like someone he once loved? What was it to her? His wife was dead. What did it matter that he had found her doppelgänger?

He whipped back towards the street. The rendezvous point. That’s where his focus should be, not on some dark Midgardian street chasing after nonexistent ghosts. Imbecile. He forced himself forward, forced his eyes on the pavement before him and not at the light he was leaving behind, biting through his cheek until he tasted blood.

…

She stood at the window a bit longer, frowning at the man’s silhouette as he disappeared around the corner of the street. Really, she should have been more unnerved – someone watching her from the window, that sounded like something out of a stalker story, didn’t it? – but there was something about him, the stunned disbelief in his eyes, the way he went running off like a frightened rabbit …

“Sigyn?” Her boyfriend stuck his head through the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “There was some guy staring at me.”

[gaitwae]

did you like the episode tho? How do you feel about Mobius at the moment?

I really liked it! I did find some parts a little irritating, like Loki’s insistence that he’s the better Loki or he thinks exactly like the other Loki, but I understood where he was coming from. He wanted recognition and to retain his own identity. (Considering he's still struggling with being adopted, tortured, kidnapped, and told he has no free will within a span of a year.)

As for Mobius, he’s easy to relate to when you remember his point of view. He isn’t going to coddle Loki, like some people think he should. He’s trying to protect his civilization and his job and what he believes to be the truth (we don’t know if it is, yet). His belief in the Time Keepers is likened to that of a religion, subtly.

Stepping into his shoes for a moment, you see a man who’s angry, frustrated, and scared. Quite the same with Loki. He's Loki’s compliment; he exists to be like Loki, but with a different arrangement of values.

I don’t believe Mobius is THE antagonist... Just probably on the wrong team.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Sleepover Event: Poorly describe the plot of a marvel movie and I’ll try to guess which one it is:

Man is arrested for crimes his whole family's been committing for centuries

The Dark World

[wrenhyperfixates]

Sleepover Taglist: @theaudacitytowrite @whatafuckingdumbass @mythicalgarlicknot @lucywrites02 @cozy-the-overlord @high-functioning-lokipath @twhiddlestonsstuff @xlehukax @writing-from-the-shadows @leucoratia @thatonevideoilike @lokistan @silver-lupines @loki-wants-an-army @patches-of-mist @bimbo-bongo @lunarmoon8 @lokislittlesigyn @electroma89​ @funsized-mimi

One of each to represent the love between two people.

[electroma89]

Hello abuele 🥰

♧ (if you’re still doing it :)

Mijaaaaa! 🥰🥰🥰 sorry for answering this so late sjdbdkdbd

You’re my: my mija! You were the first one to call me "abuele", that's why you have that title ❤️

How I met you: through your wonderful stories 🥰

Why I follow you: although I knew of you before, I had the courage to follow and interact after Lucy's sleepover

Your blog is: one of the fluffiest places on this site 😍

Your URL is: unforgettable! Is like tour brand!

Your icon is: one of the most prettiest men ever 🤩

A random fact I know about you: you recently started wearing makeup and I bet you look adorable!

General opinion: you're one of the loveliest people on this site 🥰 super sweet and super friendly

A random thought I have: I'd love to have printed versions of your frogs ✨

Thanks for sending this ask 🥰

[lokislittlesigyn]

For the fic titles: Not This Time

Angst? in my sigyn fanfiction?

only a little… as a treat

TW for short, quick Infinity War mentions. Idk if anyone else has an issue with this sort of thing. I see this as a way to, at least partly, Fix that horrible movie.

Not This Time

Loki has been captured by the TVA, stripped of his dignity and, through the time theater, witnessed his desperate end. But not just his own end - the end of his lover, a beautiful Asgardian he would take as his secret bride during his reign as king. A future he did not yet know.

What he did know, is after their sweet reunion upon the Statesman, which Loki has just watched with tear-filled eyes, in awe of someone with no familial tie, no conditions, no selfish ambition, loving him for his sake - they were quickly ripped from each other’s arms and slain at the whim of a monster.

