modern AU – Jen Eowynir Fiction. http://frigidimmortals.com If they say that 350K+ words Frigid Immortals trilogy you wrote is "just" a Loki fanfic, tell them this: "You ridiculous "real" literature gatekeeping bureaucrats will not determine how my fave's story ends." Wed, 27 Oct 2021 20:14:15 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.5.5 https://i0.wp.com/frigidimmortals.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/cropped-tricky-minds-logo-4.jpg?fit=32%2C32 modern AU – Jen Eowynir Fiction. http://frigidimmortals.com 32 32 186822614 DEAD ALREADY CH 1 http://frigidimmortals.com/dead-already-ch-1-sweet-as-candy/ http://frigidimmortals.com/dead-already-ch-1-sweet-as-candy/#respond Thu, 04 Mar 2021 07:00:11 +0000 http://frigidimmortals.com/?p=918

SWEET AS CANDY (LIV)

DEAD ALREADY CHAPTER ONE

            Liv Foster moved away from her hometown of Houston, Texas five years ago.  She’d flown to New York City for a fifth (lord have mercy) job interview at Stark Advertising’s corporate headquarters, and a week later, she had, to her complete shock because it had to be too good to be true, received an offer for a position at one of their regional northeastern branches.  The pay was legit , with killer benefits beyond the basics, like an onsite gym and indoor pool, five hundred a month bonuses for carpooling or biking to work, memberships to the major museums, house cleaning services, yearly subscriptions to Netflix and Amazon Prime among other things.  Uh…. yes please.

            It’s the little things, right?  She’d accepted right on the spot.

            The move hadn’t been easy of course.  After all, she’d really enjoyed her life in southeast Texas, despite the stifling summers and periodic disastrous flooding.  Her two bedroom had been an absolute steal, and only three blocks from the village, close to Rice University where her older sister Jane was a professor in the physics department.  Every Monday and Thursday night when Jane stayed until nine to do grades, Liv would grab take out from their favorite eats and bike to her sister’s office for dinner together.  God, she loved her big sis, even though Jane was a total science nerd.  There had been other things tooーher dad’s post-season Astros tickets (cheating controversy aside), the 60 degree winters, Torchy’s Tacos, her hilarious best friend and tattoo artist Darcy who owned I Love Lewis Ink, hanging out with their other pals at the Present Company bar after work.  Oh, and her hairstylist Aimee.  Liv had not been looking forward to the inevitable disappointment of going through no less than five bad haircuts before finding the “right” stylist again.

            But the career opportunity had been too important to stay put, to become stagnant, to not face the reality of her first Saturn return.  Life was too short to cling to comfort rather than take risks and try new things, even if they scared the hell out of you.  So, in the spring of 2014, after promising to facetime every week with her parents and Jane and Darcy, she’d jumped into the deep end and moved to Nornstown, Connecticut to start a new life.  It was a decent sized (roughly 65,000) city west of Stamford and only about thirty miles from NYC’s city line, and other than the typical high cost of living in the northeast, Liv had zero complaints.

            Her 1940s two bedroom rental in the heart of the museum district was on the pricey side, but it was close to work, and all the best amenities of the city were within walking distance, so it was worth it.  It hadn’t taken long to establish a new social life either, which (let’s be honest) was the most important thing outside of making money, obviously.  Not having friends to hang out with would have driven her absolutely insane.  Thank god, her first week on the job, she’d met the nicest guyーSteve Rogers worked two floors up from her, and they’d been great friends ever since that first meeting.  Super good-looking, steady job, caring, strong, funny…total marriage material…for someone else.  He was just too good, as in, should wear a halo, for her to date.  She didn’t need a “bad boy” per se, but she had a weakness for guys who seemed like they could be a little villainous but were holding back.  Steve was incapable of being anything but a total sweetheart, and she loved him for it, but anything beyond friendship was off the table.  He had also been her connection to what would become a close-knit group of friends, and she would be forever grateful to him for it.

            One of the best things about her new life was finally experiencing all four seasons, and nothing could beat experiencing a full autumn, in her mind.  As much as she loved her hometown, there was no denying the lack of fall fun.  It was just too damn hot there, with temps still in the 80s halfway through October.  Not exactly sweater weather.  Also, the leaves rarely changed until late November, and by that point, people had tossed their pumpkins and put on holiday music.  She hated that.  December was just one big ball of stress as far as she was concerned.  Why would anyone want to extend the crazy an extra two weeks?

            Nornstown on the other hand, was a fall haven all through October, and it was incredible, especially for someone who had been denied that joy for three decades.  Colorful trees, leaves blowing in the chilly breezes, crisp air, scarves, jackets, hoodies, corn mazes and actual pumpkin patches within ten miles.  This place was all about spooks too.  The city might as well change their name to Sleepy Hollow.  One would think Jack Skellington himself was the mayor, for god’s sake.  Spider webs, skeletons, jack-o-lanterns and more adorned the streetlamps, stop signs, city hall, the parks, the schools…. you name it.  Amazing.

            Five years into her life in the southwestern corner of Connecticut, she was no less thrilled when she got to change the wall calendar in her kitchen on October 1st.  And, same as always, she would be no less depressed on November 1st, which was tomorrow …ick.  Maybe she was a bit sadder this year since it was the last Halloween of the decade, and it felt even more final somehow.  Eh, whatever. The next several hours were going to be fun as hell, and she would be crazy to miss out on it by moping.  So… here we go.

            Liv flicked on her porch light and stepped onto her front porch, locking her door behind her before setting a bowl of candy on her outdoor bistro table covered in spiders and webs.  Behind the table, her life-size animatronic Sam from 2007’s underrated comedic horror film Trick ‘r Treat swiveled his head slowly.  She hung a sign written in “dripping” blood red letters around his creepy burlap sack covered neck: Go ahead, take a handful…Hopefully you’ll live through the night.

            No, an empty threat made by a piece of wood wouldn’t stop kids from dumping the whole bowl in their bags, but it was definitely more fun than the lame take ONE piece only” post-its that people put out with their candy.  That, and it went with the sharply bitten lollipop in Sam’s hand.

            Head tilted, she scrutinized the set up, then readjusted her pumpkins sitting on the chairs next to the candy so they were more visible from the street.  Along with a few hundred purple mini lights strung underneath the webs across the porch and inside the landscaping, the whole thing looked fantastic.  Not too cluttered.  Not too minimal.  Definitely the creepiest and classiest house on the block.  Smiling, she nodded once, giving herself a mental pat on the back— especially for those pumpkins.  Honestly, they were flawless, and they’d been so fun to carve.

            Last weekend, she’d begged Steve and Sam (his best gym buddy and spotter who had just earned his black belt in Krav Maga and wouldn’t shut up about it) to come over and carve pumpkins.  They’d balked about it at first but had given in quickly when she’d promised to provide alcohol and pizza.  Sam had cut his to look like it was a face vomiting stringy seeds, declaring it a masterpiece while laughing at Steve’s ultra-boring triangle eyes and nose and mouth.  She’d made two: a bleeding heart with a dagger in it, and “I’ll be right back” in block letters on the second one.  She’d brought the drinks out after they were done handling knives since going to the ER because a drunk moron accidentally chopped off their finger wasn’t high on anyone’s bucket list.  They’d watched the first season of American Horror Story until one in the morning when the guys had passed out on her couch and loveseat, both of their mouths hanging open—Mmmm, so hot.  Their combined snoring had been a real treat, too.  Fun times.  Anyhow.

            Hurrying down the steps to the sidewalk, Liv checked the time on her phone.  She lived eight blocks from the bar where she was supposed to meet up with Steve at five-thirty.  They’d both left early from work to get a head start on the fun, but despite that, she was running late.  Walking faster, she shot him a quick text letting him know she was almost there.

Liv: Be there in 10.  Had to grab extra candy from the store on the way home since I only bought a hundred pieces last week like a MORON. Smdh
Steve: Just admit you were shaving your legs in case you get lucky with a certain bartender tonight. ;-)
Liv: ...
Steve: Trying to think of a clever response, aren’t you.
Liv: ...
Steve: So much for your “quick” wit.
Liv: …
Steve: I’m really disappointed in you, Livvy.
Liv: *middle finger emoji*

            Chuckling quietly, she slid her phone into her pocket then adjusted the strap of her black sling bag.  She popped her jacket collar to cover her ears since the sun would be below the horizon in a few minutes, and the minute it got dark, she would turn into an icicle.  While she fiddled with the top button, a group of shrieking costumed kids (probably already hyped up on sugar) nearly ran into her.

            “Woah, woah careful!” she yelled at them, panicking silently as they dodged across the street right in front of a car coming toward them that was going way too fast through a residential area on Halloween night.  Thankfully, the driver slammed on his brakes, screeching to a stop, barely avoiding a hit.

            Relief shooting through her veins, she bent down to glare at him through his open window. “What, do you get to level up if you kill enough trick-r-treaters?  You know these kids don’t respawn, right?”

            Looking her up and down, the guy revved the engine, then shouted over it. “I’d take you for a ride if you weren’t such a bitch.”

            “I’m heartbroken,” she deadpanned, eyes rolling so hard they might end up stuck there.  This boy was probably ten years her juniorー22 at most.  Not even old enough to rent a car.  Even if he wasn’t a total dick…gross.

            “Slow the hell down, son, and happy Halloween,” she said sweetly, giving him a fake smile as she turned on her heel and resumed walking toward the bar.

            Paying no attention to whatever moronic thing he shouted at her as he drove off in the opposite direction, she hurried to get to the crosswalk before the light changed on her.  She did not want to be stuck in this cold any longer than absolutely necessary, and since the sidewalk was packed downtown for the annual Masquerade Parade that would start at 6, it was already taking longer than normal to get to the bar.  Wishing she’d put on gloves, she squeezed through dozens of costumed bodies, freezing her ass off across the last two blocks.

            Swinging on its hinges four feet above the entrance to the bar, the gold sign reading “Odin’s Ravens” in old Norse red font protruded from the outer brick wall of the old three story building, an iron raven permanently perched on it.  Muffled music pulsed behind the wood-paned glass door, and as she pushed the handle and stepped inside, the sound sharpened into an appropriately creepy, rich synth-pop.  An absurdly dulcet voice rang clear as a bell through the packed house, the could-be-straight-outta-the-80s ear candy loud enough to wake the dead.  Pun intended.

            Under her feet, the ancient-looking solid wood floor planks vibrated from the thundering bass, and Liv breathed a sigh of relief, warming up the second the door closed behind her.  She had to push up on her toes to find Steve since the bar was probably in violation of maximum capacity fire codes at this point and being just shy of 5’4 had some serious disadvantages.  Spotting him sitting at the bar nursing a bottle of Sam Adams, she slid around vampires, zombies, witches, movie characters, and the animal-ears-plus-lingerie-equals-costume types to get to him.  She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, giving him a side hug once she finally reached him, and he turned to smile at her.

            Stepping down from his barstool, he gestured to it and helped her up onto the tall leather seat, then spoke directly into her ear. “I tried to save a seat for you, but it’s just too crowded.  You know how October 31st is around here.”

            She snickered at his awkward effort to force his body between her and the 200-pound werewolf sitting next to them. “You sure you’re okay to stand next to that thing?”

            Steve gave her a withering look. “His tail is digging into my back, but I think I’ll survive.”

            While he twisted, trying to find the most comfortable position, Liv chewed her lip, looking past him to check out her recent obsession working double time behind the bar.  Leaning her elbows on the counter and pushing forward to get a better view, she watched him efficiently and calmly take order after order, fill glass after glass, pour shots and more, all with a sexy little smile rarely leaving his face.  Oh god, her eyes were probably turning into actual hearts right now.  She would happily sit here and be subjected to lame drunk guys hitting on her if it meant she could just stare at that absolute dream.

            He had the kind of old school charm that made him a total lady killer.  For certain she had died the first time she’d seen him, and her thirsty, slack-jawed ghost had risen from the dead to haunt him every single day of the past month since he’d joined the Odin’s Ravens team.  Okay, so that was possibly the creepiest extended metaphor ever, but seriously.  She blinked lazily when his tongue darted out to lick his lips as he inserted someone’s credit card into the chip reader.

            Yeahhhh, she wanted to lick his lips too.

            “You’ll never guess what happened to me at work,” Steve said, his voice breaking her out of her wonderfully wicked thoughts, and she begrudgingly tore her eyes away from her pretend boyfriend.

            “Ummm,” she hummed slowly, her brain needing a second for his words to even register, “Maggie ‘My-Eyes-Are-Up-Here’ Carter charged into your office and begged you to take her roughly over the edge of your desk?”

            She laughed when he choked on his drink, his eyes going a little crossed. “You should see the look on your face.”

            He pointed to Liv. “Exactly that.  That is exactly what happened,” he stopped, waving a hand when her jaw dropped, “Kidding.  Sorry to disappoint. Believe me.”

            Her shoulders slumped. “There is no way the real story will be anything other than completely boring now.”

            “Oh, just wait for it, kiddo,” he snorted, pausing to take a sip from his drink. “So… new hire walks into my office and drops her HR file on my desk.  Says ‘hi, I’m Maerssyn, the new sales intern’ and-”

            “Wow.  Juicy stuff,” Liv said straight-faced, cutting him off, her fingers drumming on the counter with the beat of the song before the pronunciation of the girl’s name suddenly hit her.

            “Wait,” she cocked her head at Steve who was pressing his lips together as though trying to suppress a laugh, “did you just say her name was Martian?”

            At his nod, she raised an eyebrow. “As in, what Elon Musk wishes he were?  As in, a Matt Damon movie?”

            “Yup,” he said, exaggerating the ‘p’ with a pop, “but spelled M-A-E-R-S-S-Y-N.”

            Putting a hand over her eyes, Liv shook her head. “What kind of dumbass names their kid that?  And honestly, the completely nonsensical spelling makes it worse. Geezis Steve, were you able to say it without laughing?”

            “No,” he snorted, setting both elbows on the bar and leaning his head into his palms. “It’s awful, Livvy.  I saw her another four or five times today, and I cracked up every time because I kept picturing her as some Area 51 escapee.” He stood back up to his full height. “From the way she looked at me, I can’t tell if she thinks I’m stupid, or if she thinks I think that she’s stupid.  Either way, it doesn’t bode well for the manager/subordinate relationship.”

            “No, it doesn’t,” Liv laughed, struggling to breathe because of the ‘Area 51 escapee’ image in her head.

            “Anyway.  Then Maerssyn-” he rolled his eyes at the name “-said ‘nice to meet you Mister Rogers’ as she was about to leave.”

            “Huh,” Liv started, resting her chin between her thumb and forefinger, “so did you tell her not to call you that because every day is not a beautiful day in the neighborhood, and you want your name to reflect the reality of your life?”

            Eyes blowing wide open, his mouth fell into an open smile. “That is exactly what I said!  Get out of my head!”

            “Great minds, babe,” she smirked, giving him a high-five.  In her periphery, she saw her hot-enough-to-make-a-nun-terminate-her-vows crush muddling mint leaves inside a cocktail glass.  Lucky mint—she wanted him to muddle her.

            “But she didn’t understand that reference,” Steve sighed, puffing out his cheeks then letting the breath out in a whoosh.

            Liv turned her head sharply toward him, jaw on the floor.  If there was anything that could have pulled her away from unabashed gawking at human male perfection incarnate, it was someone being old enough to have a 401K but not knowing who Fred Friggin’ Rogers was.

            “Dude, that’s like not knowing who Kermit is or something!  Mister Roger’s Neighborhood is iconic!  Holy shit.”

            “I know right?” he picked his beer back up and lifted it to his mouth. “I’ve never felt so ancient in my life.”

            “Aw Steve,” she pressed her lips together, patting his shoulder, “don’t feel bad.  They probably just didn’t have after school public programming on her home planet.”

            Steve spewed his drink, bursting into such violent laughter that he choked, and she cackled at the sight.  Deadpan delivery nailed.  God, she hadn’t had one sip of alcohol, and she was already having a killer good time.

            Ha! —Halloween punーalso nailed.

            Once he could breathe again, Steve shook his head. “All jokes aside, I can’t believe extraterrestrial girl insulted one of my childhood heroes.”

            “If Fred Rogers is your hero, maybe y’shoulda come dressed as him.”

            They both turned toward the sudden voice, and it took everything in Liv to not moan at the sight of her drink-mixing daydream standing right across from her, both hands on the counter, a black dish towel slung over his shoulderーhis perfectly broad shoulder.  Normally he wore basic black tees or solid, dark-colored Henleys, but tonight he looked like he’d walked straight out of a Nirvana concert or something with a wrinkled blue plaid flannel button up hanging open over a white t-shirt.  Grunge style was not her thing, but honestly, the (literal) “I woke up like this” unwashed bed head thing he had going on tonight was working for her.

            “Well hi there, Olivia Foster,” he drawled, grinning crookedly at her.

            Don’t bite your lip—do NOT bite your lip, she told herself silently.  Two seconds later, she bit her lip.  Wow, great willpower.

            His voice would have been the death of her if she weren’t dead already.  Twinkling blue eyes, cupid’s bow lips, cheekbones as defined as his biceps, and that hair —luscious, dark, shining hair that was just long enough to have to push it behind his ears or it would fall forward into his eyes.  Would it be too much to ask of the universe to let her get her hands in it while cutting her lips on that sharp jawline?  Come on, throw a girl a bone.  She swallowed, hopefully not audibly, and smiled.

            “Well hi there, James Barnes.”

DEAD ALREADY

A HALLOWEEN NOVELLA

DEAD ALREADY CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2: MMM…CORN SYRUP (BUCKY)

Visit the main Dead Already page HERE.

Dead Already Chapter links: 1SWEET AS CANDY (LIV) 2MMM…CORN SYRUP (BUCKY) 3(November 2021) 4(November 2021)

CHAPTER ONE FEATURED MUSIC:

“THERE WILL BE BLOOD” BY KIM PETRAS

THEME SONG:

“CAROUSEL” BY MELANIE MARTINEZ

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]]> http://frigidimmortals.com/dead-already-ch-1-sweet-as-candy/feed/ 0 918 New Year Ch 12 http://frigidimmortals.com/new-year-ch-12-happy-new-year-love/ http://frigidimmortals.com/new-year-ch-12-happy-new-year-love/#respond Thu, 07 Jan 2021 06:44:04 +0000 http://frigidimmortals.com/?p=561

Is it January?  The parking garage shouldn’t be this hot. I turn down the A/C, unable to look at anything other than her. I didn’t know she would look this good in my passenger seat.

