#relinquish writing

[spacemimz]

Relinquish Chapter 1

It'd been a relatively normal night, even for New York standards. Mikey swung from one building to the next with his mystic chains. There was a certain building on 31st Street he'd been eyeing for a while. The massive brick wall was essentially begging to get painted. With his colors and a vision in tow Mikey made his way over there, trying not to get caught up in something else. The boy was almost too easy to distract. But you can't blame him, his mind is always so full of ideas that it's hard for one thought to stay permanent for long. And those thousand thoughts at once were what kept Mikey occupied mentally as he traversed the rooftops.

Within less than 20 minutes he was able to spot his desired building. Smiling to himself Mikey got closer and- wait.. there's someone already there?! In his spot! And... oh he knew that silhouette all too well.

"Great. Just.. great", the terrapin sighed. He was debating fighting over the wall, asking to share was out of the question. They would never share. They never do. Michael couldn't have been sitting with his thoughts for longer than two minutes before a spiderweb was shot next to his head. "Why are you here? Are you stalking me?", the dreaded figure asked annoyed.

Mikey just rolled his eyes and put on his best shit-eating grin, "Oh please. You're not cute enough for me to dip into psycho behavior like that. I'm here for the wall you're hogging, Nightshade."

The two teens were at a stale mate, they both wanted to paint that exact wall, alone, with the other far away. The only problem was that Nightshade isn't your run-of-the-mill teen with a rebellious streak, they were rebellious no doubt, but also New York's favorite mutant and resident hero. Despite being mutated and having spider-like superpowers, their body looked human. Their mobility and strength was on par with Mikey's own, a fight would be fruitless. Neither of them would win and the wall would remain blank.

With their arms crossed over their chest Nightshade spoke up, "Real funny, lizard boy."

"Turtle"

"Whatever makes you happy. I was here first and therefore this is my wall so buzz off. Go cause trouble for someone else for once." Their tone was annoyed, but as always, held a familiar yet certain sadness. Nightshade was always close by in the aftermath of missions and worked closely with the police, being one of the NYPD's most trusted hands.

It wasn't fair, they were so easily accepted but Mikey and his brothers? Shunned and hunted for existing. It was all these little things that made Nightshade so difficult to be around and yet; Michael wanted to be friends with them. They would be a massive asset should the foot clan ever return to cause trouble. Besides they were someone Mikey could go all out on without repercussions and do art with. By all means Nightshade would be the perfect friend if it wasn't for that damn attitude.

Speaking of which-

Nightshade got more and more pissed at the silence and Mikey not moving that they started tapping their left foot. That snapped Mikey out of his thoughts and he finally replied "I don't cause problems, I solve them. The foot situation a few months ago? Solved by yours truly so your argument doesn't hold up!"

Mikey got closer to Nightshade and stuck his tongue out at them, a dangerous game but he continued, "I have an offer for you. How about we work together and make this wall extra rad?" "HA! You and me working together? Did you hit your head? Or are the sewer fumes finally getting to you?" Nightshade replied, the smile on their face hidden by the mask but still audible in the way they spoke.

Mikey and them were now mere inches apart, both ready to fight, and once again Mikey re-noticed something about the spider mutant that bugs him. They were tall, easily 5'9" or 5'10" yet they were thin with way too little muscle mass to be able to pull off the stunts Nightshade regularly was seen doing. He thought that they must be a gymnast, there was no other way for this work.

The longer those two stared at each other trying to make the other budge, the more apparent it became that their stubbornness was also something that the teens were equals in. Mikey tilted his head to the side and confused Nightshade with that.

"Y'know, you're so weird. You're mean to me and my brothers but with other mutants it's never like that. Yes, I've seen you in the Hidden City, you're no secret. I don't understand why you hate us specifically."

"I don't," they replied.

It sounded so honest and earnest that Mikey was caught off guard, his eyes widening in shock. Was he hallucinating? Maybe he did hit his head or maybe the sewer fumes were getting to him. There was no way that Nightshade, the Nightshade, New York's favorite, just said they don't hate him. This was either a mean prank pulled off well or just straight up not true.

Nightshade's mask portrayed a look of un-amusement, "Don't make me change my mind."

Those stern words got Mikey back on track, seriously how do they do that? Rerouting his thoughts like a happy little train conductor without even doing much.

"Hard to believe with the way you act spidey," Mikey retorted.