The TVA tells Loki this is how it has always been. How it always will be. Endlessly, time and time again, the flow of life unchanged and indifferent.

But Loki saw the look you gave him on the Statesman. He saw himself, utterly happy with you. And he’s not about to let you go. He sets off to steal a TemPad and find you - save you.

Timeline be damned.

[lesbian-deadpool]

At Worlds End

Avengers

Part Ten: Avengers... Disassemble...

Words: 583

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You finally got your Hotpocket.

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not my pics)

---

Two days after the battle had commenced, ending in your victory, the team was gathered once more.

This time to see the two Asgardians off.

Partly to wish Thor a goodbye. And partly to make sure Loki didn't try anything else.

Meeting in Central Park, surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents at the ready.

"Ah, my friend." Thor smiled coming your way, arms out by his sides, while Bruce placed the Tesseract into its protective tube behind him.

"Sad to see you leave again, Thor," you replied, after giving him a hug goodbye.

"We will see each other again, I'm sure of it."

"Something tells me you're right." Folding your arms across your chest, you asked, "You seen Jane in our off time?"

The God sighed, almost ashamed of himself, bowing his head, "I had to watch over Loki. Maybe next time."

"Thor," you chastised him softly, knowing that his intentions were pure. But could also read the fear of seeing the woman again, after so long, clear as day upon him, "You know if you drag this out, it will only be harder for you to deal with."

He nodded solemnly.

"But alas, I will see her the next time I'm here. However, right now, I must return Loki to my realm."

"Good luck.."

"And to you, my friend. In all your endeavours."

Thor stepped back, taking the tube from Eric with a nod, and moved to the circle grate upon the ground. Offering Loki the free handle to grab.

When the man who thought himself a king now muzzled and a prisoner glanced around at the gathered heroes, you waved to him sarcastically once he got to you. Tony chuckled at your side, joining your actions.

When the brothers each held an end to the contraption, blue light surrounded them once it was clicked into place. Making you take a step away from the energy field, watching as it masked their forms and shot them into the sky in blue particles of dust.

"Right. Bye, guys. I'm gonna go back to sleep,

" was your goodbye to the team, as they all moved to share their own farewells.

"'Do you ever not think about sleep?" Steve asked you.

"Do you blame me?"

Natasha walked past you as you headed for your motorcycle, her and Clint towards the S.H.I.E.L.D. car. The red-head threw you a slight wind, a smile that you were unable to hide pulling across your face.

Every time you thought the woman couldn't stir more feelings inside of you, she proved you wrong. Yet again.

You said you were going to sleep.

Instead, you chose to follow Tony back to the tower after dropping the scientist off at one of his private jets taking him wherever he wanted to go.

If Pepper asked, no, you did not race back.

You totally did.

The tower was just as trashed the last time you were there two days prior.

This time with a multitude of building materials around the room you ambushed Loki in.

"I want the biggest room!" you called, walking up to the workbench Pepper and Tony stood at, munching on a steaming Hotpocket.

"Hey." Tony pointed at the food in your hand. "Those are mine, from our bet."

Around a mouthful of the scolding snack, you said, "And they're delicious."

"You're getting the smallest room."

"This is the last one," you egged him on, pointing down to your plate.

The man's eyes squinted at you.

"You're getting a storage closet."

---

At Worlds End Taglist:

@nicomcu, @underoostarks, @soft-emo-witch, @infrunamix, @tashakink, @thewidowsghost, @whataloadof, @neverylee, @diaryoflife, @readings-stuff​​​, @arti-sts, @transbi-spidey, @romanoff-regiment, @iliketozoneout, @pawiie, @natsxxsimp​

Permanent Taglist:

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000, @mixed-fandom-mess, @wannabe-fic-reader, @vancityfire13, @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday, @007giu, @fayhar, @xxromanoffxx, @poptartpoppyy, @wlwfanfictionss, @diaryoflife, @pointconji, @readings-stuff, @tokyo-liv, @imadethisblogbecauseiamasimp, @natashaownsmyheart, @marrymemcgrath, @scorpiosloveletter, @idkevenfuckenknow, @wandanatfan, @izalesbean, @iblameitonclint, @bizarrealex, @lorsstar1st, @bak3rio, @heybitches-amirightbitches​, @lokisjuicyass, @marie-yt-blog, @mrswandaromanoff, @red1culous​