-“Satellite Tides” (2020) by Loki Odinson

HAPPY NEW YEAR, LOVE.

NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CHAPTER TWELVE

“It’s gonna be alright.  No plan to vice can divide you and I. New coupe—it fits two inside. Let’s go, we can drive down to the water—you can lure me in like riptide.“

-from LOVESICK by Trevor Daniel

~12:42 am,  January 1, 2020 ~

Present Day

Sitting on the edge of Sigyn’s bed, Loki stared at her closed bathroom door on the opposite side of her small living room.  Only minutes ago, she’d been moaning underneath him.  The button-fly of his jeans had been too tight back then , but now?

Now I’m not even HALF-hard while waiting for her to finish retching on the other side of that stupid door.

The sound was muffled, so it could be worse, but that sliver of a silver lining couldn’t stop his mind from running wild with the questions of why her stomach had turned over within the blink of an eye.  She wasn’t acting remotely drunk, but maybe during the last three months, she’d become more adept at speaking clearly (with actual words) while under the influence.  Maybe she’d coped with alcohol as much as he had since October, and was becoming a touch too skilled at handling her liquor.

So… just how many drinks did she have at Strange?

Or was it a sudden surge of anxiety-induced nausea?  Anxiety that stemmed from a misplaced belief that he was trying to stake his claim on her with his mouth?  Perhaps it wasn’t his lips so much as it was his hips that had been the problem.  Admittedly, he had ground them rather aggressively between her legs, but surely he’d earned a bit of credit for having enough self-control to keep his trousers on, right?  He hadn’t even touched his belt, much less unbuckled it.

“Excuses excuses,” he sighed, pushing loose strands of annoying-as-fuck hair behind his ear.

Merriam Webster should add “male privilege” to their website and put his picture next to it.  Yes, he’d really earned high praise for keeping her safe from his dick with a layer of denim while putting his hands down her dress.  No harm, no foul.  

Tapping his heels nervously on her bedroom rug, he chewed his lip.  Thing was, she’d pulled him on top of her after he’d told her that he wouldn’t be angry with her if she’d changed her mind.  She’d sworn that she was okay; that she wouldn’t break .  And she’d been more than a little aggressive with her hands too.  Clearly, her second thoughts from when he’d paused to take that chair into her living room had turned into third thoughts.  Perhaps hugging the commode would inspire fourth thoughts- something like “let me ride you like it’s the end of the world, Loki.”

Don’t count on it, LO.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, setting his elbows on his knees and bowing his back as he bent forward and put his head in his hands.  Talk about taking a turn for the worse.  Honestly, with all this back and forth, he felt like he might be sick too.

He heard the squeak of her bathroom faucet then, followed by running water and her electric toothbrush.  Blowing out a heavy breath through his mouth, he lifted his head again when the toothbrush stopped.  She would open that door any second now, and he had no clue what he should say to her.

Feel better?

Thanks for brushing your teeth?

Why did you throw up at all?

Are you drunk?

Are you real or did I just hallucinate this entire experience?

May I put my face between your thighs?

Do you think I only came here to get my helluva-drug-forever-dream-girl-fuck-fix?

Do you know how WRONG you are for thinking that?

Do you realize what you did to me in September?

And October? And November? And DECEMBER?

Did you EVER love me?

WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY I WAS WORTH DROWNING FOR??

“I think she only missed the idea of me, not the real me, so…” he went quiet, trying to gain control of his shaky voice. “I should leave, shouldn’t I,” he whispered to the empty room, waiting for the walls to answer him, to tell him what to do.

TELL ME!

Naturally, the walls remained silent, though he would have sworn he saw writing appear on them.  Brow creasing, he frowned, feeling as though gravity had singled out the corners of his mouth to pull them to the ground faster than the rest of his face.  No, the “writing” was just shadows created by fireworks.  He shook his head, his eyes slamming shut to stop his brain from seeing things that weren’t there.

A minute or so later, when she still hadn’t come out of the bathroom, he opened his eyes and squinted at the door.  Okay, what, was she bloody hiding from him?  Pushing off the bed, feeling like someone had set a two-hundred pound bar across his shoulders, he walked across the living room toward her bathroom.  He reached up to knock on the door, but he hesitated, his hand hovering mid-air an inch from the hard surface.  Nostrils flaring, he sucked in a breath as a shiver shot down his spine.  Jesus- the hairs on the back of his neck (the ones that were too fine and short to stay in his hair tie) were legitimately standing up.

For god’s sake, LO.  What, are you scared the damn door will burn you?

He looked sideways, thinking how utterly perfect that word choice was.  Would it burn him?  Well, sunlight did have a tendency to turn his nose and cheeks pink if he forgot to put sunscreen on during summer, and if one considered what (or who) was on the other side of this door, then, in a metaphorical sense, it was possible that he would get burned.  However, since it was now December… wait… no… January… maybe that winter sun wouldn’t do the same damage.

Oh, but… are STAR boys subject to the seasonal shifts of life on Earth?  Your head is in outer space, is it not?

“Oh my god, I hate you,” he hissed through his teeth at that too-poignant voice in his head.  Taking a deep breath, he set the knuckle of his first finger on the door and knocked gently. “Sig?”

Please answer me, sweetheart.  I don’t care if you burn me.

His heart shot straight up through the roof when she responded.

“Yeah, sorry, just… I’ll be out in a second.  I’m so SO sorry, Loki.”

His lungs released the breath they’d been holding to the point of nearly passing out like a goddamn corset-wearing princess.  She’d said his name with such contrition, her tone suggesting that he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was grateful for it.

“Just cleaning myself up a bit,” she continued, forcing a firm tone as she washed her hands.  It was a confident tone, a “totally fine in here” tone to hide how scared and shaken up and broken apart she felt.

Oh hell, if only he knew how in love she was with him, how much she needed him, not only in this crushing-yet-beloved city, but needed him everywhere .  Her universe was crumbling further, bit by bit, square inch by square inch, every second that he wasn’t with her.  Not “with her” as in physically in her presence, but “with her” as her boyfriend.

As in, “he is in my life and loves me as much as I love him.”

In these last three months, she’d been forced to take a good hard look in the mirror, and her reflection had not been forgiving.  Her behavior in the month before she’d literally slammed her door in his face had been inexcusable.  Oh but she’d made plenty of excuses for herself, hadn’t she?  And this went further back than just September.

It wasn’t her fault that Tony had died, right?  It wasn’t her fault that Loki had been “too possessive” of her time, right?  She’d had no control over her work schedule, right?  She couldn’t be expected to examine her priorities… you know… like HE HAD… right?  And and and-

“Spare me the monthly reports, please,” she murmured under her breath as she washed her hands.

She’d ruminated on the painful, shameful details of this entire year to no end.  Enough was enough.  She was burying herself under that shame, which was probably what she deserved.  For a time.  This was penance… or something.  God, she needed professional help, otherwise she would never move forward.  Not that she particularly wanted to move forward.  Not without Loki.  She didn’t want to go anywhere unless it was with him.  The chances of that, however, weren’t great.  How could he believe her now if she told him that she would give him anything that he asked of her?  She’d already quit her old job and found a new one, so at least he didn’t have to go through that mess again.  She only had herself to blame for this shitshow.  No way in hell did he want to get back together- he was just here because New Years had made him extra sad.

You don’t know that, hon.

Okay, well, considering what she’d done to him, it seemed the most likely reason for his presence.  How in all the world could she at least get him to consider… friendship?  It wasn’t the whole package, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Show him the letter, hon.

Oh god… but… what if he hates it?

We’ve been over this, Sigyn. He wrote a NOVEL for you.  He showed it to the entire PLANET.  So, buck up, and show him that letter that you should have sent to him when you wrote it THREE WEEKS AGO.

Licking her lips, she swallowed.  A heartbroken “please come back to me” scream was trying to burst through her not-so-tough shell, and maybe she should just let it happen.  Maybe she should open this door, get on her knees, and beg him to forgive her for being so heartless.  For playing unfair games with him.  For being so ungrateful for the sacrifices he’d made for her after Tony died.  For letting him shell out his love so generously and giving him nothing but crumbs in return.

Dammit.  She was going to self-talk herself straight into that toilet bowl all over again if she didn’t just grow up, and tell him all of those words that may or may not convince him to love her like he used to.  Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and gasped quietly when her face collided with Loki’s chest.  She lifted her eyes to his face, setting every detail of this second to memory.

“God, you are so gorgeous,” she said, voice shaking.

Heart pounding at her words, which he had not expected at all, he bent down to her eye level, unable to suppress a slight smirk.  Despite the aching desire to lean in and kiss her just for calling him “gorgeous” to his face, he held himself back.  After all, he couldn’t be sure if she was on the verge of getting rid of more of her dinner.

“And you are…” he trailed off, his eyes zeroing in on her bottom lip, which she was now biting.

Mouthwatering…

Don’t say that.

Tilting his head, still focused on those lips, he asked, “How’s your gag reflex right now?”

She raised an eyebrow at him.  “That was… direct.”

It took him a second to put two and two together, then he quite literally facepalmed. “Jesus.  I meant how is your stomach .  As in, you aren’t about to get sick again, are you?”

She flashed a toothy smile at him, then put her hand over her mouth . “I didn’t actually get sick.  More of a-” she made a face “-dry heaving situation.”

He squinted at her. “Lovely.  What happened?  Too much to drink?”

Please say no.  My conscience would eat me alive if I tried anything when you’re drunk, gorgeous girl…

“I had all of two drinks, Loki,” she sighed, stepping around him and walking toward her bedroom, her stilettos clicking loudly on the hardwood. “Though I would have had far more if they hadn’t charged forty damn dollars per glass.  Highway robbery.”

Loki followed her, staring at her legs as they criss-crossed slightly in front of her with each step.  God, the way she walked accented her hips perfectly.  He was becoming more stupid by the second.  He had thousands of questions about September (and the first hours of his October hell), but he doubted his tongue would be able to form the necessary words.  No, the only thing his tongue could do right now was just loll out of his mouth because… legs .  She stopped in front of her bed and picked up her copy of Looking for Sunlight from her pillow.  Fingers running over the cover lovingly, she turned around to face him.

“I’ve read this book a hundred times,” she said wistfully, flipping through the pages to find the envelope that she’d addressed to him weeks ago.  She’d even put a stamp on it, but rather than dropping it in the mailbox, she’d been using it as a bookmark.

You are SUCH a coward, Sigyn.

He raised his dazed eyes from her thighs to the book in her hand, which she was now clutching to her chest as though it was the most precious thing in the world.  His chest tightened at the sight.

She might not love me anymore, but at least she still loves my book.

“I meant every word,” he said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking.

Lips pressing together, she gave him a sad little grin, then produced a plain white envelope- one with his name, address, and postage on it -from the space between the book cover and her chest.  He blinked silently at the thing, unsure what to make of it.  She held it out to him.

“I meant every word too,” she whispered, her lip trembling as he slowly reached forward and took it from her hand. “I can’t force you to read it… a-a-and,” she stumbled over the word a bit and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I under-” deep breaths “-stand if you d-d-don’t want to-” oh please don’t cry again “-but I-”

“Of course I’ll read it,” he spoke over her, sliding his thumb under the seal to break it open.  God, she’d used actual sealing wax and everything.  He lifted his eyes to her face again and raised an eyebrow. “May I?”

Blinking several times, she waved a hand and nodded quickly. “Sorry, yes, of course.  Um… I’ll give you some privacy,” she said, setting the book on her nightstand and hurrying toward her bedroom doors.

He grabbed her hand as she slid by him, and she turned slightly to look up at him.  Perhaps it was juvenile, but he feared that if she left his sight, she would disappear completely.  For good.   That was… that was not an option anymore.  He needed this girl.

MY girl.

“Stay,” he whispered, running his thumb over her knuckles.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to watch you read it.” Good god, his hand fit around hers perfectly, as though it was supposed to be there.

His eyes flicked down to the letter, the crease between his eyebrows deepening tenfold. “That bad?  How much will this hurt me?”

Her eyes went wide, and she turned toward him completely. “No no no no, it’s nothing like that.  It’s not some sort of list of supposed transgressions that you committed against me or anything.  No, definitely not.  It’s more of a… um…” she swallowed, “a confession.”

His jaw didn’t exactly drop to the floor, but it was damn near close. “Did you cheat on me?”

“Oh my god, NO,” she practically shrieked . “Never ever ever EVER.  I can’t even…” her voice failed her, and she dropped her forehead to his chest. “Absolutely not.  No other man could come close to…” again her voice gave up on her.

His shirt smelled so good, and it was so soft against her cheek.  To think, this soft fabric was concealing such a firm chest.  And shoulders.  And arms.  Not to mention those stomach muscles.  Suddenly, she seriously regretted asking him to read a 10-page (front and back) letter just now.  She should have waited until the post-game.  She should be feeling every inch of his skin right now instead.

“Thank god,” he breathed, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders, and leaned down to kiss her hair.  He squeezed the envelope in his hand.  “I would have burned this thing if that’s what you meant.” The soft crunching sound of the paper crinkling in his grip bounced off the exposed brick walls and wood floor as though their little New Years scene were playing out inside of a cathedral rather than a pre-war one-bedroom in Manhattan.

“I’ll just be in the other room,” she said, struggling to keep her hands away from him lest they slip under his shirt and ruin her resolve to be fair to him .  He needed to know.  He needed to see her handwritten words with his own eyes, just as she’d seen his words on the first page of her book.  He deserved at least that much before making a massive decision about his future with her.

What if reading it makes him decide to walk out the door, hon?  Are you willing to accept that?

Clearing her throat, she exaggerated a sniffle. “Need to grab a tissue,” she said, using the excuse to step away. “Don’t want to ruin your pullover with my runny nose.  I know how much that thing cost.”

Could she accept it if he left?  Well, so long as he had the full story, so long as she knew that this was his choice without her manipulating him with puppy-dog eyes and trembling lips (and a leggy dress with plunging neckline and high heels) then, yes, she could learn to accept it if he decided to leave her tonight.  Here’s what she couldn’t accept: letting him think that HE needed to “crawl back” to her, to her apartment- the place where his heart took hit after hit, and his back took stab after stab.  Sure, he bore some responsibility regarding their combined spiral in September; he was by no means an angel.  But she couldn’t stand the undoubted fact that he believed that she thought herself the innocent victim here.  And in believing that lie, he had probably convinced himself that he was the villain here.

Not even CLOSE, Starboy.

“ That’s what laundry soap is for,” he muttered uselessly as she left the bedroom.  He didn’t care about his stupid pullover, but fine… whatever.

Sinking down to the edge of her bed once more, he gingerly pulled the letter out of the envelope.  He stared wide-eyed, his lips parting as he thumbed through multiple full-sized pages of paper.  Some of the inside perforated edges looked as though she’d ripped them a bit too aggressively from a spiral-bound notebook.  Chewing his lip unconsciously, he examined each page, flipping from front to back, then turning them over again.  The tri-fold horizontal creases were perfectly straight and split evenly.  If one hadn’t known she was an architect, they would after one look at her penmanship.  Clean edges, distinct lines, neutral pen pressure, barely slanted, all uppercase, each letter matched the height of the one next to it.

“How many…” he whispered, barely audible as he counted the pages.  In three and a half decades, no one had ever given him more than a few lines of niceties on the inside of a birthday or Christmas card.

Ten pages.  Front and back.  So… twenty.  Sig had put a literal pen to twenty full pages of paper for him.

“My god,” he breathed, lifting his eyes from the short story in his hand to look at the open doors instead.

What kind of confession was this?  A part of him was scared to read it.  Couldn’t he just tell her that it meant the world to him that she’d cared enough to write something for him- something this substantial -without having to read the potentially painful details?  Shit- he couldn’t do this.  Setting the pages down on her nightstand right beside him, he leaned over and put his head in his hands again.  After a few silent moments of shaky breathing, which he hoped wasn’t loud enough for Sig to hear from the other side of the wall, Loki swiveled his head to eye the intimidating papers.

“Don’t be a coward,” he said tightly under his breath, and with his cheek still resting in his palm, he reached over to grab them.

However, when his fingers grazed the papers, he retracted his hand an inch, and then reached underneath them to pick up her Looking for Sunlight hardback instead.  Maybe seeing his own handwriting- his January 2019 “confession” to her -would give him the courage he lacked to read her words to him.  Opening the book carefully for fear of disturbing the words resting inside, he turned to the dedication page.  Eyes boring a hole into the ink, he mouthed his own words.

“On January 1, 2017, I was a 32-year old loaded gun, a bottle of oxy…hungover…freezing…dead Christmas trees who had more life left in them than I did…new Nikes from my father in lieu of any affection…rounded the corner…skidded to a stop…you grabbed my arms to keep from falling…where’s the fire, darling…you pulled a pen out of your bag…grabbed my hand…wrote your number on my palm and signed your name…”

Swallowing thickly, he reached up to rub his eyes.  He could barely see the words.

“Another dollar,” he muttered, turning to the next page- the first actual page of the book.  They weren’t handwritten words, but he’d written them for Sig nonetheless.  Another page.  And another.  Again.  Again.  He paused on the first page of the third chapter, not just skimming, but reading each word, giving his full attention to the lines of serif-font print:

“Dreamy as fuck- that’s what she called me… No, not to my face.  I overheard her say it to her friend at the other end of the bar… Yes, I KNOW it’s a compliment.  It’s also a death sentence… Because I’m a guaranteed DISAPPOINTMENT, that’s why.  She already put me on this goddamn pedestal, and I have nowhere to go but down… What do you think I mean?… I mean that she should WAIT a bit before deciding to look at me like I hung the moon…  No no no no, you aren’t listening…  You know what?  Nevermind.  I’m hanging up now.”

I don’t actually have anyone to hang up on.  I’m not on the phone.  It’s just another silent conversation with myself.  I would do well to have a conversation with Suna, considering she’s standing right here.  Probably not wise to let her think I don’t want to be ALL OVER her right now.

She looks up at me, twirling the small black cocktail straw in her drink. “Don’t you just DESPISE all these Wall Street frat boys congratulating themselves for being gods among men?”

Her question is cold water on a hot day.  Refreshing and rare.

“Spoiled pricks,” she continues, “they don’t deserve a dime to their names.”