What followed was a deep sigh from the spider mutant and then they leaned down to get into Mikey's face: "Listen, twerp, I don't hate you. I just hate the headaches you cause me." "Ibuprofen should help. Unless you're like me and engineered to be immune against opioids-" Mikey was caught off by Nightshade grabbing his face and glaring him down. This only made the small terrapin smile.

It was kinda funny how easy it was to push his advisory's buttons. After a good 30 seconds Nightshade pushed the orange banded turtle away and walked to the edge of the rooftop the two were on.

"Take it. I don't care about this stupid wall anymore. If you paint you won't get in my way at least." And with that Nightshade jumped off and used their webs to sling away into the night. The youngest Hamato watched, equally admiring their slinging skills and being sad they left. He did mean it when he said he'd like to work together. Perhaps they misunderstood? Maybe Mikey needed a session with Dr. Feelings when he gets home, refine his communication skills. It worked with Donnie after all.

Staring at the wall and the small artwork Nightshade left, he felt bad. Maybe he should've just let them have this one. And maybe this wasn't all lost.

Mikey decided to ditch his original idea of a Lou Jitsu meeting Jupiter Jim mural and rather wanted to add onto Nightshade's art. What they had painted was a figure in all black surrounded by a small white border. The mutant turtle thought the best way to make this figure pop out from the wall would be a colorful background.

So he busted out the paints and got to working. He settled for a piece of New York's skyline. That made it easier to play around with shapes and heights to make the piece visually appealing.

After a few hours of painting Michael received a message from Raph to come home. Glancing at the clock Raph was right, nearly 5:45AM. The people of New York would be up and about for their morning commute soon. Mikey packed up the paints, texted Raph back and before he left he looked back the painting so far. The rainbow colored skyline did make the figure pop out, just like he planned. Pleased with himself for the moment, the turtle took a picture and sent it to his friend. No, not April, neither Sunita. Not even Cassandra (were they even friends? Hard to tell).

Mighty Tangerine🍊

Sent a photo

6:02AM

Favorite Dolla Bill💵

Woaaaahhhh! That looks mad epic dude!

7:17AM

Mighty Tangerine🍊

Haaaha i know.😏 technically it's a collab

7:18AM

Favorite Dolla Bill💵

Oh yeah? With who?

7:18AM

Mighty Tangerine🍊

Nightshade! Well they don't know yet but this is going to look so awesome when it's done

7:19AM

Favorite Dolla Bill💵

Well you better tell them about their luck soon. And hope they're in a good mood or you'll be turtle soup. Anyway gotta go, school calls 🏃

7:20AM

Mighty Tangerine🍊

Usual place at 9??

7:20AM

Favorite Dolla Bill💵

Bet! Bring snacks

7:21AM

Mikey loved having a friend of his own. His "favorite dolla bill" was his friend Billie. The two met on a dirty roof in downtown Manhattan almost 6 months ago. Billie had gotten into a fight with her dad over school. They had missed three lessons in Spanish and four in Math, a near death sentence at Visions Academy. Billie had been kicking up dirt and putting stickers on various surfaces on that rooftop.

Michael had crashed into him during one of many foot clan spats. Neither were hurt but Billie was surprised to get crushed by a mutant turtle dude on a random Thursday. Ever since that day Mikey had been seeing Billie more often on the rooftops. Talking sparingly became frequent chats, exchanged numbers, inside jokes, shared interests and solo hangouts.

The elder Hamato brothers noticed Mikey lighting up after meeting Billie. Raph was worried that Mikey may get tricked and used but he never was. It was almost as if Billie tried to make others feel at ease. The red banded brother slowly tried to let go of his fears for the youngest, encouraged by Leo and Donnie.

The longer Mikey and Billie hung out, the closer they became closer and closer. One by one the walls came down and secrets were shared. Mikey told his friend about his insecurities and struggles as the family youngest and family therapist. He shared how all the problem solving usually fell on him. How his dad had always been absent and how that messed up their relationship. In turn Billie told their friend about how a year ago, when the oozesquitos escaped Draxum, a patient at the hospital his mom worked at was mutated and became aggressive.

The mutation was so vicious that the mutant patient attacked every and any thing in it's way. What followed was carnage. Over two dozens of people died that day, Billie's mother included. Billie also shared their woes about being queer at a prestigious school and how hard gender is.