SFW Taglist:

@peggycarter-steverogers, @natalia-quinzel, @stupendoussportspaperempath,

[cozy-the-overlord]

The Little Thrall Girl

Summary: A young Viking thrall sent out after dark to collect firewood finds herself hopelessly lost in the freezing cold woods. Desperate to warm herself, she turns to magic, but luckily for her, her inexperience ends up catching the attention of a benevolent god ...

Word Count: 4,874

Pairing: None

A/N: So I wanted to write something for Christmas this year, but I couldn't come up with a Christmas-y prompt that interested me enough to work on, so instead I decided to do a retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Match Girl," which is something I've wanted to do for a couple of years now and is Christmas adjacent. Big thank you again to @lokislittlesigyn for doing all that pesky research for me and acting as beta reader <3 For reference, I pictured Drifa as around ten years old.

Also I wanted to shout out @maiden-of-asgard's A Thief In The Night, which I think I may have been subconsciously inspired by. Hers is a much different story than this (it stars a much older protagonist and is nsfw) but the opening concept is pretty similar and I realized about halfway through writing mine that that was probably where I got the idea lol. Also all of her work is absolutely fantastic in general, so I wanted to mention it <3

Thank you so much for reading, and happy holidays!!

Warnings: Slavery/references to child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Drifa is freezing.

It’s her own fault, because she—stupid, idiot girl!—forgot to fetch firewood before supper as she had been bidden, and now darkness had fallen and her mistress had discovered her mistake. The woman had beaten her bloody and dragged her by the hair into the cold, instructing her master’s guards not to allow her back in until she had collected enough to last the night. Drifa had cried and begged, but it was useless.

She stumbles through the snow, groping blindly in the dark for the feel of tree-bark against her fingertips. There’s a panic building in her throat, icy and sharp. She should have reached the woodpile by now. In the daylight, Drifa has never had the slightest issue navigating the woods around her home, but now, with the moon cloaked in a thick shroud of storm-clouds, she can barely make out the shape of her own hand. She turns to go back, but the flickering light of the longhouse has long disappeared into the black of the night. So dark is it that she can’t even find her old footprints in the snow to follow back home.

She’s lost. She swallows, trying to peer through the labyrinth of shadows for a sign of something, anything familiar. There’s nothing but blackness. Drifa thinks of the tales the old serving-women like to tell, about the bloodthirsty beasts with curling horns and daggers for claws that roam the woods after nightfall, hunting for some luckless little girl to drag back to their lair and slake their hunger on. You must never walk the woods after dark. She wants to cry. I didn’t want to walk them! I didn’t want to! I just want to go home!

A branch snaps in front of her and she shrieks, frozen in place for what seems like an eternity as she waits for something to emerge from the darkness. What does she do if it does? Could she run in the snow? Scream for help? Would anyone hear her? Would anyone care?

But the seconds tick by, with no other sound except the blood pumping in her ears. After a moment, Drifa takes a shaky breath (the cold feels like shards of glass in her throat) and continues trekking on.

Deep in the woods now, she shivers, so violently it makes her bones ache. Originally, she had taken a cloak with her – although really, it was more of a ratty cotton sheet than a cloak, something she tended to use as covering when she slept – but it had gotten caught up in the branches of a tree not long after she started out, and in trying to tug it free she had lost it in the snow. Now, she’s in only her smock, soaked through from falling against the ice.

Without anything to cover it, the metal collar around her neck has grown ice-cold, burning her skin everywhere it touches. She wishes she could take it off, but the collar designates her state as a thrall, and removing it would earn her an even worse beating than the last. Her forehead stings too, more piercingly than it ought to. She thinks she must have cut it when her mistress threw her out, although now, she can’t really remember. Everything seems hazy.