I don’t filter my response.  I think Suna would prefer to know just how moronic this “dreamy-as-fuck” man gets when he’s three sheets to the wind.

“Seems to go with the territory,” I say, eyeing the crowded room narrowly. “Ridiculous establishment.  You know who’s worse than those spoiled pricks?”

I return my eyes to her when she says “oh do tell” or something like that.  I gesture flippantly to a group of princesses who I doubt are legally allowed to be in this place.  The group next to them are a bit older, thank god, but age is undoubtedly the only distinction between them.

“The overly made up girls trying to get a hold of all those spoiled pricks’ unearned dimes by flashing fake smiles and fake tits and flipping their fake hair and batting their fake eyelashes.  Conniving thieves.  They look like plastic dolls, and those idiots fall for it.  Whatever.  They can have them.  I have no interest in playing with a fucking doll.  That sounds like a term for sex doll, which isn’t what I meant.  But if the shoe fits… or in this case, if the dick fits.” I feel my lips pursing with more gravitas than Derek Zoolander as I look sideways. “That joke came out of nowhere.”

It wasn’t even a GOOD joke.  I’ve had too much alcohol.  It’s making me loose-lipped and simple.  Speaking of lips- I’m so in love with Suna’s mouth right now.  So pretty… so REAL.  No fillers.  Not fake.  Those lips are just like her words actually.  If anyone here is dreamy, it’s HER, not me.  I better not open my mouth and say this shit to her after I’ve had this much liquor.

“I swear I meant plastic dolls,” I add, attempting to clarify. “You know… as in toys… I don’t mean sex toys… I mean…” My voice fades, which is probably for the best, but unfortunately, I don’t close my mouth.  It hangs open stupidly like it did every second of every maths class I suffered through as a boy.  I roll my eyes.  I have no idea what the hell I am saying. “I’ll try this again.  I associate fake plastic types with unthinking, lifeless, perfect looking dolls, and I despise both.”

I assume she will glare at me and walk away, but she surprises me by saying, “I agree.  Playing with dolls as a little girl is exactly why I’m so goddamn unsatisfied with my own reflection.  Here’s Barbie’s next slogan-” she clears her throat and makes air quotes with her fingers “-’Warping every mirror all kinds of wrong since 1989’.  I came up with that on my own while you were rambling about sex toys.”

My god, I want to kiss this woman.  Her mouth isn’t just pretty- it’s clever.  Maybe if my lips touched hers, she could transfer some of that quick wit to me.  I’m usually so much better at this.

“I like the way you talk,” I manage, unable to pull my eyes away from her lips.

“And I think YOU talk like an Ivy League, Gen Xer elitist who just listened to ‘Fake Plastic Trees’ in your fancy car before you walked in here, then you got a bit too tipsy, and you really regret it because you can’t come up with anything more clever than ‘I like the way you talk’, and now you want to bolt.”

She knows 90s Radiohead references, and she was barely five years old at that time, and that makes HER an elitist too.  But I think I’ll save that zinger for another time.

“I’m a Xennial, not an Xer,” I correct her, clucking my tongue while shaking my head, “but you are disturbingly spot on otherwise.”

Suna leans closer.  MUCH closer.  The tip of her nose is touching mine now, and if she angles her head to touch her lips to mine, I’ll be done for.  She doesn’t, and I am both incredibly relieved and beyond disappointed.

“If you’re leaving,” she whispers, looking up at me through eyelashes that must weigh more than she does, “let me come with you.”

Oh what I wouldn’t give to make her come with me… in every sense of the word.

“I am moved that you want to come with me,” I answer, forcing a thick layer of snark into my tone while putting a few inches of distance between our mouths so I don’t use my tongue for something other than talking, “though I’m 99% sure it’s only because you want to ride in my car.”

I try to step back, but she follows me, setting her hand on my chest.  Her thumb runs along the silver zipper of my open black jacket, and it is far more erotic than it should be.  I hope that her hand sliding underneath the leather is meant to be an invitation for my hands to touch her too because I have never wanted a woman this much.

She arches one dark eyebrow and pulls on my collar, forcing me to bend toward her. “Not ONLY your car,” she says, biting into a smile, “but I do want you to hit the gas.”

I can’t help but scrape my teeth over my lip. “I bet you do.”

Her head tilts toward her shoulder, exposing more of her neck to me, while gazing at me through narrow eyes. “I’m not talking about fucking.”

I give her a look, one that any sane person would give her in response to her OBVIOUSLY untrue words.  The sound that escapes my mouth could only be described as an ‘extremely offended’ scoff.

“Yes, you are,” I retort, lifting my thumb to run across her bottom lip just to watch her cheeks and neck flush, thereby PROVING my next words. “You would give anything to fuck me to the stars and back, you pretty little liar.”

Her jaw drops, much like her skirt will later tonight in my apartment. “Oh my god!”

Yes, I am very loose-lipped.  But what I said wasn’t stupid or simple.  Saying that gives her a better idea of who I am.  If she’s going to come to this absurd conclusion that I’m anything special, it won’t only be because she’s convinced I look amazing without my clothes on.

Much like the thing in my trousers, the corner of my mouth twitches.  “Am I wrong?”

Suna grips my shirt more tightly under my jacket, her eyes lowering to stare at my mouth. “What I want is to watch you bite your lip and laugh with the moonroof open,” she says, smiling and closing her eyes and letting her head fall back as though her fantasy is playing out in real time, “and the wind whipping your hair around your face.  I want you to put your hand in my hair-” she lifts her head to lock eyes with me again “-while you PUT YOUR FOOT ON THE GAS.”

“I can do that,” I say without hesitation, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the door.

And I’ll also do FAR more than that.  My car is not going to be enough.  It’s classy and sexy and fast and…drumroll please…dreamy.  Perfect fit for her perfect, pretend dream boy.  When I open the door for her and offer my hand to help her into the passenger seat, she smirks and calls me a ‘charmer’.

“That’s code for ‘liar’, and I am NOT a liar,” I say through my teeth before closing the door.

She bites her goddamn lip again as I round the front of the car, and I don’t understand how I can possibly see that with these headlights blinding me.  Suna’s teeth must be brighter than the sun itself.  I settle into the driver’s seat, my jaw aching from my attempts to control the natural inclination to clench it every other second for the better part of four hours now.

Her voice pierces an excessively tense silence after a minute or so. “That silver tongue suggests otherwise.”

Now I’m pissed.  I’ve had it with everyone saying ‘silver tongue’ like it’s the worst thing ever.

“Here’s an idea,” I say, my eyes narrowing at the red taillights just beyond the windshield. “How about we use our tongues for something other than talking so I don’t say something to piss you off, and YOU don’t say anything ELSE to piss ME off, otherwise I’ll pull this car over, and you’ll WALK home.”

“Wow, that’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Just you wait til I’m sober.”

“You might feel loose in the shoulders, dream boy, but you are nowhere near drunk.  However, I will HAPPILY drive, if you feel compromised by two measly ounces of whiskey over the course of four hours.”

My god, I might just white-knuckle this steering wheel to death.  She’s right.  I’m not drunk.  I’m just an idiot who wishes that he had an easy excuse for his idiocy.

Still staring ahead, I ask, “Didn’t we agree to stop talking?”

Her face falls. “Oh no, but…” she starts, her lips trembling.  If she cries, I WILL pull this car over. “But… but…” she continues, “but I thought you LIKED the way I talk?”

Suppressing an eyeroll, I side-eye her.  She’s grinning, and I have HAD it with that mouth of hers.  Voice, words, tongue, lips- ALL of it is rerouting the blood from my head into my trousers instead, and now I am at the mercy of my own dick.  Which also means I can’t be the smartest in the room for reasons other than trying to cope with beverages that didn’t even taste good!

Good thing we’re now out of my car, and I’m dragging her into the elevator in my building.  I really didn’t want to steam up the windows in the middle of the street like a pair of love drunk idiots.  Did I say LOVE drunk?  Yes, and that’s fair.  I want her to fall in love with me, not just into BED with me, and I need to reach more than her goddamn g-spot to convince her…

Loki closed the book and returned it to Sigyn’s nightstand. “I meant every word,” he whispered, repeating his words (and her words) from earlier as he carefully pinched her letter between his thumb and forefinger and picked it up.

I want her to fall in love with me, not just into BED with me…

Blowing out a breath, he dared to look at the first few lines:

Dear Loki,
Today is December 7, 2019, and I don’t know if I’ll work up the courage to send this letter to you, but I’m trying this new thing called “being honest with myself” and if you don’t mind, I’m going to pour my heart out to your ghost right now…

He swallowed anxiously.  Oh god, one sentence in, and his chest was already tight.  He wanted to run out her door as sure as his alter ego wanted to ‘bolt’ from Suna.  But only because everything about her made him want to drown for her, and the words on these pages might tell him that he shouldn’t.  He just wanted to love her.  He didn’t need to know what she’d written to his ghost .  He didn’t need to know if she would drown for him too.

Yes, you do, LO.

“Goddammit,” he growled under his breath, then returned his eyes to the page:

“I was at the wedding tonight.  I got there really REALLY early (the ushers looked at me like I had two heads) because I was irrationally scared of being late, of disappointing yet another friend, and that earned me a seat right behind the pews reserved for family at the front.  It was the third row on Carol’s side of the aisle, and I don’t think I looked at anything other than the church doors for thirty minutes straight.  I knew you would come through those doors at some point, and I didn’t want to miss seeing you.  Even though I knew you wouldn’t come anywhere near me, I could at least see your face again.

Darce and Bucky came up to sit with me, thank heaven.  I think I would have bolted if they hadn’t.  He was so nice.  I could tell he felt kind of like a traitor to you though.  He was clearly doing it for Darce’s sake.  She was talking to me about this or that, and I just nodded along, trying to look like I was paying attention to her.  I was twisted toward the aisle (on purpose), anxious to see you in my periphery.  It felt like an hour at least went by, and you STILL weren’t there.  The anxiety was unbearable.  I wish I had swiped one of those Xanax from your laptop bag before you left.  It would have been a life-saver.

That Genghis Khan song started playing then(by the way, Carol and Val picked killer songs for the pre-ceremony)... you know the one I mean, right?  God, we danced like a couple of fools to it in your living room last St. Patrick’s Day.  There was no rhyme or reason to it.  You just turned up the speakers and used the remote like a microphone, and dear god, you sang it with a fake Irish accent, and it was HILARIOUS.  Anyway, I’m sitting there in the church, totally spacing on Darce because I’m still looking at those doors, and singing along silently in my head: 

“I don’t have the right 
To ask where you go at night 
But the waves hit my head 
To think someone’s in your bed… 
I get a little bit Genghis Khan 
I don’t want you to get it on 
With nobody else but me 
With nobody else but me…” 

Oh, isn’t the piano FANTASTIC in that one?  It sounds like New York to me.  Does that make sense?  It has so much SOUL.  It’s not vapid or plastic like LA.  (Probably because we’re all too busy crying over our rent checks to even THINK about cosmetic surgery)  That was a joke, and it FAILED.  As though California is any more “affordable”...HA.

Sorry.  I’m going off on tangents.  Tangents is a funny word.  Do you picture gents laying by the pool?  Tan...gents?  Get it?  Oh my god, I should write that down.  Wait… look-y there!  Already did!...

Pressing his lips together, Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to split his sides.  Sig was just on the other side of that wall, and he didn’t want her to hear him laugh out loud.  She would completely misinterpret it as cruel and insensitive, which was completely off base.  Honestly, so far, her story-telling was adorable and funny as hell.  As was he, apparently, last March while drunkenly attempting an Irish accent during an impromptu living room concert about “getting a little bit Genghis Khan” over his girl’s whereabouts at night.  He remembered that night, and he hadn’t exactly been faking the conviction in the words.  “Possessive” might as well be his middle name.  Blinking several times, he pushed away thousands of images in his head of the times he had put his arm around her when they were out with friends or at bars or wherever, just so every other man in the room would know this girl was his .  He sighed heavily and continued reading her words:

Anyway… I was sitting in one of those first rows, then Thor walked in with Jane hanging on his arm, and I knew you couldn’t be far behind them.  Another ten nauseating, nerve wracking seconds went by, and FINALLY you walked in.  It was such a movie moment with this perfect soundtrack, perfect soft lighting, and you in that perfect dark grey suit that cost like a BILLION dollars and ought to be illegal because...oh my god- just kill me now.

My eyelids felt far too heavy to open them all the way- like how you wrote that Suna’s eyelashes had to weigh more than she did.  Yep.  Exactly.  Darce asked if I was okay.  She said I looked “dazed and confused.”  Yeah, you think?  I was more than a little lost in that barely there upward curve of your mouth when your brother leaned over to you and said something...funny...I guess.  You didn’t look my way, which was probably for the best, because I might have passed out.  I hadn’t seen you in two godawful months, and even though that’s hardly enough time to forget how fucking gorgeous you are, it was like seeing you for the first time.

I wasn’t, but I WAS getting the first glimpse of those shadows under your cheekbones, and those envy-inducing long, dark eyelashes, and those UNREAL jade green eyes, and don’t get me started on your hair.  In other words, everything about you was giving me one of those “someone fetch me my smelling salts!” moments that feels really stupid but really good.  We’ll set aside the fact that the moment was tinged with an unbearable ache in my chest because I’m not ready to go there yet.

My mum calls these moments “reminder butterflies.”  She says she still gets them with Dad.  I don’t remember exactly how she described them, so I’ll just say how they feel to ME.  They remind me of that dreamy floaty feeling that happened NON-STOP when we started dating nearly three years ago now.  It’s that drug-like euphoric “oh my god, Mum, I’m falling so HARD for him” feeling.

They’re AMAZING moments, but they’re fleeting.  I know this love drunk feeling right now won’t intoxicate me for the next six months like the first time.  You can’t possibly give me that CONSTANT high anymore.  I can only fall for you once, and I already did that in 2017.  I can’t actively fall in love with you again.  It’s done…

He squinted at the page, his mouth twisting into a scowl.  Had she written that he couldn’t give her a constant high anymore?

Yeah, no shit, sweetheart.  Forgive me for being a measly Earthling.

Dear god, so much for laughing.  He might need a drink to get through the rest of this letter.  Rolling his eyes, he re-read the previous sentence before continuing down the page:

I’ll never again be overwhelmed with 24/7 star eyes just because you EXIST.  I’ll never again lose my goddamn mind, thinking about you EVERY SECOND like I did after you smiled at me on New Years Day 2017.  I kid you not, Loki- after you said “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sigyn Frey” and turned around to resume your morning run, I remember feeling that if I went blind then, that would be okay because I had the chance to see you that ONE time.  I felt like that for months.  

Reminder butterflies feel like that, but they only last a few days at most.

I.  Will.  Take.  It.

If they’re from YOU, I want them.  I don’t need to feel a rush from you for months.  I don’t need it for weeks.  I don’t need it for days.  I WANT it, sure.  It feels like heaven.  But you are SO MUCH MORE than a cloud nine rush.

I am such a shit writer, but I’ll try to explain what I mean…

Gripping the pages more tightly, Loki chewed his lip, feeling as though his heart was growing three times in size.  Please let there be a part in here that said he was worth drowning for.  It seemed like she might be getting there, but he needed her to get there faster.  He rubbed his eyes- a preemptive strike against the jar-boy enemy.  Her words were all over the place, and his emotional response was trying to keep up:

In my 20s I thought that if that rush started to fade into the background, I must have picked the wrong guy.  The second I realized the rush from some guy was disappearing, it would ruin everything.  I would suddenly be a girl who had lost interest in what used to be the most EXCITING shiny new toy, but now was desperate for December to come around again, so I could unwrap a newer, BETTER present.  The next one would be the RIGHT present, and the right one would never grow old- both figuratively and literally. 

At the time, I wouldn’t have admitted that I was thinking of boyfriends the way I thought of Christmas toys.  I just knew I didn’t want THEM to think of ME that way.  Well, I’m not in my 20s anymore.  It’s 2019, and I am a 31 year old woman, and this year I realized that I am an utter fucking hypocrite.  That realization broke my heart more thoroughly than any man ever did.  

The realization that I’M the villain in my story- in the story I dragged you into -is STILL breaking me.  Learning that I have been the bad guy all along is...well...it’s a process, and it is not a fun one.  I wish it had been a rapid onset epiphany.  I wish I could have just ripped the Band-Aid off.  But it didn’t work that way for me.  It is a slow, painful, peeling away of my skin.

It started after Tony died in April this year.  Bit by bit, I started to understand what that nightmare where I’m trying to run away from the monster but can’t run fast enough REALLY means.  You know the one I’m talking about.  It’s the one where you’d swear your legs are stuck in slow motion because the scenery isn’t changing- because when you look behind your shoulder, the monster is still there. 

In that nightmare, I’m exhausted and crying and terrified, and I know one of these seconds is going to be the one when it catches me and rips my heart out.  Why doesn’t this scenery EVER change?  Why does the monster always stay about ten steps behind me, but never actually catches me?  Why won’t it just get it over with?  I genuinely believe that death would be preferable to this never-ending terror.  Coward that I am, I keep running nevertheless.

Thousands of these syndicated rerun dreams later, it has FINALLY hit me that I was on a treadmill, and that goddamn hypocritical, prideful, selfish monster was ME all along.  All I had to do was stop running, let it do its worst, and the nonstop fear of being eaten alive would be over.  But I was not ready to let it rip my heart out yet.  I was not ready to let it kill my ego.  So I kept running, and the monstrous version of me kept chasing down the better parts of me.  Kept those better parts from taking the starring role in my story.  In OUR story.

I already said I broke my own heart when I realized I was a hypocrite- a monster.  That happened right before you left for Europe in June.  I swore to myself that I would be the BEST, most loving, most giving girlfriend when you got home.  I think I was fairly good at keeping that promise during August.  Wasn’t that an AMAZING month?

So what the hell happened in September?  How did my promise derail so monumentally after only ONE month?  I’ll tell you why.  It’s because I never actually stopped running on that treadmill.  thought it was good enough to simply know WHO was chasing me.  I didn’t want to let it make a martyr out of me.  What if the worthiest version of me didn’t arise out of the ashes, so to speak?

You walked out of my door on October 1st, and that is when I decided to stop running.  I’m telling you- it was so much more painful than the “oh shit, I’m the bad guy” realization.  I hate that I waited so long to give up.  Maybe you would still love me if I’d done it sooner.