Those talks forged a deep bond between the teens. Both of them glad in their own way to have a friend like that. This deep bond made mundane mornings like the one now all the more worth it. While Mikey was sitting in the kitchen at the lair before going to sleep he was texting Billie before he had to go to class. The terrapin smiled softly waiting for and reading replies. He counted himself lucky.

"Miguelito, go to bed. If you don't Raph will get super mad at you and pull a Donnie supreme on you," Leo spoke leaning in the doorway. From down the hall Donnie echoed "You don't want that! Raph pulls on my legs like he's trying to rip them out!"

The blue and orange themed turtles turned to the doorway when Donnie had started shouting. Wide-eyed they looked back at each other before swallowing hard. The threat of being handled like a sack of potatoes was enough enticement to get the youngest member of the family to go to bed.

He did need rest after staying out the whole night painting. Another good reason to sleep would've been the fact that Mikey hated falling asleep when hanging out with Billie. Falling asleep around his family and April was fine, he's always around these people but not her. No, he is different. Just based on how little time they can spend together, it's a whole different world from Mikey's family.

Trotting over to his room the box turtle crashed into his hammock and put his phone on its charger. 9PM couldn't arrive sooner. Much like before Mikey's mind was running haywire with all the things he could do with Billie later. Where they could grab food and hang out, maybe they could play video games together? The possibilities seemed endless.

Eventually the thoughts started slowing as the turtle teen drifted into the land of dreams. Nothing could ruin his evening later on, not when he's hanging out with his best friend.

next

[ironunderstands]

I’m having some Aventio thoughts.. :3

Possessive Aventurine urghhh Aventurine who won’t let Ratio out of his sight for more than 10 minutes when they are out together out of fear, Aventurine who is terrified he will lose someone else he loves and will hold Ratio’s hand at any opportunity he gets, Aventurine who mildly and vaguely threatens anyone who so much as looks at Ratio badly…. AAAAAAAAA

Like usually I don’t enjoy the “you’re mine” kinda trope/mindset, but Aventurine has lost practically everything and everyone close to him so I can see him being extremely, well, possessive, of Ratio. However he would still obviously respect the others boundaries (especially due to his trauma), it’s just I can see him keeping Ratio as close as he possibly can.

I think that’s why I like writing fics where Aventurine is rescuing/saving/protecting/etc Ratio because he needs the ability to care for someone like that just as much as Ratio needs the ability to just let go and be vulnerable

Like Ratio already spends all his time trying to help others so having someone else do it for him is a welcome change, and Aventurine constantly has all eyes on him, so not having to be the center of attention for once is freeing..

..which is also why I probably prefer dom aven/sub ratio when it comes to nsfw/suggestive content of them. It’s more interesting than the alternatives to me because it’s a dynamic that would benefit both of them and help work out their issues in canon. Not saying it’s some magic fix it or something but yeah I think Ratio needs to give up his control sometimes and Aventurine needs to gain some. I feel like people downplay how sex can be used to explore character dynamics and I know this is kinda off course for what I usually write/talk about but I just haven’t seen anyone discuss it so I thought it was worth mentioning.

Moving onwards, I really love writing Ratio when he’s not in a normal state of mind. Drunk, injured, sleepy, a fucking owl (IM WORKING ON THE FIC THANK YOU @aurae-rori FOR HELPING ME BETA ITS AT 6.3/~10k WORDS IM GONNA TRY AND FINISH IT SOON I PROMISE), etc.

Whatever one of these you decide to inflict upon Ratio allows for some really interesting characterization to be enabled, because well, the man’s a tsundere, and it’s kinda hard for him to keep that up when he doesn’t have the capacity to. Honestly I view his tsundere-ness as being half voluntary/a choice and half just the way he is because he’s not very good at expressing his emotions or dealing with other people’s emotions.

However if I were to say, make him drunk, a good portion of that barrier breaks and Ratio’s true self gets exposed, and he nor Aventurine nor anyone really know how to deal with that. It’s so much fun to just put a character out of their element and see what they do next, and I think messing with Ratio’s mental state is the epitome of that, because now he has to confront the fact that he IS hiding parts of himself, and that’s scary (in a good way).

I also think Aventurine dealing with the fact that someone just genuinely lives him but is too afraid to really show it would be compelling. Would he blame himself? Would he dig into it and accidentally cross Ratio’s boundaries, then feel horrible about it? Would he doubt that it’s really real until it becomes transparently clear that Ratio does love him? Oh the possibilities..