Warm. She must get warm. The need drowns out all other thoughts. If only she could make a fire. If there was wood, she might – one of her many roles is tending to the fire, and she’s usually very good at it. Usually. Drifa bites away the tears, the skin of her lips so cold it feels like glass against her teeth. She could do it, if she only had some wood, but she can’t find any – the ground is covered with snow, and the trees towering over her hold their branches above her head, far too high to reach. It’s as if they’re mocking her.

She cries out when her fingers brush against something brittle. It’s a rock, a large one, jutting out of the snow like a miniature wall. Drifa leans against it, her breath coming in fast little puffs of mist. She knows she shouldn’t stop – out in the cold, winter is liable to put you into a sleep from which you’ll never wake – but everything hurts, and her eyelids are so heavy. It’s only a moment before her legs give out entirely and she collapses on the ground against the rock. Her lower half has gone completely numb, and she wonders if she’s turning to ice.

Fire. I need fire.

Maybe … maybe she could magick one? Her master has talked about seidr before, how witchy women can spark up a flame with only a flick of their wrist and a click of their tongue. Drifa often listens to his conversations with his men while she kneels before the fire. He doesn’t seem to like seidr much – “cowardly and villainous,” he called it, something no woman deserving of respect would ever touch. He wouldn’t be happy if he knew one of his slave girls was considering it, but Drifa is so cold she can’t bring herself to care.

A flick of the wrist and a click of the tongue. Her mouth is so dry that the sound only barely comes out. The forest remains as cold and dark as ever. Maybe it needs a spell? Drifa doesn’t know any spells. She can’t feel her hands anymore. Her eyes are burning. She tries it again, whispering words that sound right. Fire, burn, alight, warm, please, please, please please please please—

“Oh dear, that’s not the right incantation at all.”

Drifa snaps up her gaze and shrieks – or she would have, had the sound not frozen in her throat. A shadow stands across from her, the slender form of a man looming amongst the trees, crimson eyes glittering through the darkness. Her heart jumps to her throat. It’s the monster from the stories. She tries to move, tries to push herself away, but her legs are leaden and heavy and won’t work properly, and so she can only sit paralyzed in terror as he approaches her, the snow crunching beneath his step.

He’s going to eat me … he’s going to bite my head off and carry me back to his lair and feast on my bones … she lets out a soft cry, squeezing her eyes closed as hot tears finally break free, running down her cheeks and freezing against her skin. Oh, why didn’t I remember the firewood earlier?

When the creature speaks again, Drifa can’t make out the words over the sound of her own whimpers. What she does make out is the familiar crackling that follows, a warm, pleasant sound that washes over her … no, it’s a warmth in more than just sound. She looks up, fear giving way to confusion.

The forest is awash with light. It almost hurts her eyes, so accustomed to the dark has she become. As for where it’s coming from – I must be dreaming. A man stands over her, a roaring fire burning in his outstretched hand. She blinks, but the sight does not change. His hand is on fire. It doesn’t seem to be harming him though – the man appears as relaxed as can be, his burning flesh untouched and unaffected, as if the fire wasn’t even there at all.

He’s a normal looking man too, aside from the flames dancing in his palm – no horns or talons or any of the particular beastlike qualities she had been bracing for. No, just a normal man, with his dark hair slicked back and a cloak of black feathers draped over his shoulders. Even his eyes are a green-tinted blue, not the red she could have sworn she saw in the darkness. They sparkle as he smiles down at her.

“Seidr can be quite the tricky little beast,” he says. “You ought to be more careful in your attempts with it. You never know what you might summon.” Drifa gapes as he kneels before her, holding the fire as though he expects her to take it from him. Instinct keeps her hands frozen in her lap, even as the heat beckons her with its soothing warmth. He can’t mean that, can he? Fire … fire hurts. She’s singed her fingers trying to start one enough times to know. You can’t just pick it up in your hand … and yet that’s exactly what he’s doing.

The man seems to sense her turmoil. Chuckling softly, he holds it closer to her, and Drifa nearly starts crying again from how good the heat feels. “Go on, little one. It’s quite safe.”