Piece of advice to my future self: IT’S OKAY TO BE A QUITTER.

It’s okay to say I’M DONE. TIME TO TURN IN THAT RESIGNATION LETTER.

I mean- yeah I feel like a failure, but is it that bad if the thing I lost was the all-consuming ego race?  No, it wouldn’t be bad if that was ALL I lost.  But I lost EVERYTHING.

I waited too long to lose the worst parts of me, and in the process I lost the most perfectly imperfect love of my life.  I thought YOU broke MY heart.  Oh my GOD- I thought SO wrong.  It was me all along.  I did the breaking.  I broke your heart, and I broke mine.

We went through some shit.  We had dream lover highs and pissed off lows, and I was okay with both.  That sounds idiotic, but here’s why I liked the “lows” too: if we were fighting, that meant our INTENSE passion was still there.  If we were fighting, it was because WE were worth fighting for!  It was just the flip side of calling in “sick” to work because I NEEDED to spend all day tangled in bedsheets with you.  Fighting usually turned into fucking anyway, so all good...right?  Jesus.  Now I’m picturing you naked, and I’m kind of falling apart.  You felt like heaven.  I wish I could write better.  I don’t have good enough adjectives.  I don’t have your beautiful mind.  I know you DESPISE your mind, but...it is so perfect, Loki.  I can’t even-

FOREVER DREAM BOY.

You know I don’t believe in god.  But I’m positive if that entity existed, it would look and feel like you when you’re inside me.  When you’re all around me.  This hurts.  This hurts so much.  Writing this letter hurts so much.

And I am out of tissues.  Dammit.

I’m so goddamn in love with you.  I can’t believe I did this.  I can’t believe I lost you.  You were mine, and I was yours, and it was what everyone on this planet wishes they had, and it’s all my fault that it’s over.  I can’t believe I fucked this up so royally.

We didn’t just have highs and lows, did we.  We had in-betweens, and those were the parts that brought out the worst in me.  My perfect Christmas toy love didn’t thrill me LIKE HE OUGHT TO during the in-betweens.  Nevermind the fact that YOU weren’t thrilled either yet hadn’t disappeared on me like every other guy had before you.  Oh no, that wasn’t good enough for a self-entitled brat like me.  I had the gall to believe you didn’t love me during the in-betweens.  I accused you of it every time those in-betweens rolled back around.  And every time the hurt was written all over your face.  I think I was trying to force a fight.  To force the passion to start revving back up.  You know what that is?  That is emotional abuse, and I had no idea I was capable of being an abuser.  I thought I was only a survivor.  I learned too late that I can be both.

I did that.  I really did that.  I am WRECKED with shame for doing that to you.  I have never felt guilt like this.  It’s burning a hole in my core, and I deserve it.

You know what I don’t deserve?

You.

I don’t deserve you.  I should not be allowed to feel reminder butterflies.  They feel too good, and I don’t deserve to feel good.  But oh god I want to feel them over and over again.  And I only want to feel them from you.

You have no idea what you did to me when I saw you tonight, Starboy.  You really nailed it with that book title.  I know it’s a “dying star” theme, but I’ve never seen anyone live so genuinely as you.  LOVE so genuinely as you.  And allow me to add to the metaphor-

I love you to the fucking stars and back.  A thousand times.  A million times.  INFINITY times.

I saw you walk through those doors at the back of the church, and you sent me floating right back up to that high again.  I flashed back to the beginning- back to when I just KNEW you would change my life.  But tonight was different because you- amazing, beautiful, wonderful you -you already changed my life.  I wasn’t waiting and hoping and praying you would say “I swear I’m not like the others, Sig. I’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.”  Because you already did that.  You already did SO MUCH MORE than that.

You already wrote an entire damn BOOK for me.

Please listen to me, dreamy ghost of Loki.  No matter the fact that I crashed from our high, no matter the fact that I let the in-betweens get to me and destroyed the most beautiful thing that WILL EVER HAPPEN TO ME, no matter the fact that you aren’t going to crawl into bed with me tonight and make love to me the way you used to- 

I will never ever forget that the most precious, priceless, perfectly imperfect person ever- Loki Love of My Life Odinson -wrote an absolutely gut-wrenching, life-changing, mind-bending, heart-breaking book called Looking for Sunlight, and he wrote it FOR ME.  You ARE worth drowning for, Loki…

Giving up the fight against the water in his eyes, he put a hand over his mouth as it fell open.  There it was.  She’d said it.  She’d written it.  She’d really done that.  Jaw clenched, he pushed to his feet and started toward her living room as he finished the last few lines:

...I would have done it a thousand times over when you were mine, and I still would even now.  I’ll do it forever.  I’ll drown for you.  It doesn’t sound fun, but Jesus… I’ll do it for YOU because I will never stop loving you, Starboy, and I miss you beyond words.  I’ve put thousands of dollars in thousands of jars for you, and I’m not done yet.  I’ll keep breathing, but I’ll never be alive like I was when you were mine.  And even if it’s not with me, I hope with all my shattered heart that you will be happy.

Love forever,

Sigyn 

P.S.- It’s a little too early to say this, and honestly I don’t want to say it at all, but...
Happy 2020.  Even if yours aren’t mine anymore, all my new years are yours.

“Loki?”

He looked up at the sound of her voice, only then realizing that he had left her bedroom.  Seated on her couch with her knees pulled to her chest, she was visibly shaking.

“My god, Sig,” he muttered, letting the pages fall to the floor as he made a beeline for her.

Her eyes blew wide, her heart sobbing at the sight of him haphazardly tossing away all those paper words that she’d fought to pull out of her own goddamn word tornadoes.

Not exactly confetti, is it.

Releasing her tight hold on her legs, she started to scramble off the couch to catch all those little pieces of her before they landed on the unworthy, not-perfectly-clean floor, but he caught her first.  She shrieked, clutching at his shoulders, clumsily trying to regain her balance while falling backward onto what she hoped was a soft couch cushion.

“Loki, what-”

He closed his mouth over hers before she could finish whatever the hell that question would have been as they landed on the too-small couch.  Oh fucking hell, she could not have responded better to it, moaning into the kiss and grabbing him anywhere…no… everywhere she could reach.  His hands were just as scatterbrained as hers, unable to stay in one spot because every part of her felt too good to his palms- how could he possibly choose?  He angled his head to deepen an already deep kiss, then grabbed the back of her knee, his head spinning from the mere sound of her gasping underneath him.  His shirt bunched up as she dragged it up his side, and he groaned, rolling his hips with more vigor.  He’d been waiting a thousand bloody years for this moment with her.

Oh god, get me out of these fucking clothes NOW.

He was only half-aware of her voice saying “I’m so in love with y-…” as he stood up, yanking her with him (apparently he’d wound his arms tightly around her waist at some point), and walked backwards to her bedroom once more.  God, he was absolutely out of his mind for this woman.

Hello, my name is Loki Odinson, and I’ll die if Sigyn Frey doesn’t say yes when I ask her to be my wife.

“Me too,” he barely managed in response to her admission of love.  The back of his knees hit the edge of her bed, and he fell back with her on top of him.

Oh my god, I AM SO HAPPY.

He was floating… flying… soaring… living forever… immortal and in love, and the girl he loved was just as in love with him.  She broke their kiss long enough to smile against his mouth.

Shaking her head while holding his face, she muttered, “Can’t believe you want me still.”

“Never stopped wanting you, sweeth-…” his mouth snapped shut as she scooted over his belt buckle.  Chest rising and falling a bit faster, he chewed his lip, loving the feel of his stomach twisting in excited knots.

“I swear I’ll never pull that September shit again,” she said, watching him carefully for any sign of discomfort or hesitance, “and I swear I’ll always be honest and won’t hide from you because obviously that was a disaster, and I am so so so so sorry.”

She paused, her heart picking up speed as he lifted his gorgeous green eyes to hers again.  After taking a deep breath, she added, “Can we…?”

He watched her blink slowly, her long dark eyelashes casting shadows over her now flushed cheeks, and he slowly lowered his gaze to her neck and chest.

Oh fuck- we’re doing this…this is actually going to happen…less than an hour ago, I was a dead man walking…

He should make sure he understood her correctly.  He doubted he was reading this situation incorrectly, but still.  He took a deep breath.

“Are you asking me if I’ll-” His words failed him, as though his mouth literally lost function, because, god almighty, she was now full on pressing into his crotch.  Well hell.  Anything left to say had flown to the back of his mind.  A gorgeous gift- the only one he’d ever wanted -had written a 20-page love letter to him, then fallen into his lap, and was now rolling her hips over his jeans.  Brow furrowing, he groaned, sliding his hands down her sides.

She curled her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled his open mouth to hers, internally screaming “OH GOD YES” as he reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair.  She leaned away for a moment, eyeing him carefully because she needed to know that he would…

“Stay,” she whispered.

Leaning with her, trying to follow her mouth, he shook his head rapidly. “I’m not going anywhere, I swear.”

His lips barely grazed hers when she pulled further away, and he growled at the loss, once again following her.

Come. Back. Here.

“All night?” she asked, letting him kiss her for a few seconds.

He nodded, running his hand up her spine and into her hair as his mouth moved in tandem with hers.  The incessant undulating slide of her hips back and forth pulled a deep groan from his chest, and he couldn’t help but let his head fall back.

She bit her lip, staring at his pale throat.  She’d never been able to resist his neck, not that she wanted to, since he had the most irresistible neck in the universe.  Tilting her head, she leaned forward to place a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below his adam’s apple.

“You’re not going anywhere?” she whispered as she worked her way up to the hinge of his jaw, feeling light-headed from the heat and smell of his skin.

He smelled like heaven- like a leather jacket had soaked up the smoky scent of bergamot tea leaves tossed into a bonfire, and someone had collected the smell, bottled it up, and started selling it as “LO’s Throat” next to Armani Code and D&G Pour Homme at Bergdorff’s or something.

Loki would have nodded in response to her question- no, he was absolutely not going anywhere -but his neck felt like it had turned to jelly thanks to her lips and tongue sliding all over it.  He managed to form some semblance of English-sounding words.

“Not…go-…any…I…” The oddly strung together train of not-words derailed entirely when he felt her hand slide all the way down his pullover, below his belt buckle, then wrap her fingers around him through his jeans.

Tightening her grip, she began to slowly run her hand up and down.  She bit her lip, rolling her hips more, well, greedily when his jaw dropped.  She loved watching his chest rise and fall faster and that strained sound (was it a growl or a moan?) in the back of his throat was so so so so SO sexy.

“Swear it,” she said, using her other hand to lift his head for him, and looked into his dazed eyes.

Breathing hard through his mouth, he gave her an exasperated look.  “I already did swear it!”  For hell’s sake, why was she making him talk right now?!

“Don’t yell at me,” she frowned, leaning further into him, sliding her lips over his for just a second.

“Can’t you tell the difference between yelling and sobbing?”

Dear god, he was whining.  As in, “didn’t get my way” toddler whining .  But he couldn’t help himself- she really was trying to kill him.  For how long had he been hard now?  Thirty minutes?  Surely not.  It had to have been hours .  When she spoke again, her voice was so soft, so shaky, so…in love.  It squeezed his heart so tight, it was enough to distract him from the hand squeezing him through his trousers.

“I’m just making sure,” she let go of the back of his neck to point back and forth between the few inches separating their chests, “because right now, what I need most is to feel you inside me again, but I also need you to be here when I wake up.”

Eyes wide, he blinked at her, his mouth falling open a little.  How could she not know this?  Of course , he didn’t only want a physical reconnection.  It was so much more profound than that.  Yes, he would be here when she woke up.  He would bring her coffee and breakfast if she wanted, or better yet, walk through the deserted New Years Day streets, stop at Ground Support, and then he would take her home with him.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he then exhaled through his mouth. “I told you I am not going anywh-”

His words were cut off by her tongue darting into his open mouth, and before he realized what was happening, his back was on the mattress.  Sigyn leaned over him, cradling the back of his head in her hands and kissing him like his mouth tasted better than those gin and tonics she loved so much, like she was getting just as drunk off of him.

Jesus, sweetheart.  Go right ahead.  Drink up.   

When she sat up and slipped her hands underneath his pullover, his stomach clenched at the sensation of her hands smoothing over his bare skin, her thumbs dipping inside the waistband of his boxer briefs.  He would have said “I never stopped loving you” right then, but the sentence got lost in the back of his throat because gravity, or maybe it was her incessant rolling hips, was pulling her unzipped dress down over her shoulders at the slowest pace ever.  The tease was maddening.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured, his eyes widening when she tilted her head back, her face toward the ceiling, and that goddamn gorgeous dress fell down completely, pooling around her waist and exposing everything to him.

She brought her head back up and leaned down over him again, her hands sliding up his stomach, forcing his pullover up to his neck.  He raised his arms over his head on instinct, and she dragged the shirt off.  Brow furrowing, she bit her lip, and made a pained sound as her eyes roved over his bare chest and stomach.

“So fucking gorgeous,” she said under her breath, pressing her body down against his, the skin to skin contact with him (finally!) making her head spin like she’d finished off a bottle of wine all by herself.

Once again, he couldn’t make words.  At all.  Just… sounds.  Groans.  Soft gasps.  Croaks.  The sensation of her breasts flush against him was, no joke (and no hyperbole), intoxicating .  Eyes sliding closed, he flattened his hand against the small of her back and cupped her face with his other hand, pulling her open mouth to his.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Fireworks- how ridiculously poetic.

Crying softly against his lips, Sigyn reached down between them, nimbly unbuckling his belt with one hand and tugging his button fly open.  He responded with a sharp hiss, and rocked his hips up into her with more force, sliding both hands down to her ass.  Oh god, she loved his hands on her.  She wanted to spend the rest of her life right here.

Hello, my name is Sigyn, and I think I’ll die if Loki Odinson never asks me to be his wife.

She helped him push the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs over hips, biting her lip at the sight of what she hadn’t seen in so goddamn long.

Oh fuck me…

Literally.

PLEASE.

Wrapping her hand around him, she leaned over and slowly kissed the hollow of his throat, and once more, he rocked up into her, his grip on her hips tightening tenfold.

“Sig, oh my god,” he breathed, lifting his head again and catching her lips with his.  Opening his mouth wider, he rolled his tongue over hers, and slid one hand up her spine and into her hair.

Fucking hell, you gorgeous girl…

He’d never been this high in his life.  And that was saying something.  Her lips might as well have been candy- sweet as hell and worth indulging to the point of a stomach ache.  He wasn’t diabetic, but this girl could probably put him in a coma.  He was two seconds from begging her to ride him, but he should have known he didn’t need to ask.  Hovering over him and biting her lip, she slid down onto him as though it was the most natural thing in the universe.  Eyes rolling back into his head, he groaned as she dropped her mouth to his again.

Grinding her hips over his, Sigyn cupped his face with both hands.  This was heaven.  This was Valhalla.  This was LIFE.  Dear god, she’d never been so confident that THIS was the man she wanted to make a baby with.  Honestly.  Seriously.  Desperately.  Stupidly.  Her IUD would make sure that didn’t happen (THANK YOU) but a huge part of her just knew that it would happen… at some point.  Loki would be the father of her children.  Whenever the universe said “ NOW we’re ready” , it would happen.  She wasn’t complete without him, and she didn’t care if that sounded archaic or antiquated or whatever.  Yes, he was a man , and yes, she was desperate to be anything he wanted, anything he needed.  But that was FINE because this was her choice .  This was okay.  It was better than okay.  It was WONDERFUL.  He would give her anything, and she would give him anything.

I WOULD DROWN FOR HIM.

Oh, that she had said that to him in October.  She gave an internal eye roll as soon as she thought it.  Never mind.  That didn’t matter now.  It was January .  The start of a new year.  It was 2020.  Who knew what was in store for them?  Maybe it would be a NIGHTMARE , but at least they would be traversing it together.  She adored New York, but honestly, it had a tendency to highlight the worst of people, and she knew that she was no exception.

“Oh god,” she groaned, her thighs aching from supporting her weight as she straddled him.

Up…

Down…

Up…

Down…

Up…

Down…

He felt AMAZING.  Her body was drowning in Loki, dreaming of him, chasing him through Wonderland…

She heard him say “ Let me help, sweetheart” and suddenly, she was on her back, and he was sliding in and out of her like a… god… for lack of a better word.

With one hand in her hair, he reached down to gently grab the hem of that gorgeous dress- bless Saint Laurent for such a work of art -and pulled it up over her hips.

“Careful, love,” he hissed, slipping it over her head. “So beautiful.”  That was one expensive dress.

And the girl in it is PRICELESS.

He rolled his hips forward and back, over and over…

Again…

And again…

And again…

And again…

And again…

“Oh fuck,” she panted against his mouth, crossing her ankles behind his back. “Oh my god… oh my god… oh my god…Loki…”

Behind a closed-lip smile, he grit his teeth.  “ Oh god” was right.  He felt like a god.  A god who could make her come.  A god who could give her an F-type for Christmas.  A god who could buy her this dress that she’d probably gone into debt just to “wow” him tonight.  A god who could pay for their grandchildren’s college tuition.

Push… pull… push… pull… push… pull…

She was close- he could feel it.  Heaven help him, this was not easy.  He was three months sex-sober, and impressive or not, his dick had its limits.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said through his teeth, moving his mouth to the pulsepoint in her neck.  Tongue on her skin, he ground his hips into her with more force.  “Sig…” oh shit, he was done for… “please, please, I can’t…”

He heard her say “ it’s FINE” with all the conviction in the world, her fingers curling into his hair, and his mouth fell open, his mind and body sky-rocketing up to cloud nine to live amongst the stars for a beautiful ten seconds of his lifeline.  Ten seconds of beauty and perfection that the stars themselves, in all their stunning magnitude, couldn’t replicate.

If I die right now, I’ll be okay. It won’t be death.  It will only be moving through space and time to another dimension where Sigyn Frey smiles at me and welcomes me home.

He blew out a heavy breath through his mouth.  Shit… she hadn’t finished.

“It’s not the end of the world, Loki,” she said, kissing underneath his ear. “I’m in heaven because you’re here.”

He gave her a withering look.

Talk about a low bar…

Eyes roving over her face, he allowed more of his weight (within reason) to settle onto her.

“And you deserve better than that,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ears.  Bloody hell- he felt like a king and a peasant at once.  It was disconcerting.  