Would he see Ratio being kind to someone in a similar way that Ratio is to him and get jealous? Would he worry that maybe he isn’t special to him and is just selfishly imagining everything?

They make me insane.

[muddyorbsblr]

relinquish the crown: plans & protestations

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: Season 1, Episode 12; one month after 'from a world away'

Summary: Tensions start to run high when you and Loki thwart Prince Damien's monopolization of your schedule and the visiting prince acts impulsively, making a declaration that could ruin your once bright plans for your life in Asgard

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 7.3k [pls prepare drinks & snacks accordingly]

Warnings: themes of incest (he's adopted but still); potentially inaccurate depiction of an archery lesson; definitely inaccurate depiction of a royal court gathering; Prince Damien (yes he's a warning now); misogynistic behavior from the royal family of Alfheim (are we surprised?); lap sitting; Odin's A+ Grandfather-ing

Things to be aware of: Loki giving precious protective future husband energy

The sun had barely begun to rise in Asgard when Loki hopped off his bed, speeding his way through his daily morning preparations, using his magic to cut every corner he could, all to be out of his chambers and ready for when you would step out. Today he was going to be there before that blasted Prince Damien. Today he would walk to the dining hall finally by your side, as it should be.

Today the void in the shape of you that had made its presence felt for the last two fortnights would finally cease to plague him.

He took a deep breath, pleading to the Norns that when he opened the doors to his chambers the hall would be noticeably lacking in a certain bothersome visiting prince from Alfheim, and perhaps he could finally spend a sliver of time with you today. The hall was thankfully empty when he stepped out; however, he knew from days past that this did not necessarily equate to your time not being monopolized by the short-sighted scheming prince.

The sound of footsteps approaching your door from the other side filled his heart with hope, his pulse quickening when your doors opened and he caught sight of your face peeking out, an adorable expression of conspicuous alertness coloring your features as you glared at the turn at the end of the hall. Your gaze swept across the length of the hall, your eyes softening with visible relief when they met Loki's.

"Good morning, little princess," he greeted you with a chuckle, holding his hand out for you to take as you stepped out of the door. "You seem in need of a place to hide."

The god's brows knitted together the moment your full form came into view, immediately questioning the sleeves that covered the length of your arms, with holes at the end to put your thumbs through. What worsened his concern was the additional collar piece that covered the entirety of your shoulders and neck.

"Darling, are you ill?" He quickly closed the distance between you and placed the backs of his fingers to your forehead, tracing your features with his fingers, feeling for a chill under your skin.

"Ill? Gods no, Loki, don't be absurd," you answered him with a chuckle. "I have not known the displeasure of being ill since I was but a child." And then as if on queue, your face scrunched its features in clear discomfort.

"What do you call your frequent headaches, then, darling?" he prodded, pressing his fingertips to your temples and gently massaging the area, a smile coming to his face when you let out a relieved sigh in response. "Would you tell me then why you've chosen to wrap yourself as if you are to go into the tundras of my birth realm? Are you cold?"

You let out a lighthearted laugh when the god pulled you into his arms for an embrace, not hesitating to wrap your arms around his midsection to return the favor. "Not cold," you said with evident deflection. "I do however appreciate the hug. I feel as if I hadn't seen much of you, or anyone really, the past few fortnights." Loki's heart quickened in his chest when you nuzzled your cheek against his chest. "I've missed this," you sighed, sounding the paragon of contentment as you settled into his hold.

"I've missed you as well, little princess," he breathed out, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "However this does not dissipate my initial concern. Is everything alright with you? Something feels amiss."

Without lifting your head from his chest, you shook your head to answer his question, your audible groan of frustration rumbling against his skin through his robes. "This blasted prince has been monopolizing every waking moment of my time, so no. Everything is not alright. I haven't had an hour this past moon apart from sleep or bathing to barely even think. He has infiltrated every aspect of my life, and I despise it."

He rested his cheek against the top of your head, holding you just a touch tighter. "I take it the visiting prince's wandering eye has not ceased?"

"If only it were just that," you grumbled. "Now he has wandering hands as well. I reckon if he was not certain that I would chop off his manhood where he stood he would attempt to have wandering lips to go with it."

He knew that it was irrational for him to see red at that moment, for that voice in his mind to seethe and scowl "How dare he lay his hands on what is mine? Has he no awareness of what would befall him if a single hair were to fall out of place from my beloved? My fated?"

But the words stung bitterly in his heart. You may be his beloved and his fated, yes. But you were not his. Not to kiss, not to praise, not to pleasure or love.