Biting her lip, she reaches out towards the flame, ready to flinch back the moment it hurts. But the pain never comes. Instead, it’s a warm, tingling sort of spark that travels up her arm, chasing away the cold as it settles in her chest. Drifa gasps as the feeling returns to her fingers, any sense of caution melting away as she reaches for the fire with her other hand. So warm …

She’s almost forgotten that the man is still there when he clasps her arm. She flinches – it doesn’t hurt, but his hand is large enough to wrap entirely around her wrist and then some, and her fear comes flooding back.

But he doesn’t yank her arm out of its socket. Instead, his voice is as soft as his touch.

“You’ll want to cup it,” he says, guiding her hands together to hold the flames as one would a cupful of water. “Like so. That way you’ll have the most control over the spell.”

Drifa pulls her gaze away from the flames to look back up at him, and he smiles at her again. He appears to be wearing leather beneath his cloak, but his leathers look different than any she’s ever seen. Intricate pieces of black and green interlock over his chest, with just the slightest glimpse of glittering gold. Gold on his leathers. This man must be wealthy – far wealthier than her master, at the very least.

If he’s really a man at all.

She inhales a trembling breath. “Are … are you a monster?”

The man throws his head back and lets out a merry laugh. “Oh my,” he chuckles. “I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

Her eyes widen – what does that mean?—and he must notice, because he chuckles again and shakes his head. “No, I’m no monster. Not in the way you fear. My name is Loki.” He reaches towards her and she tenses, but he only tips her chin up with a single tender finger, eyes intent on her neck. It takes a moment to realize he’s looking at her collar. “And who might you be, little thrall?”

Her voice catches in her throat. Should she tell him? Her instinct is to obey –  if he is as wealthy as he seems, her master would be furious if she showed him any disrespect. Although Drifa somehow doubts her master would have much respect for a man who practices seidr. Goodness, she hadn’t known that men could practice seidr at all … that’s not natural, is it?

But Loki is smiling like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s alright, lovely. I promise I don’t bite.”

The thought makes her glance at his teeth. They seem quite normal sized, at least. She looks back to the fire, then closes her eyes, her voice coming out in a shaky exhale. “Drifa …”

He hums, pleased. “It’s good to meet you, Drifa.”  His finger drifts from her chin to her cheek, slowly stroking up the side of her face. She shudders, but it’s a pleasant feeling – there’s a warmth to his touch that feels nice against her cold-numbed skin. “You’re a small little thing, to be out so far on your own.”

She hiccups. “I had to get firewood …”

“Firewood?” He’s frowning – Drifa can hear it in his voice. The pinpricks of panic that the heat had melted away spring back in full force. Did she say something wrong? Is he angry? She opens her eyes. His gaze is dark – oh goodness, he is angry – but before she can determine what she’s done that’s earned his ire, he presses his fingertips to the bruised cut on her temple, and Drifa gasps as the stinging turns to tingling, then melts away entirely. She looks up at him in shock.

But Loki says nothing. He pulls away, eyeing her collar once more.

“Has your master sent you out on such a mission so late at night,” he asks at last. “With neither hatchet nor torch?”

Drifa stiffens. “I was supposed to get it earlier …” Her voice is hoarse. Even with the fire in her hands, she feels quite cold. “I forgot …” Goodness, how long has she been gone? Her mistress had told her to hurry – that feels like hours ago. Her vision blurs. Norns, she’s going to be in for the beating of a lifetime—

“Oh lovely girl.” There’s something soft about Loki’s voice as he shifts to sit on the ground beside her, something calming. Gentle. Drifa’s not used to gentleness. It makes her cry harder.

She hardly notices when he shucks off his cloak, only when he’s wrapping it around her shoulders like a blanket. “It’s all right, darling,” he soothes. “No need for tears. There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

Drifa inhales shakily. The cloak is warmer than any blanket she’s ever known, the feathers soft against her cheeks. She wishes she could burrow into it and never come out. “But I’m lost …”

“Well, that cannot be, as it seems I have found you.” Loki gives an easy grin. “One can hardly be lost and found at the same time, now, can they?”