“Oh my god,” she groaned, rolling her eyes, then rubbing his nose with hers, “stop feeling guilty over nothing .  This-” she ran her hands from his ribs down to his hips and back up to wrap her arms around his waist “-was phenomenal, and I mean otherworldly phenomenal.”

He grinned crookedly. “Otherworldly?  If that’s how you feel just because I’m here-”

“Here inside me,” she spoke over him, clarifying her earlier point.

“If that’s how you feel,” he repeated himself, his smirk growing into a full-blown smile, “then I truly did level up to a god.”

“Niiiiice,” she laughed out loud, her head falling back.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he chuckled for a moment, but the humor ended quickly because every muscle in her body had tightened from her excessive laughing- EVERY muscle -one of which was particularly…

Gripping.

Didn’t you say you “can’t level up to ‘god’ until book 3” to one of those nurses at Sig’s doctor’s appointment in May?

Did I?

Think so.

Well then… mission accomplished.

Sliding his hand under her neck and into her hair, he lowered his mouth to the dip between her collarbone, which she’d so generously exposed to him by throwing her head back like that.

The tip of his tongue barely touched her skin before he closed his lips over it, and her laugh turned into a strained, quiet whine.  She arched her neck further, her toes already curling as his mouth moved closer to her jaw, teasing her with a bit more of his tongue in each kiss.  Oh hell, she could feel him hardening again.

And you thought he was “done” with you…

“Oh fuck…” she whispered through her teeth, then he pulled away from her throat and lowered his face to hers.

Eyes closing as their parted lips met, he gripped her hair more tightly, determined to avoid an anticlimactic night for her.  Sure, she’d said that she was thrilled or he was otherworldly or what not, and he knew she wasn’t pretending, but… no.  Just… no.  His girl was going to get off, and he could make that happen in thirty more seconds.  Guaranteed.  Keeping his hand in her hair and his mouth on hers, he stretched his arm down to hook his elbow under her thigh, then leaned forward again, lifting her higher and draping her knee over his shoulder as more and more blasts of fireworks lit up the room faster and faster.  Oh the timing .  The finale was coming shortly.

NICE .

Sigyn would have cried out, but his mouth was stifling her.  His entire body was stifling her, and it was hot as hell.  Literally.  She was breaking into a sweat around her temples and neck and chest.  Clinging to his shoulder with one hand, she grabbed his face with the other, her thumb running along his jaw as he moved over her.  The higher angle didn’t only let him push deeper.  It let him slide his lower stomach perfectly over the oh-so-good ache between her thighs.

God. Almighty.

Her leg over his shoulder started shaking, and she stopped kissing him, no doubt looking slack-jawed and drugged.  More blasts… again… again.  Good lord, her room looked like someone had set up a goddamn strobe light across the street.  The coil inside her was so tight, and it was getting tighter by the millisecond.

“Oh god… oh god…” she bit into her lip, letting go of him to stretch her arms back behind her head and slam her palms against the wall, forcing him as far into her as possible as the first little random electric spasms hit her.

Feeling her start to twitch around him, Loki slipped his elbow out from under her leg, and reached over her to curl his fingers around hers.  Gasping and pushing with everything he had, he watched her, ecstatic and overly proud of his accomplishment , as her mouth fell open, her head fell back, and those random spasms turned into impossibly tight, evenly-spaced pulses that he hoped felt more explosive to her than that last round of absurdly loud blasts and pops and crackles and booms and flashes of light in every shade of the rainbow happening outside.

He bit into a smile, slowing his pace to a standstill as his girl floated back to the ground- or bed, in this case -from her own cloud nine Wonderland.  A good -trip Wonderland.  A trip that did not include the red queen ordering her deck of guards to decapitate you.  Her arms went completely limp and would have fallen- possibly directly onto her face -if not for his hands holding hers against the wall still.  Relaxing his grip, he gingerly brought her dead weight arms back down and set them around his neck.  However, they slid right off, landing on the bedcover with a thud, and without opening her eyes, she sighed heavily, a grin spreading across her face.

Raising an eyebrow, he smirked. “That good, hm?”

Still smiling, her tongue poked through her teeth, responding with something between a giggle and a drawn-out whistle. “Apparently.”

~ Several hours later, 8:52 am, January 1, 2020 ~

Eyes fluttering open slowly, Sigyn squinted and put a hand over her eyes.  She turned over, scowling a bit at the clock on her wall.  She would have slept longer if not for the sunlight streaming through her window.

DIRECTLY ON MY FACE.

She wasn’t really upset, though.  No, she was so goddamn happy.  If anyone had asked her yesterday if she would wake up next to Starboy this morning, she would’ve called them crazy.  Her hips and thighs were unbelievably sore, and god, she loved it.  Was he this sore, too?  Doubtful.  He was in too good of shape to be sore after a couple rounds of sex.  Really good sex.  Otherworldly sex.  She bit her lip at the thought and turned over again, smiling wide, to get a look at the guy who’d taken her to the stars and back last night.  Her smile fell immediately.

His spot was empty.  He wasn’t there.  Eyebrows pulling together, she sat upright and rubbed her eyes.  Damn blurry morning vision.  Surely, she was imagining that empty space next to her.  When she pulled her hands away from her eyes, he still wasn’t there.  The sheets were wrinkled, and if she squinted, she could make out the shape of his body.  Eyes blowing wide and lip trembling, she pushed up off the bed.

The rug felt abnormally cold under her bare feet as she tip-toed around the bed, anxiously playing with the hem of her long, oversized, off-the-shoulder, grey sweatshirt that proudly proclaimed in pink block letters that she was “born in the 80s”.  She chewed her lip, turning in a slow circle, eyeing every square inch of her room looking for any evidence of his presence.  Up, down, left, right, shadows, highlights, dim corners, under, above.  Keys?  No.  Phone?  No.  Wallet?  No.  Shirt?  No.  Boots?  Socks?  Pullover?  Trousers?  Definitely not.

Nothing.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, switching from chewing her lip to chewing her thumbnail as she went into her living room, stepping around the space with less confidence than a kid playing “the floor is lava!”

Blinking at the burning in her eyes, she put both hands over her mouth. “No no no no no no no no no no no…”

He left.  He left me again.

“This isn’t happening,” she whispered behind her palms as several tears in quick succession tumbled down her cheeks.

She moved quickly then, scouring the place for a note or something.  Where the bloody hell was it?  Goddammit- there had to be one!  Coffee table?  Key table?  Kitchen counter?  On the fridge door?  Couch?  Under the cushion?  Behind the wall painting over her TV?!  No no no no no!!

“How can he do this to me?” she croaked, sinking down into her kitchen table chair.  Oh god, she was just getting what she deserved, wasn’t she?

Call him.  Text him.  Run to his building.  DO SOMETHING.

Sniffling loudly, she pushed to her feet and walked back into her bedroom.  She’d dropped her phone on her bed last night when Loki had picked her up and carried her to it.

Then he fucked me twice.

Then left me before the sun came up.

Or after I fell asleep.

Whenever that was.

Either way, dear god, I would rather be dead right now.

Heartbreak was a terrible thing, wasn’t it- something that could make an otherwise healthy person think that no longer existing on this planet, but perhaps just… darkness… and the beauty of no longer thinking or feeling… was preferable to breathing.  Oh god, maybe she was overreacting.  Maybe she’d misinterpreted this, and was now seeing everything through the lens of a girl who had been-

Her phone chirped at her then, cutting off her despondent thoughts.  Furrowing her brow, she scrambled to yank the sheets back.  Where was it?

Under your pillow, hon.

Oh right.

Eyes rolling, she shook her head and grabbed her pillow, then tossed it behind her shoulder.  Her little rectangular digital savior laid there, waiting for her to accept the hand that it had reached toward her after falling overboard for the thousandth time.  Swiping it up from the mattress, she opened her texts, and let out a massive breath.  A  breath that left her light-headed and dopey because the “contact” who had texted her was “Loki Forever Dream Starboy Odinson”, and his picture had her reliving last night and aching to get lost with him all over again in those sheets that she’d just all but destroyed to find her phone.

As though you didn’t already want that…

“Fuck, he’s perfect,” she breathed, swiping right to see his words.

Loki: Hey sweetheart.  Did you get my note?  I left it on my pillow.  Well, technically it is YOUR pillow, but that’s neither here nor there.  Maybe it fell off the bed or something.  I won’t lie- I was trying to be romantic.  Trying TOO HARD.  Forgive this lovesick fool of a man, please.  It said “meet me at Ground Support”.  Will you please text me to let me know if/when you are headed this way?

Feeling as though a thousand pounds had been lifted from her shoulders, she blew out a breath and responded instantly.

Sigyn: Just woke up.  I did not see your note, and… I’ll be honest… I have been freaking out ON A LEVEL.  I am on my way right now.  Love you to the stars and back.

Turning in a dizzying circle, her eyes roved over the floor of her bedroom, searching for a pair of trousers.  She growled and hurried to her chest of drawers, yanking the second drawer from the top open and yanking it open to grab the first pair she saw.  They happened to be black yoga pants with a rainbow stripe up the sides, and they were a little too tight, but at least the ankles fit easily into her boots.  She dashed to her door, grabbing her crossbody purse from her key table as she ran out.  Clumsily, she struggled to lock it, then ran down the stairs two at a time, which was surprisingly difficult.  She nearly fell four times.

Out the building door, turn left, run to the first intersection, turn right on to West Broadway, hurry hurry hurry… dear god, run FASTER.

Breathing hard, her eyes widened a bit, and she slowed her steps as she crossed Spring Street and approached the best coffee shop on planet Earth.  A sleek, glacier white F-type (eeeee-lectric white, as she called it) was parked on the street right next to Ground Support, and a stunner of a man was leaning against the hood, his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed.  His black hair was pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck, and a pair of classic black Ray Ban Wayfarers sat on his nose.  He flashed her a perfect smile as she approached him.

“Foot on the gas, sixth gear, 0 to 60, heart rate through that moonroof, I don’t know where the hell we’re going, but…” he pulled his sunglasses down and raised an eyebrow, “Feel like burning rubber with me, gorgeous girl?”

She pressed her lips together, heart rate shooting straight up through the invisible moonroof over her head.

Loki quoting his own goddamn words to me shouldn’t be THIS hot.

He pushed off the hood of the car and took a step toward her. “I caught you biting your lip when I pulled up to your building in these blacked out, ultra expensive, custom-made wheels.  I’m a mess, but I swear you’ll love me.  I’ll take you on the ride of your life.  You’re too smart and far too well-read for me to teach you much of anything, but if you will just get in this goddamn car, I’ll show you how to live fast and die right.”

Dear god, she actually burst into tears.

“Hell yes, Starboy,” she said, biting into a smile as she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Where are we going?”

He lowered his face to hers and kissed her, then pulled away and opened the door. “Get in.”

Clicking her seatbelt into place, she looked at him sideways as he pulled away from the curb and sped off down the deserted New Years Day 2020 street in New York City.

“Seriously, Loki,” she said, grinning ear to ear, “where are we going?”

He turned to look at her and shifted into fourth gear, anxious to get to sixth in the Lincoln Tunnel. “Does the destination really matter?  Or is the ride itself what makes us who we are?  That tells who we wish to spend the rest of our lives with?  The rest of this ride with?”

Reaching up to open the moonroof, even though it was absolutely freezing, he flashed her his iconic smile, and she smiled back.

You’re brighter than the sun, sweetheart.

“I don’t care where we go,” she replied, reaching over to take his hand. “As long as it’s with you, I’m good.”

Still smiling, he returned his eyes to the road. “To the stars, it is.”

Sigyn leaned her head back, shivering from the New Years Day cold coming through the moonroof, and smiled, even happier than she’d been on January 1st three years ago when she first fell into Loki Odinson’s arms.

GOODBYE STARBOY AND SUNLIGHT GIRL. ALL MY NEW YEARS ARE YOURS.

-Jen Eowynir

From the bottom of our hearts here at FrigidImmortals.com, thank you for reading New Year. We ask that you would please do us a favor by leaving comments/reviews because those truly are the greatest sources of help and humble joy for Jen and the Eowynir Admin Team.

The New Year Fever Dreams Sage continues in Part Two:

NEON DAYDREAMS

“SAFE WITH YOU” BY DELANEY JANE, THE LAST SONG FOR SIGYN ELENA FREY

“BABY, I’LL BE RIGHT THERE BY YOUR SIDE. I’LL LOVE YOU THROUGH THE HIGHS AND THROUGH THE LOWS. SO YOU CAN CALL ME WHENEVER, ABOUT WHATEVER. I’M HERE FOR YOU FOR THE REST OF FOREVER.”

– “LOVESICK” BY TREVOR DANIEL, THE FINAL THEME SONG FOR LOKI STARBOY ODINSON

What Readers Have Said

About CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love”

“I love it. It was beautiful and heartbreaking and beautiful all over again. 2020 may be an absolute nightmare but Loki and Sig will get through it alright as long as they have each other. Thank you for writing this wonderful story. (Btw, I am crazy about Fearless Immortals and I’m super excited to find out what happens next)”

-Ferbette, on CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love” (AO3)

“Your writing is absolutely beautiful and you are damn right this story helped me through the year! I stretched this last chapter out over a couple of days just to make it last longer. 😁 I like to think that their adventure through their 2020 would inspire Loki to write another book about the next stage in their lives.”

-Mischief76, on CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love” (AO3)

“This story was beautiful, captivating, magical, sad, lovely, nerve-wrecking, enchanting and overall amazing. It’s sad to see this end. Lovely story, lovely chapters, lovely characters and wonderful author. Enough said.”

-Maïté, on CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love” (AO3)

“AAAAH I absolutely loved this story ♥”

-PennySparker, on CH 12 “Happy New Year, Love” (AO3)

“So I reread this because of Neon and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

-Burningarbitterheart (commenting on New Year Same Habit while waiting for the next Neon Daydreams update)

New Year Chapter links: 1 We’re Just Strangers 2 Hello, My Name is Loki 3 A Helluva Drug 4 Written in the Dying Stars 5 This Helen of Troy (Worth Drowning For) 6 STARBOY INTERLUDE 7 Live Fast, Die Right (Crashing Hard) 8 It’s Called “Being Present” (Hit the Gas) 9 Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me) 10 Hotel Hell, Closing Bell 11 Do Not Go Gently (Run West, Boy) 12 Happy New Year, Love. **Visit the Saga main page here.

**Saga extra features: NYC The New Year Dreamscape Digital Daydreams A Thousand Words

*CHAPTER TWELVE FEATURED MUSIC: “Genghis Khan“ by Miike Snow

THE NEW YEAR FEVER DREAMS SAGA

A LOKI+SIGYN MODERN AU SERIES 
*Notes from the author, upon original posting in January 2020:
I have a few last thoughts. "Is it January?"—Apparently it IS January, and I was terribly naughty and did not publish this on time. *bangs head on desk*  Apologies for the delay. I did publish this final chapter on AO3 by my New Year's Eve/Day deadline, thank god, but a terribly-timed kitchen emergency (strictly "need to know") came up that night, and it screwed up my not-exactly-well-laid plans for THIS site. Listen, procrastination has been the name of my game for three decades. I damn well better improve that habit in 2021. (New year, same habit...what do ya know?!) Now, even though this update is a week late, I'll share my thoughts as they were on December 31, 2020, when I first shared Loki and Sig's ending with the AO3 readers.

Saying goodbye to New Year, Same Habit ON our real-world New Year’s Eve at MIDNIGHT (New York City standard Eastern time) is one of the most bittersweet moments of my adult life.  Perhaps that sounds dramatic (it is, I know), but this story has been my lifeline in 2020.  I think most of us would agree that this year has been an absolute DISASTER of a year, and amidst all the pain and suffering, amidst lockdowns and the loss of physical touch, the loss of loved ones, the layoffs… oh my god, sometimes the only relief (psychologically) I found was in the favorite songs, films, and most of all, BOOKS.  My god, the STORIES.  I often wonder if I am the only one who felt this way.

This year shed a new light on all art forms for me.  Oh, how poetic, in a painful yet cathartic manner, that in a year where the entire planet ground to a standstill, in a year where my mid-town streets in my 6-million-strong city felt and looked empty and DEAD, it was the stories, the previously made films, the local art gallery next door that I can only observe from behind their windows since it had to shut its doors, and hundreds of songs that were more ALIVE than ever for me.  I’ve seen them, listened to them, or read them a hundred times, so, one would assume that they would affect me no differently than the previous hundred times.  Not so.  Somehow, those works of art MOVED and CHANGED and, oddly, BREATHED, as though they’d taken the place of the hundreds of people stuck indoors who I used to pass on the sidewalk while walking or biking to work, to lunch, to grab a coffee, to the park, or dinner dates.  Much like that art, writing THIS story inspired me in NEW ways, shined a light on NEW ideas, and gave me NEW insights, as though this imaginary world was the only sunlight in the dark reality of this 2020 orbit around our sun.  It helped me (and maybe you, dear reader- most likely from multiple stories from multiple authors) KEEP GOING when just getting out of bed was a monumental task.

As I write this final note for you all (and myself), I’ve already written the end of this story; for Loki and Sig, 2020 has only just begun.  I won’t write their 2020 for them, but I envision them in real world New York, pushing through this past year, trying to support each other and be lights for each other when their "city that never sleeps" feels dark and empty.  Loki said "don't let me down, 2020" and even though I WANT to continue his story, to show exactly how this past year would have treated him, I also don't want to force his future to go one way or another.  I'll leave it in my head, and I'll let everyone who read New Year, Same Habit envision the rest of Loki and Sig’s lives however they want to.  I do not want to say goodbye to Starboy or his Sunlight Girl, but I take solace in knowing that this story will live in someone else's mind as well as mine, affecting them in different ways than it has affected me, at different TIMES than it has affected me; that makes it NEW every day. 

Farewell, 2020.  You've been goddamn awful to a tragic amount of the world, but I'll give you credit for this- the pain reminded me not to take the people I love for granted.  I think Loki and Sig would say the same.  They would also say this: Here's to 2021 and the yet-to-be-written stories that it will bring us.  Happy New Year, everyone.