But in this moment, perhaps he could be granted the privilege of having you as his to hold. And much as he knew you were more than able to fend for yourself, his to protect.

"This insolent boy of a prince, has he hurt you? Forced you? Pressured you in any way?" he seethed, holding you by your covered shoulders and searching your features for any sign that could tell him the answer was yes. So that he may have an opportunity to inflict some form of damage on the arrogant visitor; he'd been itching for the chance ever since his first day in Asgard where the two exchanged words that were as if they'd been meticulously chosen and woven together to crawl under his skin.

And rub into his face that his desire and love for you will remain unrequited for the rest of his days.

"Just say the word and an accident could befall him."

His growling vow didn't do much other than elicit a slight chuckle from you, your nearly covered hands reaching up to cup the sides of his face. "There's no need for that, Loki, I am more than capable of fending for myself. Truly my only frustration is that of all the things I can control where this royal farce of a courtship the only thing that slips my grasp is my time. I haven't the chance to train or plan or even study, my duties have been taken on by Grandmother's ladies in waiting or by Grandmother herself. I feel myself a burden—"

"Ah, Princess. Good morrow. I could have come here earlier had I known--Oh," Damien's words were cut short as he caught sight of you in Loki's arms. "Good…Morning, your Highness. Are you…are you ill? Your eyes are a frightening shade of crimson. Shall the princess and I call for a healer for you?"

"There will be no need for healers, Prince Damien." Your voice had lost all softness once more as you addressed him, a striking contrast with how delicately you were stroking the god's cheeks with your thumbs. "Ro deg ned," you whispered to him, giving him a beaming grin when his eyes returned to the stormy blue hue you'd grown accustomed to. For a moment he'd nearly forgotten that you two were no longer alone in the corridor.

That was, until the bothersome prince made his presence known once more. "Right then," his voice pierced through the otherwise peaceful quiet of the palace's halls. "It was such a beautiful day out I was wondering if we could arrange for a nice picnic out in the gardens or perhaps even the palace roof--"

"Unfortunately, Your Highness, it seems the princess' day would be a touch too full today," Loki cut him off, looking down at the visiting prince. From the corner of his eye he could see your face light up with more than visible optimism. "Perhaps you can postpone to another day?"

Where there was relief in your expression, there was an equal amount of evident irritation in Damien's, the smile he'd painted on his face so strained that the corners of his mouth were visibly shaking from the effort. "I already had the day planned out that the fair Princess and I would leave for the market after breakfast and--"

"As Loki said, my itinerary today is just a touch too full, Prince Damien," you cut him off, the bite in your tone slowly creeping in. "Perhaps another day."

You motioned towards the hall, your eyes burning with impatience as you wordlessly urged him to be on his way and find other plans for the day ahead. Unfortunately before he headed back down the corridor, he turned to you again, seemingly unwilling to accept that he would not be monopolizing even a fraction of your time this day. "This itinerary of yours is something you must do alone? Perhaps I could accompany you, assist you where--"

"She won't be alone," the god interjected, his tone quickly becoming sibilant as he fought to hold back his own displeasure on how this prince was imposing his presence upon you. "As you know, Y/N has been tasked to plan and arrange for the upcoming festivities for the Winter Solstice, and in the past moon since your visit had begun hasn't had much opportunity to progress these plans. She's sought my council and assistance to make up for lost time since we worked splendidly together planning for the previous festival, and we are to spend the next few days planning in hopes of replicating last season's success."

The elven prince's nostrils flared as he processed the words. Yes, you insipid little boy. The days of you wasting her time are over. You will not be what hinders her from performing her duties to the best of her abilities. From becoming the queen she ought to be when the time comes. I'll make sure of it, Loki thought to himself.

"Don't forget about training," you chimed in, your overall demeanor significantly relaxing knowing that you would not have to spend the day swatting away unwelcome hands from encroaching on your personal space. The mischievous gleam in your eyes had returned as you threw a smile the god's way. "However with all my time out of practice I can feel my strength waning a fraction, it'll hardly be a fair fight."

"Little Princess, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were asking me to treat you with a lighter hand." His fingers instinctively twitched to lightly touch your own, his heart skipping a beat when he saw your little finger reach out in a motion as if to hook itself to his own.