She turns back towards him (how he’s not shivering without his cloak, she has no idea). She supposes he’s right – she’d certainly feels better here with him, with his cloak and his fire and his magic, than she had alone. At least it’s not as dark anymore …  

A rustling in the bushes to her right slices through her thoughts, and Drifa shrieks, slamming her hands into the ground in a frantic attempt to push herself away. The fire hisses when it hits the snow, dousing the clearing in blackness once more. It’s coming. It’s finally coming. The monster finally found us—

She cries out again when a hand grasps her left shoulder, but it’s only Loki, calm as can be as he hushes her softly. He mutters the words from earlier and another fire ignites in his free hand. The bush is still moving – something’s trying to crawl out. Drifa whimpers, but Loki rubs her shoulder soothingly.

“It’s all right, dear,” he whispers with an eager smile, holding the light higher so that she can see better. “Look!”

Drifa can’t believe her eyes.

It’s a goose, feathers as white as the snow across which she’s waddling as she wriggles free from the shrubbery. She pauses, tilting her head as she considers them, then with a little honk! that makes Drifa jump, the bush rustles again and six grey, fluffy goslings come scampering out behind her.

Drifa gapes. How is this possible? It’s far too cold for any goose to be here, let alone babies. This can’t be real. And yet here they are, waddling past her like nothing’s wrong. The goslings scurry to follow their mother, letting out squeaky little chirps as they run past her. One stops at Drifa’s boot and pecks the leather with its beak. She giggles – it’s such a tiny thing, she can barely feel its beak on her foot – and it chirps again, stumbling back into the snow. Across the clearing, the mother goose lets out another honk, and the gosling dashes off to join its siblings as they slip away into the dark.

Next to her, Loki is smiling. “See? No cause for alarm.” There’s a playful sparkle in his eyes, as well as the dancing reflection of the flames, and she finds herself wondering if the unnatural winter geese were magic in the same way as his fire. But before she has the chance to ask, her stomach lets out a mighty growl.

Loki’s gaze flickers down to her torso. “When have you last eaten, little one?”

Drifa bites her lip and looks down, crossing her arms over her stomach. When had she last eaten? It was long before she set out for firewood – the mistress had pulled her away before she had a chance to eat her table scraps. Someone else has probably eaten them by now …

Her stomach rumbles again. She’s very hungry, she realizes. She was so cold for so long she must not have noticed it. It feels wrong to complain though … Drifa’s not sure what to say. “I …”

Loki lets out a huff. “On second thought, I believe I can glean the answer myself.” There’s the sound of something being stabbed into the snow – Drifa looks up to see that the fire is now a torch, firmly planting in the ground in front of them. Loki does a strange flick of his wrist, and before she can blink he’s holding out an apple to her.

She hesitates, gaze shifting from the apple to his face. Is he angry? He definitely sounded displeased, and he’s not smiling anymore. Did the sound of her hunger irritate him? Besides, fresh apples are a rarity in the winter – certainly not to be wasted on the likes of her. Is it a trick?

But he only holds it out closer. “It’s all right. You can take it.”

It feels wrong, but with his encouragement the demands of her stomach are louder than her sense of decorum, and so Drifa takes the apple in trembling hands. Her first bite is a small one, just enough to pierce the skin and taste the sweet juice on her tongue, and it’s nearly enough to send her into tears yet again. Oh, it’s heavenly – luscious and ripe and perfect, the most delicious fruit she’s ever brought to her lips. She chomps down hard for another bite and the juice dribbles down her chin but she can’t bring herself to care. The flesh is somehow crisp and soft at the same time, and she tilts her head back as it melts in her mouth, euphoric.

Loki smiles. “That’s a good girl.”

The apple does not last long—Drifa practically inhales it, slurping the juice off her fingers like an animal. Maybe under different circumstances she’d be embarrassed, but right now it feels right. Beside her, Loki hums in amusement. She glances back up at him. Now that she’s seeing him without his cloak on, his clothes look even stranger. There is gold on his leathers, a swooping curve across his chest, as well as matching shoulder plates and bracers. It doesn’t look like regular armor though – certainly nothing like the bulky breastplates she’s seen her master’s men wearing.