Take care, stay safe, stay alive, and stay wonderful,

Jen

Receive instant notifications directly to your inbox when Jen updates her in-progress works, such as the next chapters of Neon Daydreams and Fearless Immortals in October 2021; we’ll let you know when new short stories and multi-chapter works have been posted as well.* To keep up with our latest news (and to just joke around with us), follow the Jen Eowynir Fiction Admin Team’s Twitter account @LokisWriting (previously Jen’s old personal account). As of June 2021, Jen has a new personal-use Twitter. Both are linked in the icons below, along with her other socials.

]]> http://frigidimmortals.com/new-year-ch-12-happy-new-year-love/feed/ 0 561 New Year CH 8 http://frigidimmortals.com/new-year-same-habit-ch-8/ http://frigidimmortals.com/new-year-same-habit-ch-8/#respond Fri, 09 Oct 2020 02:46:16 +0000 http://frigidimmortals.com/?p=225

Tell me when you’re ready, we can hit the gas. Hands steady, heart heavy, stay hella sad. You love it already, know it never lasts. That’s breaking glass, can’t take it back.

-from “Take It Back” by Darci and OZZIE

IT’S CALLED “BEING PRESENT” (HIT THE GAS)

NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CHAPTER EIGHT

~12:29am, January 1, 2020~

Present day.

“I’ll rephrase,” Loki said, coming to the edge of the bed and leaning down to Sigyn’s eye level, “I do not want to keep living if I have to do so without you.”

Her watery eyes, only visible from the fireworks flashing, blew wide open, and her hold on the underside of her shaking legs that she’d pulled to her chest a few moments earlier loosened.  She placed her hands flat on the bed behind her instead, her painted dark red nails digging into the blanket.  The movement pulled his attention away from her eyes and mouth down to her inner thighs.  Jaw clenching, he breathed harder.  If only she would turn directly toward the window, then that short skirt wouldn’t be casting a shadow over the place he ached to be.  His eyes traveled up and down her legs again.

            Wait…Sig hadn’t removed those Louis V’s?  Oh, he could see it perfectly.  Getting on his knees, yanking her backside to the edge of the bed, pushing her thighs apart, those fucking gorgeous stilettos digging into the mattress as he leaned forward and slowly slid his tongue up and down…

           God almighty—truly, there was no blood left in his head.  

            She said something impossibly quiet then. He thought he heard “oh fuck me, Loki.”

            Think you imagined that, LO.

            No, I was watching her lips.  She definitely said that.

            How very convenient for you, eh?

            He set his hands on her knees, and she looked down at them momentarily, watching his thumbs make circles on her skin.  Stars above, she needed to feel those hands slide down between her legs.  Lifting her eyes to his again, she let him push her knees further apart, and he did exactly what she wanted, smoothing his hands up her inner thighs.  He stopped about an inch short of the place that should have been his final destination, and she bit her lip, fighting the urge to scream “oh my god, Loki, KEEP GOING” right in his perfect face.  

            He leaned in to kiss her, sparing her from having to fight any longer, and she sat up a bit to get closer to him as he pressed his lips too lightly against hers.  She angled her head to the right, opening her mouth, hoping he would do the same and add some damn heat to this kiss, but he only barely parted his lips, and his tongue was completely MIA.  This was…this was not enough.  For the love, she wanted him to kiss her harder than he had in front of her door.  He was being far too careful with her, which to be fair, made perfect sense considering her hesitant behavior five minutes ago.  Still—could he not see that she was absolute putty in his hands now?  Not literal putty, but close enough.  Come now, she took gymnastics for a decade, and muscle memory was no joke. Her flexibility was a point of pride, and she was more than a little desperate for him to twist her like a damn pretzel.  Maybe he just needed to hear her say it.

            “Loki, I’m okay,” she whispered against his (unfortunately) closed mouth, running her thumbs along his cheekbones.

            Bend me however you want.

           His lips stayed so…static…when she moved to kiss him again, and if she didn’t know better, she might think his entire purpose in showing up here tonight was to dangle himself in front of her like a goddamn carrot.

            “I swear I won’t break,” she whined softly, grasping at his shoulders, then his neck, his arms, his belt…all of which felt more like grasping at straws.

            Please, please, please, please, please…

           She wasn’t above saying it—above begging him to drive his hips into hers like a fucking god (pun intended!) just like he used to.  Arching up into him, she whined his name, and as though this “god” was answering her silent prayer, he groaned and finally kissed her back properly.  There was nothing static about him now.  Potential energy turned kinetic.

            Way to remember SOMETHING from science class, girlie.

            Twenty blissful seconds later, he downright stole his mouth away from her and gave her a dark look that could be considered somewhat…scary…in another context.  

            “I’m not afraid of breaking you, sweetheart,” Loki said, his fingers digging into her hip and curling into her hair.

            God, if the thrilled knots in her stomach tightened any further, she might throw up, which would make her vastly more appealing to him.  His hands felt like heaven, and he was hardly doing anything.  The simple fact that these were his hands, and they were on her was all the effort required to make her thighs shake.  The heat in his eyes probably had something to do with that.  That, and his voice was filled with more smoke than the ongoing fireworks show in midtown.

            A firework show that will be over any moment now…right, hon?

            Everything other than her heart froze in time as the thought flitted across her mind.  Suddenly she was spinning, and it wasn’t a giddy, fun, excited spin.  It was like being stuck in a giant tornado with the words from Loki’s soon to be published third book, which she’d read at her office the day his editor handed the manuscript off to Val to return to him last September.

            Rather than give it to him in person, Val had given it to Carol so that she could just drop it off with Sigyn at work.  That would save Val a trip to Loki’s place or some other meeting point during already overpacked schedules.  He hadn’t explicitly said “do not read this yet” to her, so she’d delved right into the pages during lunch that day.

            She hadn’t known what to expect, other than knowing it would be a hard-hitting bestseller no matter what.  After all, his editor had already given it a five star review in an email the day before, and she’d caught snippets of it on his laptop screen over his shoulder periodically throughout the year, which though out of context, were pretty as hell from the looks of it.

            Thinking back on it now, something in her gut had already been gnawing at her when she turned that first page, telling her to pull her hopes for some swoon worthy Sunlight repeat back down to the ground.  He’d been so secretive about his third novel, and that should have been an indicator.  2019 hadn’t exactly been kind to them.  Stress levels had been climbing consistently from the start of it.  Nonstop work, endless grind, Tony dying, sleepless nights, depressed moods, car crashes, fighting and fucking and fighting again, excessive alcohol, Atlantic-sized barriers between them, sexual harassment and assault…

            For BOTH of us.

            From the first paragraph, even if the author’s name had been removed from the title page, she would have known it was his writing.  Just like his first two books, the third had that same moody stream of consciousness, overly-self-aware-and-knows-it energy about it.  It was Loki-typical dreamy, and the lit crits would eat it up…again.  One of them once called him a “raw, unaffected writer” in a review, and they wouldn’t take it back after reading his new work.  If only he’d been a little less raw, maybe she would have read it through to the end.  She’d shut it down at page 27 because…

            That’s when the firework show ended.

            Oh god, she didn’t want to think about it—the words on that page or the day itself.  She wanted to snap her fingers and watch September 30th, 2019 disappear in a puff of smoke from her memories.  She slammed her eyes shut, wishing that day into oblivion.  If only the back of her eyelids weren’t absolutely covered with Loki’s page 27-word graffiti:

One pill, two weeks.  That’s all it takes to save her life, not that she knows this consciously.  The lack of deadened circles under her eyes are proof enough as they lift to look at mine, staring at me over the lucky paper coffee cup kissing her mouth.

“You’re staring,” she says, hiding a smile behind that cup.  Happiness radiates from her sun kissed cheeks.

“And YOU’RE assuming,” I counter, pointing to the aviators hiding my eyes.

My mouth is a thin line, an unwavering mask of stoicism, unaffected by the fireworks in my chest.  The glass windows reflect the sun onto the concrete beneath us, heating the city air around us.  I squint behind those obscenely expensive plastic mirrors.

She leans over the cafe table, pulling my glasses down. “I’m right.”

I feel the skin around my eyes crinkle, the mask fading. “I said you were assuming.  I didn’t say the assumption was wrong.”

Her face splits, white teeth baring themselves easily, bold and unafraid.  I wish the skin hiding behind her shirt and beneath her skirt would be so daring.  My face falls, the crinkles disappearing, my chest deflating as she sets her cup down and rises from her chair.  She walks away, and I am lost in that short green skirt.  Daylight drowns under the shadows between the pleats as she moves.  I hear her speaking over the clinking of sidewalk silverware and broken English and footsteps and car horns and squealing brakes.  Her rasping voice is louder than the lower west side during lunch hour.

“You coming with me?”

The inside of my skull screams “oh don’t I wish” as I approach her and take her hand.  We live in the dog days of summer, yet her fingers are ice as she drags me down the pavement, suggesting we change our clothes and go for a run.  She’s out of her goddamn mind, and she knows it.  Running at high noon?  In 90-degree heat?  I agree to it anyway because the suffering will be over as soon as it starts.  She’s not a runner.  Not by a long shot.  She won’t last more than five minutes.

Five minutes turns into a week’s worth of completely unintentional sweat-soaked 5Ks.  I fear this will become routine.  I prefer running alone.  I am in love, but the firework show ended two days ago, leaving nothing but smoke and ringing ears in its wake.  Without the space between us, she becomes me, and I become her.  I’ve never been particularly fond of the person in this body, but I think I’m the best man for the job.  I am behind bones, not bars.  Millions at my disposal, yet I’ll never make bail.  She has no place here with me.  Angels don’t belong in hell.

            Still underneath him, tears burned Sigyn’s eyes.  Of all the complicated insane metaphors spinning around in his head, why had he chosen fireworks?  In doing so, he’d put into words for the entire bloody world to read, something personal—something private and deeply significant to her.  Fireworks were supposed to belong to them.  To Loki Odinson and Sigyn Frey…to Starboy and Sunlight.  No one knew that January 1st was their day.  Not Darcy, not her mum, not his mum, or Hela, or Val, or Bucky, or Thor or anyone else.  To everyone else, “early 2017” was close enough.  The idea of him obsessing over the perfect, most poetic (and tragic!) imagery to describe the loss of “that loving feeling” and deciding to go with “firework show’s over kids- go home” had left her feeling gutted.

            “Sig?”

           Even though he was right there, inches from her face, Loki’s voice was a distant echo.

            “Sweetheart?”

           The affectionate, loving pet name pulled her out of September 2019 (technically the earliest hours of October) and brought her back to the earliest hours of January 2020.  She met his eyes, blinking away tears.

            He sighed, dropping his forehead to hers. “Should I be scared of breaking you?”

            You swore you wouldn’t break, sweetheart…tell me that wasn’t a lie.

           God damn, he was hard as hell and between her perfect legs on New Year’s Day, and he needed her to be okay.  No, being “okay” wasn’t good enough.  He needed her to shamelessly beg him for it, because she hesitated after he took that chair into her living room as well as just now, both of which were setting off warning sirens in his head.

           Eyebrows pulling together, he inhaled and exhaled slowly as though taking a relaxing drag of the air itself.  Three months alone, doing stupid shit to numb the pain of having to do life without her, wishing he could take back whatever the hell he did wrong, or whatever he didn’t do that he should have done, then finally losing what was left of his bruised ego and coming to her (with hopes of coming in her), and now he was actually considering keeping it in his trousers for her sake.

            My god, I love this girl to the stars and back.

            Sigyn looked all over his face. “Loki, I—” her mouth snapped shut abruptly as the anxiety turned her stomach almost violently.  Along with the aftereffects of maybe too much alcohol, it was enough to send the few contents of her stomach up into her throat.

            Loki frowned. “Sig, what—”

Slapping a hand to her mouth, Sigyn shoved his shoulders, and he sat up and back instantly.  She scrambled off her bed and dashed for her bathroom, slamming the door behind her to spare him from the sight, though she wouldn’t be able to do anything about the wretched sound.

            Happy Fucking New Year.

~9:30pm, June 7, 2019~

Seven months prior

(Two hours after the car crash before leaving for Montauk)

            Elbow on the driver’s side window, Loki leaned his head into his palm, stopping to give plenty of room to the car pulling out of a street parking spot a few blocks from JB’s building on 150 Joralemon Street in Brooklyn.   Flipping on his right turn signal, he tapped the steering wheel repeatedly, his patience wearing thin as he waited for this wannabe-DMV-sloth driver to hurry along.  He would just drive on if this hadn’t been the first damn parking space that he’d seen within a five-block radius.  This was always a busy area, what with being only one block from five trains, most of which were a one stop shop straight to Manhattan, but the traffic tonight was absurd.  

            Sigyn groaned in the passenger seat, banging her head softly on the dash above the glove box.  “This is madness.  It’s supposed to be Brooklyn Heights, not bloody Times Square!”

            “There’s a reason we avoid that place like the plague,” he muttered, checking his mirrors.  No one was immediately behind him, gratefully.

            “Why won’t Darce bloody respond to me?” she growled, gritting her teeth so hard it hurt. “She has left me on read all damn day!”

            Truly, it hurt so much that her forever best friend (the person she would need most to get through the next two months!) hadn’t called her back after she left that panicky voicemail while Loki was helping Ana next to her crashed car earlier—“Hey Darce, I really need to talk to you. Just, you know, I need to hear your voice. You’re my best friend on the planet. Please call me. I’m in a bad place right now. Okay, love you. Bye.” Thoroughly lost in the image of crunched cars and broken bleeding people, she jumped at the sound of Loki’s voice.

            “Sweetheart, my ears need you to take it down a notch.” Yes, he was pissed off too, but his girl was yelling right next to him, and in a small, enclosed car, no less.

            “Sorry,” she lowered her voice, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Does Bucky leave you hanging like this?  Of course, he doesn’t.  He loves you.  Everyone loves you.”

            Everyone wants you to STAY.

            “That is a patently false statement,” he objected, kissing the top of her head as he opened his last texts with JB. “You know Lewis loves you to death, but she’s as flaky as clinical strength dandruff.  You’re just too used to my rapid response time.”

            Curling her hand around his elbow, she swallowed the lump in her throat.  He was right.  He’d raised the bar, made everyone else look sloppy and inconsiderate, and now she had to adjust back to normal humdrum life without him.  Now was probably a good time to practice counting calming breaths just like he’d taught her to (and taught again and again) every time work stress started getting out of hand.  She would need it at the airport on Tuesday.  Otherwise she would hyperventilate in the checked baggage line while giving him that one final hug before two months of nothing.

            That, or I’ll get arrested for breaking through the JFK security lines to chase down my boyfriend in the Virgin Atlantic international terminal.

            She sniffled a bit and reached up to rub her suddenly wet eyes, forcing a these-aren’t-tears-they’re-just-dry-tired-eyes yawn, then sat upright to get away from the unpleasant twitchy sensation of his right forearm as he texted back and forth.  Clearly, his friend loved him, and why wouldn’t he?  Loki was so…he was…so…oh…what was the best adjective?  Chewing her bottom lip, she frowned, trying to pull some fancy, fifty-cent word out of her brain.  Okay, writing was clearly not her strong suit, nor was she a walking thesaurus.

            Simply (and accurately) put, Loki is the most amazing man in the universe.

            Correction: most amazing human being.

            Goodness knew she was mad for him.  Though in her current heartbreaking situation, she wished she’d never fallen for him.  Tuesday would be a nightmare.  She wouldn’t be able to let go of him.  Maybe she should quit her job.  He’d told her that he could cover the costs of her bills and rent for however long she needed him to.  All she needed was an internet connection to search for a new job, which meant that she could do it from anywhere.  Namely, every city on Loki’s book tour.  His sudden voice made her jump a little in her seat.

            “Oh, what marvelous timing,” he said, rolling his eyes. “JB said that the prep school across from his building had a graduation event tonight, and oh apparently the entire tri-state area attended it.”

            Releasing a heavy breath, he leaned his head back so he wouldn’t bang it against the steering wheel.  Normally the extra traffic wouldn’t bother him to this extent, but that crash earlier had shaken his nerves, and he felt like a sitting duck on this street.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned up the music to drown out the rumbling engines of car after car driving by right next to him.  A century later, he was still waiting for this goddamn parking spot, and he finally broke his calm exterior.

            Hitting the steering wheel with his palm- whack! -he shouted at the unmoving car, each word punctuated with another hit.

            “OH—” whack “—MY—” whack “—GOD!!”

            WHACK.

            He dragged his hand down his face. “What did I ever do to this person??”

            His mini outburst probably should have unnerved Sigyn.  However, the deep, gritty tone of his voice was making her shaky for an entirely different reason.  If she had it her way, she would climb over the middle console and straddle him right now.  Rolling her head to the side to look at him, her eyebrows pulled together as she bit her lip.

            Good god, his profile…that tight, angry jaw… why do I like his nose THIS much…I have problems.

            CLEARLY.

            “Seriously, come on,” he growled, white knuckling the wheel with his left hand while moving the gear shift side to side with his right hand as was his habit any time the car was in neutral.  He was on the verge of giving up on this spot, but then JB texted him, and he looked down at the final text on the screen—

Loki: Waiting on this fool to move so I can get his parking spot. Loki: I want an explanation, JB. JB: Prep school on Clinton is having some graduation thing. Sorry, Lo-man. Shit timing. Loki: So the world hasn't descended into COMPLETE idiocy wherein hoards of people are actively choosing to spend their Friday night in Brooklyn? Oh thank god. JB: Welcome to the other side of the bridge, you fuckin Manhattan elitist. Loki: More like UNDER the bridge, you fucking Brooklyn troll. JB: TROLL? jfc man. I just spit out my drink. I can't even be mad. Loki: With this goddamn traffic, I fear I'll be here all week. JB: Better take that spot. Guy just left.

            Eyes blowing wide, his head snapped up to see the driver pulling away.

            “FINALLY,” Loki growled, jamming the clutch to the floor with his left foot while yanking the gearshift hard left and straight back into first.  He released the clutch while giving it some gas, and so the tricky dance of rapid gear switching began.

            Eyes dancing fluidly between mirrors, parked cars, moving ones, pedestrians, and the car’s parking cam dash display, he sped forward one car’s length beyond the space, then braked hard and fast.  Clutch to the floor again, he shoved the stick all the way forward, shifting into reverse.

            “Head down, sweetheart,” Loki said, setting his right hand on the back of the passenger side headrest and twisting his entire torso to watch behind him.

            “Oh right, sorry!”

            Sigyn ducked forward but kept her eyes on Loki because—oh hell—seeing him dominate…or ehm…drive stick shifts like a damn pro turned her body to jelly every time.  It was second only to her hair kink. 

           Heart kicking into high gear (oh the unintentional puns), she watched Loki’s tongue poke out to wet his lips as he turned the wheel with his left hand.  Right hand still on the headrest, he stepped on the gas and whipped the car back into the parking space with perfect aim.  Lord, the man made it look effortless.  Sigyn sighed, sitting upright again as Loki shifted back into neutral and yanked up the parking brake.

            “Loki Odinson, you sold your soul to be able to drive like that,” she said, shaking her head. “It is the only explanation.”

            Killing the engine, he grinned crookedly as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Yet another reason to think I’m the villain in this story.”

            He then carefully leaned over the parking brake, slid one hand up her inner thigh and the other behind her neck.  Just as his lips touched hers, the cars that had been stuck behind the red light a block behind them drove by, several of which honked, then they heard several shouts and whistles.

            “Look at this slick motherf—” 

            He then carefully leaned over the parking brake, slid one hand up her inner thigh and the other behind her neck.  Just as his lips touched hers, the cars that had been stuck behind the red light a block behind them drove by, several of which honked, then they heard several shouts and whistles.

            “Boy. What. Even.”

            “He said SWERVE.”

            “God. DAMN. That job was clean as HELL.”

            “Boy told Vin Diesel HOLD MY BEER.”

            “YOU HAVE LEVELED UP, SON.”

            Other words and phrases were spoken, but he had no clue how the hell to translate what he assumed was Gen Z slang.  Her shoulders started shaking, and he laughed out loud when she snorted against his mouth.  The rapid fire back and forth conversation on the sidewalk outside was absolutely bonkers.

            She eyed the group from behind the safety of tinted windows. “Please explain what ‘swerve’ means in this context,” she asked, trying to gain control of her snickering.

            “Sure, I can answer that, no problem,” he replied, grabbing his phone to text JB that he was right across the street from his building. “I just need to search through the ‘shit kids will say in 2019’ section of Encarta first.”

            She opened her door at the same time he did, and as he walked around to her side, she arched one eyebrow at him.

            “What’s Encarta?” she asked, head tilted in confusion.

            Just before he reached her, he halted mid-step, eyeing her from under his brow. “Oh my god, please be joking.”

            Eyes rolling hard enough to get stuck behind their sockets, she reached forward, curled her fingers into the fabric of his perfectly fitted, plain black V-neck tee and dragged him to her.

            “Um…of course I’m joking,” she said, wrapping one arm around his neck and pulling him with her as she leaned back against the car window.  For pity’s sake, she was born in ‘88, not ‘98.

            Going up onto her toes to reach his ear, she whispered, “I even used card catalogues back in the day.”

            “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he deadpanned, looking at the text that just popped up on his phone as she laughed against the hollow of his throat.

            JB: be out in 5 or so. Darce is still packing 🙄

            Jaw clenching, Loki tapped the convenient “thumbs down” icon over the text.  It occurred to him then, as he slid his phone into his back pocket, that Sig was no longer laughing into his neck, but gliding her lips and tongue over it.  His eyes rolled back, and he suppressed a loud groan.

            “Easy, woman,” he hissed, pressing the heel of his hand against the top edge of the door frame, his short-trimmed nails digging into his palm as she closed her mouth over the skin below the hinge of his jaw.  Sure, since it was dark out here, their excessively close contact wasn’t entirely visible, but still. “There are children present.”

            “Then we should get back in the car,” she suggested quietly.

            Stars above, she wanted him to control her just like he’d controlled this mint condition, freshly waxed, gunmetal grey 6-speed.  She wanted to hear him say “head down, sweetheart” for reasons other than being able to see out the window.  She was also breaking apart inside over what would happen on Tuesday, and the combined emotions made it damn near impossible for her to keep her hands off him.  All signs pointed toward getting back in the car and driving somewhere without prying eyes.

            Since he was approximately three seconds from saying “screw it” and grinding against her in a decidedly not family friendly fashion on a crowded street, he gritted his teeth and forced a few inches between their hips.  As she blinked wide-eyed up at him, tugging on his neck a little, he watched her perfect teeth scrape over her bottom lip, and for just a moment, he forgot they were surrounded by people.  During those seven seconds of heat-induced blind delirium, he shoved his knee between her thighs to push them apart, but he snapped out of it quickly and stepped back, his eyes blowing when he heard his name spoken by several unfamiliar voices over the sound of the loud traffic.

            “Is that Loki Odinson?”

            “Oh my god, it is him.”

            As though it might offer him some reprieve from the gravity holding him down on this street where he was too goddamn visible to the world around him, he looked up at the night sky with pleading eyes.  He might just push Sig back into this car and take off toward his place.  He could text JB to take the R train to Canal once Lewis finished packing up her entire house for a two-day trip. 

            A different voice asked, “Who’s L—…uh…what was the name?”

            “How do you NOT know who Loki Odinson is?”

            He exhaled slowly, resisting the temptation to pull a dick move and walk right up to them and say “he doesn’t know who I am the same way that YOU don’t know that I’m not a fucking A-list, household name” to that person’s face.  To be fair though, he was about to jet-set around Europe for eight weeks as though he was an A-lister.  How had he allowed HC to sucker him into this nightmare?  Was the tour sold out?  Yes.  Would he meet thousands of people who adored him?  Yes.  Would all those happy, excited faces and possible squealing and heart-warming personal stories of how his books helped them get through something in their own lives make up for a forced existence outside of New York and everything he loved for two months straight?

            I’m not counting on it.

              “Why would he know who Lo is?  You know Jayden can’t read.”

            I don’t know these people, but I’m inclined to be offended on “Jayden’s” behalf.

            “Can’t read? Woman, did I ask you to spell something?”

            “Books!  Books!  Books!”

            Eyebrows pulling together, Loki pursed his lips.  Uh…what was that person even saying?  Well, he wasn’t exactly surprised by that impossible to follow response, because given the decibel of their slightly slurred voices, unsteady steps, raucous laughing and wildly flinging gestures, he was 99.9% certain that this group was utterly wasted.  He didn’t judge people for such things, of course, but the extra alcohol had taken what would otherwise be “talking” and turned it into accidental shouting.

            If only they weren’t shouting about ME, it would be like watching decent stand-up.

            The one who had asked the question- poor “illiterate” Jayden -looked rightly confused.

           “Now you’re just yellin’ random shit like you got Tourette’s.  Or a toddler who learned a new word.  Or had one too many edibles.”

            Okay, I like this Jayden kid.

            “No, you gotta actually read books to know who Lo is ‘cause he’s an author.”

            Actually, darling, I’ve no doubt that most people who read books have no idea who I am.

            “Did you say ‘Hulu is’ or ‘who Lo is’?  Nah, you know what?  I don’t care.”

            Neither should I, yet here I am questioning my writing capabilities simply because not everyone “cares” to open my books.

            “She’s talkin’ about the guy who wrote Starboy and Sunlight.  He’s standing right over there.”

           Oh for—why does everyone drop “Looking for” from the title? Is it some catchy “S” theme to them?

            The title of his third novel, which he was planning to announce in September, was Satellite Tides, and he should probably prepare for that to turn into just Satellite instead.  He rolled his eyes, annoyed that he was speculating over inconsequential nonsense.  Scratching the back of his neck, he scowled at the ground, still listening to their conversation.

            Someone else said, “Starboy was hot as hell, but ugh… Sunlight?  Um, MARRY ME.”

            Pressing his lips together, his chest deflated.  They’d likely beg him for a divorce after the new one.  He glanced at Sig in his periphery then, his mouth falling open a bit as his heart rate started to climb a little too quickly.  This was the first time he’d realized that his new novel would feel like a breakup, like a relationship falling apart…until the last two chapters.  What a horribly timed revelation, here on a packed street in Brooklyn.  Maybe he should put a disclaimer on the first page. 

TO AVOID BURNING EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND, READ ALL 311 PAGES OF THIS BOOK!

            No, that would violate his “no spoilers” policy.  The only thing he could say was “finish the book, and then we’ll talk about it” and hope that no one served him papers for breaking their hearts in the first bloody chapter.  Swallowing nervously, he dropped his forehead to his girl’s shoulder.

            Sliding one hand up to the back of his head, she leaned her cheek against his temple, unsure what was making him this upset.  No doubt he was aware of the conversation between those most likely university-aged students, and overhearing people discuss him often made him a little uncomfortable, which might be a contributing factor.  However, his current demeanor seemed legitimately pained.  They were still talking about him, and it was probably best to get the hell away from them before something uncouth was said.

            “Want to go to the other sidewalk?” she asked, lacing her fingers with his.  

            Without hesitation, he said, “Yes please.”

           Once the traffic cleared, he hurried across the street, dragging her with him.  Maybe it was the car crash or the inevitable book tour or the fear of taking a nose dive off of that pedestal the critics had put him on after the last one, but he did not want to hear people talk about his books.  Unhealthy as it was, he needed to prove that everything he created was worthy, and compared to the others, his new novel would probably be a letdown.  Fantastic- now he was so keyed up about it that, for the first time, he would prefer to hear vapid, overly sexual commentary about his body right now.  Trying to shake off the negativity in his head, he blew out a breath and tightened his grip on her hand as they stepped up onto the curb.  Whatever- looks or books -at least they hadn’t said a word about Sig.

           Hearing people talk about his girl tended to send him flying over the edge with more gravitas than Thelma and Louise.  Most people were nice and respectful, but even so, a small population of obsessive, predacious “fans” just would not stop fixating on her.  They came up with the most lunatic reasons to justify hating her, and they weren’t afraid to voice it through their goddamn internet megaphones.  The most recent instance had happened during Sig’s unintentional weight loss while grieving for her dead friend.  Those absolute monsters came after her for perpetuating “ultra-thin beauty standards” and thereby promoting eating disorders.  Talk about making one’s blood boil-he’d punched an actual hole in his drywall.  That was the first time he’d responded with an overtly candid (and long) Instagram post about the hate directed at her—

***To my KIND fans:  THANK YOU for always being lovely, supportive, and respectful, especially during this emotionally trying month. I hope to be able to thank you in person one day, and if that happens, I’ll dole out massive hugs for it.  Now please feel free to ignore the rest of this post, because my next words are exceedingly harsh, and spattered with explicit angry language, and I assure you that they are not meant for you darlings. -LO x 

(Also, won’t it be hilarious if one of the people from the group below actually flags this post as “abusive”?—Oh my god, the IRONY)

To the self-entitled brats claiming to “care” for me while simultaneously harassing my girlfriend:

I wish I could brush this off as gag-inducing drama driven by fickle “fans” who will likely move on to obsessing over the private life of some other unfortunate “celebrity” (I don’t believe I fit into that category but whatever) in a month or two.  However, you twats have been tagging my girl in hateful posts and/or leaving abusive comments, be it on her page or mine, for two and a half goddamn years, and the frequency with which you do so has not declined but rather INCREASED, therefore, I have (unsurprisingly) reached my breaking point.  The gloves are off.

According to my social media team’s estimates, out of my nearly 300K followers, you lot make up less than 1%.  That sounds like nothing, but it isn’t nothing if one accounts for how fucking LOUD you are.  This is the first and last time I’ll address your absurd, grossly inappropriate, openly obsessive behavior in one of my posts.  I get it.  Your hormones have run amuck.  You have NEEDS.  I’m not stopping you from being as loud as you want amongst yourselves, but for the love of god, you continually tag me (and my girlfriend!) in your beyond vulgar posts and in MY comments on MY posts.  What the hell is WRONG with you?

Until now, I’ve been “gracious” with you wretched creatures, because apparently, most of you are at least fifteen years my junior, and I’d rather not waste my time arguing with people who can’t even rent a fucking car.  HOWEVER, we are nearly halfway through 2019, and I have now been tagged in 3,521 rude, harassing, or downright abusive posts and/or comments.  I’ve seen “EDUCATE URSELF LO” (or some equally insipid version thereof) in response to bullshit articles, disgusting rumors, and deliberate misinterpretations of goings on in my personal life, which supposedly “prove” that the person I love is “problematic.”  If you all genuinely thought you could continue to “OMG DRAG HER!” without losing “access” to ME, you should consider having your heads checked. (For obvious reasons, I know several psychiatrists who might be able to help you all combat your seemingly insurmountable Misery-esque neurosis.  Oh dear, did I just say ANOTHER problematic thing?  THE HORROR.)

Barely legal “adults” telling a 36-year old ACTUAL adult to “educate” himself is not only peak Karen, but peak c**t.  If you had even a shred of class, you wouldn’t throw mind-numbingly pathetic toddler-style tantrums on public social media platforms due to, for instance, some random picture of me kissing my girlfriend.  Newsflash: I’m in love with her, and I don’t want anyone BUT her, so…tough shit.  I swear to everything, you are not only an embarrassment to me, but to my respectful, caring, intelligent, thoughtful, big-hearted, NOT creepy readers/fans for whom I have great affection.  They deserve the world, and it is only for their sakes that I remain active at ALL on this account.

I’ve instructed my social media team to “take out the trash” starting tomorrow, but before they drop Les Enfant Terribles into internet nothingness on my behalf, since I think #Starboy said it best, I’ll give him the last words: “[...] here you are, hell-bent on tying me down, both figuratively and literally.  I know these velvet ropes really do it for you, but I’m not your fucking submissive.  I’m not your mountain to climb.  I’m not your challenge.  I’ll never be your greatest conquest. [...] you’ll never actually drive this car.  You don’t know how to drive a stick anyway, and I sure as hell won’t be your training vehicle.  Go practice stalling out on some old cash-for-clunkers reject.” ***

            His team still sifted through his mentions once a week to get rid of the haters, but even so, some of the nastiness still made its way to him, and ever since the first bitchy comment showed up in his notifications two years ago, he’d been extremely wary any time people said a word about her.  So… again…even though he was currently amid a mini freak out about Satellite Tides and didn’t want to hear his books discussed, at least this group on JB’s street wasn’t going on about Sig.

            Of course, just as that tiny silver lining crossed his mind, one of them ruined it by mentioning her.  

            “Who’s that girl with him?”

            Loki turned his head sharply in their direction, staring daggers even though there was no way that they could possibly see it.  Dammit—he’d crossed the street so he wouldn’t have to hear them anymore!  So much for that.

           One of the others replied, “That is definitely his girlfriend. I follow her on Insta.”

            You mean you STALK my girlfriend on Insta.

            Calm. Down.

            “The one from Sunlight, right?”

            “She’s not in it. He just dedicated it to her.”

            “How dare she steal my husband from me.”

            No one STOLE me.  I chased Sigyn Frey like a madman from day ONE.

            “Zane, he’s like twenty years older than you!”

            Oh no no no.  I’m going to be sick. That kid is only 16.

            “Uh no. He’s 36, not 46.”

            Oh, thank god—26 is an ACCEPTABLE age.

            Wait…did that mean these people thought he looked 46?  As though he wasn’t already paranoid about his slowly (sadly) receding hairline…

            “Sig…N… Frey… weird name.”

            Weird? Alright, BECKY. 

            “Don’t leave comments like that.  Sometimes Lo goes OFF on people for talkin’ about her.  And sometimes even for benign shit.”

            “Like…he’ll reply directly to them?”

            Absolutely I will, and my publicist despises me for it.

            “Yup.  He even wrote a whole post warning people to leave her alone back in May.  Granted, his reason for that post was legit.  But still.  He’s kinda volatile.”

            I prefer the term “certifiably moody” but whatever.

            “I want him to be volatile on top of me. HAHAHAHAHAHA.”

            Jesus. Christ.

            “How old is this Sigyn girl?”

            Old enough to remember card catalogues at least.

            “Probably like 22 cuz Lo can literally get it.”

            Raising an eyebrow, he pursed his lips.  22?  Uh…no thank you.  No hate, but that age couldn’t remember a time before the internet, which would make him feel positively geriatric. It would be just sex, and that no longer interested him, though he doubted anyone would believe him if he said as much.  He’d had his fill of purely physical encounters.  The only thing that interested him—would ever interest him—was currently holding his hand, which come to think of it, wasn’t close enough for his liking.  Running his free hand through his hair, he let go of Sigyn’s hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side.  Those people weren’t saying anything cruel or rude, but—shit—he really was too protective for his own good.

            Too “volatile” for my own good… and that’s WITH treatment.

            Gratefully, JB and Lewis rounded the corner then, sparing him from giving further attention to a group of strangers who weren’t saying anything harmful but had nonetheless set him on an excessively self-conscious mental path.  Right now, he ought to simply be with his friends, since it would be his last chance to do so for a while.

            Arms wide open, Darcy hurried to Sigyn. “Dude-” she glared at Loki’s arm around Sigyn’s waist “-I want to hug my bestie, so move your clingy ass over.  I’m so sorry for not getting back to you, Siggy.  Shitty insane day at work, and all that…”

            Sigyn hugged her like her life depended on it. “It’s fine.”

            It’s NOT AT ALL fine, Darce, but whatever. I LOVE YOU.

            Darcy kissed her cheek and threw her arms around her neck. “Seriously, Loki.  Come on, useless boy.  Help Bucky with my bags,” she said, hugging her friend even closer.

            She pointed to the bag she’d dropped on the ground when she’d first come waltzing out of the building, and Loki blinked mutely at her for a moment before eyeing the yellow polka dot bag next to him on the ground.  He made a face. Dear god—were his eyes bleeding?  The thing was hideous.  No no no no no, surely even weak-armed Lewis could handle that measly little bag.  It couldn’t be more than half full.  Admittedly, the woman already had one bag slung over her shoulder, and it looked like it was the heavier of the two, but that was on her for packing a thousand bags.  He was feeling less than generous in a myriad of ways, and that was before anyone ordered him to go anywhere near that yellow atrocity.

            He touched it with the toe of his sneaker. “Tell me you don’t mean this one.”

            “Uh, yeah, genius,” she called out to him over her shoulder as she dragged his girl away from him toward the car, “Do you see any others?”

            Did Lewis just, at an offensive decibel, sarcastically call him a genius right here on a packed street in Brooklyn?  

            Cool it, LO.

           I don’t have to COOL a goddamn thing!

            Sig’s friend let go of her just as they reached the edge of the pavement and turned around to face him, looking back and forth from him to the thing on the ground.  Why couldn’t he think of any clever retort?  His quick wit was bailing on him, and oh it was pissing him off.  Dammit—his suddenly useless brain was giving him a highly annoying eye twitch.