“Why are you dressed so funny?”

She freezes almost as soon as the words leave her lips – such an insolent question, what was she thinking?! But Loki’s smirk only widens, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Not such a timid little mouse now, are we?” He shakes his head, grinning as he sits back against the rock. “I’m dressed in the fashion of my people, lovely. My clothes would be considered very normal where I’m from.” His gaze drops down to her collar. “Yours, on the other hand, would be seen as quite unusual.”

“Oh …” Drifa pauses. She’s never seen anyone dress like him before. Although she supposes she hasn’t seen many outsiders beyond visitors from settlements near to her master’s longhouse. “Is that far away?”

Loki nods. “Very far, I’m afraid. But it’s a far kinder land than this. Much more forgiving.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “Warmer, too.”

“Warmer?” she frowns. “But it’s winter.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But we have our seidr to weather the cold.” He nods his head towards the fire, still flickering brightly on its torch. After a moment, he grins softly. “Besides, you’ll find my home is … a bit more eternal than anything you’ll find here.”

Drifa is quiet for a moment. She imagines what that must be like, a sturdy house free of ice and snow, glowing with the constant warmth of magical fires. Maybe there were more cloaks like this one too, blankets that never let in the cold no matter how the temperature dropped. She allows herself a soft grin against the apple core.

No need for firewood.

It’s a nice thought. A scary one too, though – goodness, what would her master say if he knew she was fantasizing about living in a world of magicians? That she was sitting here with one now, enjoying his seidr fire and seidr apple? What was it he had said? Cowardly and villainous.

Drifa purses her lips. “My master doesn’t like seidr.”

“Your master is an imbecile.” Her eyes widen. He didn’t – he couldn’t!! She whips back to look at him, but Loki stares ahead, his features blank, as if he’s only made a statement about the weather.

“Besides,” he adds after a moment, turning to give her a wink. “I rather doubt you hold his opinion on the matter in very high regard. You were trying to work it yourself, when I came upon you.”

His voice is teasing, but Drifa feels as though she’s plunged into a frozen lake. “You … you won’t tell him, will you?” She inhales, throat tightening. “I wasn’t trying – I was just so cold, and—”

But Loki only laughs again and wraps an arm around her back, giving her shoulder a gentle pat. “Sweet thing. Your secret is safe with me.”

It’s a strange feeling, having his arm around her like that. Being held. It feels so safe, like a shield, protecting her from the darkness. She likes that. It’s nice to be protected. Warm too – that must be magic, how he manages to still feel so warm despite being out in the dead of winter in such thin clothing. Without thinking about what she’s doing, Drifa leans against his side, resting her head on his chest. Loki stiffens, but she hardly notices. His leather tunic is soft against her cheek. Warm and soft and safe. He relaxes again after a moment, his hand coming back to rub her upper arm in easy, gentle strokes. That feels nice too.

She’s nearly drifted off to sleep against his chest when he speaks again. “Do you have any family, Drifa? Brothers, sisters?”

Drifa shakes her head. As far as she knows, she’s alone in the world. “Do you?”

“I have a brother. A very loud one at that.” He chuckles. “You’d probably be frightened of him, skittish little mouse that you are. He’s well-meaning though.”

For some reason, the thought of Loki, with his soft voice and even softer step, having a loud brother makes Drifa giggle. “Can he do seidr too?”

“I’m afraid not – at least, not in the way that I do. He prefers a more conventional way of life.”

“Oh …” She wonders what conventional is, when you live in a magic land where everyone has seidr and it never gets cold.

The forest falls silent for a little while. She’s not sure for how long. Laying against his chest, she can hear his heartbeat, a faint, rhythmic lub-dup, and wrapped in the warmth of his cloak, it’s nearly enough to lull her to sleep. When Loki clears his throat, she can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours since he last spoke.