            Bucky walked up behind him then. “Doll, it’s not even heavy,” he said loud enough for her to hear him from twenty feet away on a crowded sidewalk.

            Darcy smiled brightly at him. “Therefore, Starboy over there has no reason to not grab it so we can get on the road.”

            “Oh, I have my reasons,” Loki said, giving her a pointed look, which was apparently hilarious because she snorted loudly and slapped a hand over her mouth.

            Eyes rolling, he glanced sideways at his friend who was adjusting his grip on one of the two bags he’d slung over one shoulder.  Looking in all directions, Bucky exhaled heavily through his mouth.

            “Dammit,” he mumbled through his teeth, “this crowd is turning me ten espresso shots level jittery.”

            “I’ll get the damn bag,” Loki said, noting the man’s twitching fingers and clenched jaw.

            As much as he felt like being a dick to Lewis for putting him in a situation where people would see him with that should-be-burned rockabilly Betsy Johnson throwaway on his shoulder, clearly his friend was in no shape to deal with the back and forth arguing in the middle of this street.  God, he hated it for JB.  The aftereffects of Iraq would haunt the man for life.

            Mmhm, and if your friend can go overseas and fight in an ACTUAL WARZONE, you can pick up that crime against GOOD fashion.

            Pressing his lips together, he bent down into a low squat to grab the yellow polka dot (ugh) shoulder strap, which was inconveniently stuck underneath the bag.  He cringed when his hand grazed it.

            Oh my god, I am two seconds from blessing this Brooklyn pavement with my vomit.

            “Thanks.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair as Loki blew out a breath, still trying to work up the courage to pick the stupid thing up. “I feel like a pack mule.  I told her, word for word, ‘if you’re lookin’ for chivalry, doll, this ain’t it’  That would be me choosin’ to do this shit, not bein’ ordered to’ and all she did make a sad face and walk away.” He frowned down at Loki. “You okay, man?”

            “I think I’m allergic to this fabric pattern,” Loki made a gagging sound, and Bucky doubled over, grabbing his stomach while trying not to laugh too loudly.

            “Oh my god, Lo…man…I shoulda known that would kill you,” he croaked, rubbing tears from his eyes. “It’s not as bad as having to go on an emergency tampon run for her.”

            “Nope, this is far worse,” Loki grumbled, dragging a hand down his face, still unable to bring himself to sling it over his shoulder. “One can easily conceal those in a shopping basket.  Plus, that particular errand pleasantly reminds me that I successfully avoided knocking up my girl that month.”

            “Way to look at the bright side, my man.”

            Both men turned at the sound of Darcy’s too cheery voice, which was much closer now since she had apparently walked back to them during their short conversation.

            “We’d already be in the car if His Royal Highness ‘do they make this in black’ Prince Lo here would get over his aversion to fun vintage style,” she said, then started laughing as Sigyn hurried up behind her and slapped her shoulder, mouthing “STOP” to her.

            Loki knew he was high-key overreacting to a NON-thing.  He knew it was more important to get his friend out from the middle of all these people.  He knew that helping a woman with her bags was the mature thing to do.  He knew those things, but when combined with everything else- the crash and the book and the tour and leaving his girl and haters and stupid bags in stupid Brooklyn—hearing Lewis call him “Prince Lo” was the last straw.  Glaring up at her from under his brow, he set his forearm on his knee, his hand dangling in front of his chest.

            “I’m not your goddamn bellboy, Lewis.”

            Eyes blowing wide, Sigyn looked between her boyfriend and her best friend, then she stepped around Darcy to grab the yellow source of this completely unnecessary argument. “Here, I’ll get it.  I don’t mi—”

            “NOPE,” Darcy grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Don’t you dare give in.  I know he’s your dream boy and all that, but he’s being an asshole.  We need to stick together.  Chicks before dicks.”

            Bucky rolled his eyes as she dragged Sigyn back toward the curb twenty or so feet away, then he sighed heavily.

            “Here, you take my nice plain black bag,” he said, then imitated Darcy’s voice inflection, “and I’ll get the fun vintage one.”

            As they switched bags, Loki rolled his eyes. “She’s baiting me, and I’m taking that bait like an angry simpleton.”

            Even though they were weighed down by unnecessary luggage, Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose we could flip it and bait her instead.  I mean, she did just call us dicks, so maybe we should live up to the name and retaliate in a highly classy ‘bros before hoes’ manner.”

            Just as Loki opened his mouth to ask what exactly that would entail, the niche audiophile vinyl store next door cranked the volume of their absolutely phenomenal sound system through the wide open doors and windows, and he heard JB laugh awkwardly.  He looked at his friend, one eyebrow to his hairline.

            “Oh my god, Lo—” he gestured vaguely all around them “—tell me you’re seein’ all these people dancin’, otherwise I’m hallucinatin’ and-”

            “You’re not hallucinating, JB,” Loki spoke over him as he looked up and down the pavement and across the street.

            His mouth formed an ‘o’ when he noticed several large ‘CONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 2019!’ banners and tables with cakes and plates and what not.  Had those been here the entire time, or did people only just set them up?  Come to think of it, he’d heard the record store playing music all along, but he’d paid no attention because…well…most retail shops play music in the background, but this one had been providing music for a graduation party.  It was a legitimate street party, with a few hundred (at least) attendees. 

            “Oh, you know what—” Bucky pursed his lips, squinting as he turned in a circle “—this is actually a school-sanctioned graduation reception.  They do this every year.  Completely forgot.”

            Eyes moving from stranger to stranger, a crooked grin spread slowly across Loki’s face. “Looks fun actually.”

            His friend responded with a noncommittal hum. “Maybe…possibly, but I still gotta get off this damn street, man.”

            Loki was only half aware that his friend was still speaking.  He was frozen to this spot on the pavement while staring at Sig far away at the other end by the crosswalk, and he wanted nothing more than to dance with her just like all these other perfectly carefree people.

            “What’re you doin’ just standin’ there, man?” Bucky asked tightly, his fingers twitching. “Montauk is callin’ our names, and you’re stallin’ on me.”

            Finally tearing his eyes away from his girl, Loki let his head loll to the side and looked at his friend instead. “I’m tense as hell, and clearly you are too.” He gestured to the crowd. “I feel like dancing with them.”

            Blinking several times, Bucky pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Love ya, man, but you are on your own there.  I don’t dance.”

            Still separated by the crowd, Darcy frowned and leaned toward Sigyn. “Admittedly, this is totally petty, but this has turned into an official game of chicken, and I refuse to be the one to swerve out of the way.”

            “Oh please, you know you’re just offended that he thinks you have terrible fashion sense.”

            “Damn right I’m offended,” Darcy snapped, giving her best friend a look. “I’m offended by that tone you’re taking with me.”

            “Well excuse me for getting a bit defensive of him when you didn’t say ‘hi’ or anything!  You just told him—”

            “Woah woah woah,” Darcy spoke over her, giving her a look, “you have to be on my side here, sister.  I know Loki hung the moon and all—” she waved a flippant hand “—but this is what feminism is all about, my friend.  The patriarchy is right over there, using their really great hair and lean athletic bodies and sharp jawlines and blah blah, to distract us from the fact that they are trying to make me carry my own bag, and I’m sorry, but that is not what our suffragette foremothers fought for.  We’re already stuck carrying the babies, so the least these pretty boys can do is carry the goddamn bags.”

            “Yes, we are truly showing the sexy patriarchy who’s the boss right n—” Sigyn’s eyes blew wide then, and she turned to face her friend directly, gesturing to the guys with her chin. “The damn bag is on your boyfriend’s shoulder!  You don’t have to carry it- problem solved!  Now let’s just-”

            “Which means my man caved to your boy, and that is total bullshit.  Bucky has to carry three just so Loki doesn’t have to put his perfectly manicured hands on some peasant’s belongings?”

            Sigyn squinted, trying to see the guys better in the dark, then groaned and rubbed her temples.  Good lord, she hadn’t had a conversation this level of petty since her first year at NYU when some wasted girl yanked her by her hair and dragged her off a couch in the freshmen dorm because she’d supposedly snogged her boyfriend.  To be fair, that was more of a fight than an argument, complete with scratching and slapping and hair pulling.  It remained one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.  Squinting further, she set her jaw, then put a hand on her hip.

            “Oh my god, Darce, use your eyeballs,” she groaned, pointing at them. “Your boy is only carrying TWO, not three.  They just switched duffels is all.  You’re the one who started this juvenile madness by calling Loki names such as, and I quote—” she counted off on her fingers “—useless boy, and genius, and Starboy, and his royal highness, and prince Lo.  And you know he despises that last one.  That was so un—”

            “Um, Siggy…” Darcy spoke over her friend, swallowing audibly and leaning toward her.  Speaking out of the side of her mouth, she said, “They are dancing.  Those boys dropped the bags altogether and are now dancing in the middle of the sidewalk.” 

            Sigyn stopped picking at the black nail polish on her thumb to look up at the guys just as Darcy threw her hands up and rolled her eyes.

            “I don’t get why they’re doing this,” Darcy groaned. “My flyboy was all LETS GOOOOO, and your Starboy was all FUUUUUCK YOU, and now they’re gonna flip a switch and start dancing at some rando’s high school graduation party?” Her eyes nearly popped out of her head then. “Wow those ladies are getting close to my man.  Oh no no no no.  You are on your own, Siggy.  I have some territory-marking to do.”

            Surrounded by dancing bodies (singing too), Loki focused intently on his girl as she jumped awkwardly out of her friend’s way.  Lewis was coming straight toward JB, and he assumed it had something to do with these newly legal girls moving a bit too close to her boyfriend.  He was surprisingly jealous of his friend when Lewis openly grabbed him by his belt (Jesus- not what he wanted to see) and started inappropriately grinding against him as though this was some sort of trap house beat when in reality it was the classic old school favorite Suspicious Minds by the infamous king of rock and roll himself.  Frowning deeply, he returned his gaze to his girl, who was still standing a thousand years away in front of that crosswalk.  

           Why won’t she come to me like Lewis went up to JB?  Does she not give a damn that I’m LEAVING on Tuesday?

            Mentally brushing that gut-wrenching thought aside, he refocused on the singing and dancing going on all around him—on the fun things going on all around him.

            Frozen to the pavement next to a street sign, Sigyn kept her eyes on Loki as she exhaled through her mouth.  She wasn’t particularly good at the “anxiety-breathing” technique (who knew it was a “skill”?) but she could at least try.  He looked so happy, so carefree, so…A-ok, and maybe it was because he liked the distance between them right now.  Maybe he would like an ocean between them.  At some point he’d put his sunglasses on, probably because people were taking pictures of (and with) certified blue check @lokiswriting.  He was so “on brand” right now, smiling for them and putting his arms around them and ducking into selfies with them, and she’d never felt so insignificant in her life.

            Wearing those cool as hell shades with his hair up and messed up while singing and dancing like he didn’t care who saw him, he was the incarnation of a hot summer night.  She vaguely heard Darcy, who was still a good twenty feet away, shouting at JB—“How is Loki able to hit the high notes? Baritones should not be able to switch into tenors at will like that!” —over the music.  As though her best friend had posed the question to her, Sigyn shrugged one shoulder in response.

            “He can do everything,” she said under her breath, staring at her too-perfect boyfriend.

            Except turn back time and UNSIGN his tour contract.

            Great.  Now she was falling down that miserable rabbit hole too.  She’d already been upset that he was surrounded by strangers, most of whom were really pretty and probably ten years younger than her, therefore more exciting and sprier.  Some were dancing so close to him, and he looked as though he was actually enjoying this situation, when instead he ought to be getting the hell out of there before someone legitimately groped him.  He carried a knife on him for that exact reason, for god’s sake!  Oh well, maybe it was all fine and dandy so long as it was some hot 22-year-old rubbing her ass against the front of his trousers.

            Swallowing nervously, she chewed her lower lip.  Was this how it would be when he was overseas?  Would she see pictures and videos of him loving that classic Starboy “live fast, die right” life without her?  Ugh, she could actually feel the jealousy rising in her chest like excessive cheap liquor at a bad idea party slowly making its way back up into her throat.

            Okay…I need to get the hell away from all these shiny happy people RIGHT NOW.

            Spinning on her heel, she started toward the car, but she only made it halfway across the street before a familiar hand grabbed hers.  When she turned around, Loki was pushing his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and blinking silently at her.  His eyes twinkled like the streetlamps, like brightly lit city windows.

            She caught herself before she scoffed “how DARE you have the gall to look so HAPPY.  How DARE your eyes be brighter than I’ve seen them since JANUARY while I’m over here breaking into pieces?  How DARE you let your stunning irises turn twenty shades of gorgeous green and blue under these streetlights!” right into his face.  The words he wrote on the spot at her doctor’s office and posted on his Insta came screaming back to her, though her mind automatically switched them to fit her point of view instead of his: “He blinks at me with iridescent eyes.  Are they silver?  I think they are stars.  I think infinite light years will soon permanently fill the space between Loki and me.  I think I’ll die before I get the chance to be anywhere near him again.”

            “Where do you think you’re going, gorgeous girl,” he asked, lacing his fingers with hers as he tugged her toward him and pulled her back to the sidewalk.  He let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her waist instead.

            “I was just going to grab my water from the car,” she said without missing a beat, faking a smile.  

            No way in hell would she let him see how damn miserable she was right here in this moment.  If he looked happy, then she could too.  Even if it was the lie of the century.  She waved a hand, attempting to look breezy and carefree about it.

            “It’s so hot out here, and with all the dancing and… you know…”

            He couldn’t look less convinced, and it irked her to no end that she couldn’t fool him at all.  She stopped the instinctive roll of her eyes, trying to keep eye contact with him, though her excessive blinking was ruining her “just fine, thanks” mask.  Alright, lying might not be her strongest suit.

            Looking all over her face, Loki shook his head. “This is the second time today that you have tried to run away from me.”

            Her mouth fell open. “No, that’s not what I’m—”

            “Do you have any idea how painful it is to watch you, literally and figuratively, turn your back on me, Sig?  Especially now, of all times?”

            Feeling like a piece of absolute human garbage, she lowered her eyes.  She shouldn’t be surprised that he would process her actions much like a reader recognizes an overt abandonment metaphor.  And why wouldn’t he?  She’d be lying to herselfif she said that she wasn’tchecking out of this relationship.  If she said that she wasn’t too scared to roll up her sleeves and put in the hard work after the fireworks show of the first two years was over because it might just fall apart anyway, that would be a lie too.

            What a wretched little coward- if you love this man as much as you claim to, Sigyn, then fucking PROVE IT.

            “I need you more than ever,” he said, reaching up to push her hair behind her ears. “Please just be here with me.  Don’t let the past drag you under the surface, and don’t focus on a future that neither of us is guaranteed.  The former is depressing, and the latter produces overwhelming anxiety.  Trust me on that, sweetheart.”

            Knowing he was one thousand percent correct, and wishing to the stars and back that she could follow those easier-said-than-done directions (for both their sakes), she wound her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest.  However, just as soon as she did that, she felt his fingertip on the underside of her chin, slowly lifting her head to look up at him.

            “Focus right here—” he pointed at his eyes “—nowhere else.”

            She swallowed, wondering how upset he might be if she told him that she didn’t want to look at his eyes unless they were wetter than Niagara Falls.  Unless they were sad.  Unless they screamed “I AM FALLING APART TOO, I SWEAR” at her.

            “It’s called being present,” he said, his fingertips slipping just under the back of her shorts as he started rocking her back and forth, “and presently, I want to dance with the love of my life.”

            Blinking away the instant rush of tears, she slid her arms around his neck as he bent lower and danced like the present was the only thing they had.

            Maybe it is the only thing we have.  Maybe his next New Year won’t be mine after all.

THE NEW YEAR FEVER DREAMS SERIES

A LOKI+SIGYN MODERN AU SERIES

NEW YEAR SAME HABIT CONTINUES IN CHAPTER NINE: BURN IT TO THE GROUND, SIG. (JUST DON’T BURN ME)

Visit the New Year Same Habit main page HERE.

Chapter links: 1 We’re Just Strangers 2 Hello, My Name is Loki 3 A Helluva Drug 4 Written in the Dying Stars 5 This Helen of Troy (Worth Drowning For) 6 STARBOY INTERLUDE 7 Live Fast, Die Right (Crashing Hard) 8 It’s Called “Being Present” (Hit the Gas) 9 Burn it to the Ground, Sig. (Just Don’t Burn Me) 10 Hotel Hell, Closing Bell 11 Do Not Go Gently (Run West, Boy) 12 Happy New Year, Love.

CHAPTER EIGHT FEATURED MUSIC:

“Suspicious Minds” by Elvis Presley

THEME SONGS:

“Take it Back” by Darci ft. OZZIE (for Loki)

“Kids on the Street” by Of Verona (for Sig)

What Readers Have Said

About CH 8 “It’s Called ‘Being Present’ (Hit the Gas)”

“Ouch, man, just ouch!! I get why Sig couldn’t read more than page 33 but come on!!! And Loki doesn’t even know it’s because she read his book, noooooo!!!! Also a great scene for the end, it is always great to read things like Darcy being a bit shitty, it is really realistic! We tend sometimes to idealize those characters and forget to give them flaws, not in this case!”

-Bullla, on CH 8 “It’s Called ‘Being Present’ (Hit the Gas)” (AO3)

“I actually really enjoy going back and forth in time. You slowly see how they got where they are. And Sigyn…I have been in that same headspace before and it sucks. I think they are both gonna have to learn to love themselves before they can truly be happy.”

-Mischief76, on CH 8 “It’s Called ‘Being Present’ (Hit the Gas)” (AO3)

“There is so much in this chapter, yet I keep coming back to “certifiably moody”. That just describes Loki perfectly.”

-Ferbette, on CH 8 “It’s Called ‘Being Present’ (Hit the Gas)” (AO3)

Receive instant notifications directly to your inbox when Jen updates her in-progress works, such as the next chapters of Neon Daydreams and Fearless Immortals in October 2021; we’ll let you know when new short stories and multi-chapter works have been posted as well.* To keep up with our latest news (and to just joke around with us), follow the Jen Eowynir Fiction Admin Team’s Twitter account @LokisWriting (previously Jen’s old personal account). As of June 2021, Jen has a new personal-use Twitter. Both are linked in the icons below, along with her other socials.

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