“Now, darling,” he says. There are snowflakes in his hair, she realizes – when did it start snowing again? “As lovely as this little picnic has been, I fear the temperature is dropping even further, and you can’t stay out here forever.”

All at once, the panic returns. “What do you mean? Are you leaving?” He can’t leave, he can’t leave her here, if he leaves he’ll take the magic and the fire and the cloak and everything and she’ll go back to being cold and lost—  

“Oh sweet girl, no need to fret,” he soothes, stroking her side. “I have no intention of leaving you here. I can take you back to your longhouse – it’s not too far.”

“Oh …” She … she should feel relief at that. Hadn’t she hoped he might rescue her from her peril? She should be overjoyed that he’s kind and willing enough to see her back home. Home. The word feels empty.

Loki is studying her, his eyes glittering in the faint light of the fire. “Unless you don’t wish to return?”

“I …” Drifa hesitates – why is she hesitating? Would she rather slowly freeze to death out here? No, of course not … But what will be waiting for her when she returns, hours late and without the very thing she was sent for? A shiver runs down her spine. She knows what will be waiting for her. But … what other choice does she have?

“I have nowhere else to go …” she whispers finally, looking down at her hands to hide the tears once again pooling in her eyes.

 Loki lets out a low hum. “Well, there is an alternative.” He tips her chin up so that she’s looking at him. His features are serious. “You could come with me, back to my home.”

She inhales, so sharply it hurts. “Really?”

He nods. “You’d be safe and cared for and want for nothing. No more of this—” his hand drifts from her chin to her collar, slipping his fingers between the metal and her skin. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “—mistreatment. This I can swear to you.” He pulls his hand away, looking at her somberly. “But if you come with me, you’ll not be able to return here again.”

She bites her lip. Is it bad that she wants it? He said he lives far away, but she has no idea where … she doesn’t even know if he’s even a man. Shouldn’t she return to what she knows? But she thinks of her mistress’ shrill voice and violent hands, the meager rations she receives, the hard floor upon which she sleeps … Drifa doesn’t like what she knows.

Her voice is hoarse, but strong. “I want to go with you.”

“Are you certain?” There’s a weight behind Loki’s gaze as he regards her. “This is not a decision to be taken lightly, little one.”

She nods. “I’m certain.”

Loki’s smile is as wide as it is warm. “Very well. Hold on to me, love.” He reaches forward, wrapping one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees before he scoops her up as though she weighed nothing more than a feather. Drifa gasps as he stands – he’s so tall, she’s never been this far off the ground before. She burrows into the feather cloak and clings to his shoulders, digging her fingernails into the leather as she hides against his chest. He chuckles.

“Just one thing more before we go..”

With deft fingers, he unlatches her collar, pulling it free from her neck with only one hand. Drifa’s eyes widen – she’s not allowed to do that! Except … she supposes she is, now. He drops the collar on the ground with a muffled thunk as it sinks into the snow. Drifa lets out a shuddering breath and reaches for her throat. Her skin feels raw and exposed, but free. She feels herself grin. When she looks up, Loki is grinning right back at her.

“You’ll want to hold tight,” he says. “Our method of travel is … rather unconventional, at least to you mortals.”

“Wha – Mortals?” Her head spins with sudden recognition. “You – you mean—”

Loki smirks. “I mean that we’re going to Asgard, darling.”

…

There were precious few awake at that hour to see the flash of color that lit up the sky, for it lasted only a moment. It wasn’t until morning, in the embers of the untended-to fire, that it was discovered that the girl sent out for firewood never returned. A meager search was attempted – the master was not one to take the loss of his property lightly. They found her cloak first, a torn, ratty little thing frozen stiff in the snow not too far from the longhouse, then her collar about an hour’s walk away from that. With the snowfall in the night, any tracks had been lost, but it seemed safe to assume that the child had been dragged off and devoured by some beast of the forest. The mistress was irritated. Why the little fool wandered into the woods, instead of sticking to the woodpile as she had been told, was beyond her.

None of them had any idea of the magic and glory with which she had been swept away to the Realm Eternal, or that she now lived amongst the gods as one of them.