"You know better than that, my Prince. I would always insist on a fight consistent with that of a battlefield, don't even think of--"

"Well then," Prince Damien butted in, tone shrill and impatient. "It seems that I've been moved to make alternative plans for the following days." He hissed out his words, hilariously and equally incapable of masking his irritation as you were at hiding your relief. "I will see you again when your schedule is a little less congested, Y/N."

"Princess Y/N," you bit out, correcting him. "You've not yet earned the level of familiarity to call me by such a casual moniker, Your Highness." You motioned once again to the direction of the hall from where he came from. "Until the next engagement," you said coldly.

"Right…" The elven prince's nostrils flared once more as he turned back and walked down the corridor, footsteps heavy with his indignation from your dismissal of him.

"Does this mean I may change into…less constricting attire?" you spoke in a considerably lighter tone, softly bumping your elbow to his arm when Damien turned the corner.

"Whichever way you're comfortable with, darling." He brought your hand up to press a soft kiss to the backs of your fingers. "I can wait if you decide to change."

Your next action caught him off guard. You charged toward him and wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. "I'll find some way to make it up to you, I swear."

The god tucked his hand under your chin, basking in the sight of the radiant grin taking over your features. "Nonsense, little Princess. The vision of your smile is more than enough." He pressed a light kiss to the tip of your nose, leading you to scrunch it at him before you ran back to your chambers to change into the attire that he and the rest of Asgard had grown accustomed to. Once you were well out of earshot and the heavy doors of your chambers stood between you two, he let out a soft exhale. "My love…"

"Fuck." You hissed out the expletive as the arrow you loosed landed a good few inches to the side of your intended target, feeling tension tighten your muscles into knots as you readied the next arrow and pulled the bowstring back.

Before you loosed your next arrow, however, Loki assumed his position next to you, one hand wrapped loosely around yours stopping you from releasing the bowstring, the other splayed over your stomach. "Wait, darling. You're letting your frustration rule you. Focus on your target and release your breath…slowly." As you exhaled, he moved his hand from your wrist to your elbow, making minute corrections and feeling for involuntary fidgeting from straining to hold your breath. "Now release."

It felt as if the world was at a standstill as your loosed arrow flew right into the dead center of your target, your jaw dropping in astonishment as it split the arrow already occupying its space straight down the middle. The arrow that your mother Lady Sif had shot into the target before departing from the training fields.

"Very nicely done," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. With a wave of his hand, a new target materialized next to it, this time in the form of of a wooden sculpture in the shape of a man that was slowly but steadily approaching you. "Now aim for his knees and elbows before he reaches you. Incapacitate your opponent before he has the chance to strike."

You turned your head as best you could only to end up cheek to cheek with the raven-haired god. "Wouldn't it be more efficient to aim for his head and stop him where he stands?"

"For the sake of this exercise, pretend that you need to capture this opponent for future interrogation. He'll be of no use to us with an arrow embedded in his skull. He's getting closer, little Princess. Make your move."

You took a breath and loosed an arrow that shot straight through the wooden dummy's knee, slowing its movement. It took a handful more attempts before you got all four targets and his enchanted wooden dummy ceased all movement.

"Decent enough," Loki murmured with a click of his tongue. "But I've seen you do much better, little Princess. You were not jesting when you said you were out of practice." You could both hear and feel him chuckling against the back of your head, hands working at the knots tensing up your shoulders. "Do not feel so discouraged, darling. A few days of regular training and you'll be back in fighting condition. We just have to work together to keep that bothersome prince from muddying your itinerary for long enough."

You let out a groan just as he hit a particularly large knot in your shoulders. "That will be quite the feat if we can keep him away even past this evening. He seems quite adamant that this time sucking endeavor—I mean, this courtship," you seethed at the word. "Would eventually lead to a formal proposal for my hand."

"Refusal would still remain an option," he offered. In truth, the god knew that it would have been questioned by Odin the second the rejection slipped from your elegant, articulate lips. And he would expect a reason that was beyond reproach for why you would burn a bridge with Alfheim so resolutely with such words.

The explanation of wishing to marry for love might not save you for much longer.

"We both know it isn't," you sighed, shoulders slumping down and out of Loki's hold. "If I say no, the ever mighty Allfather would expect a damn good reason behind it. So unless your magic can conjure me a proper husband that wouldn't turn his back on me and have a harem of concubines to fulfill his troublesome and questionable sexual appetite before this blasted Prince formally states his intention to propose, I fear my days on Asgard may very well be numbered."

"Numbered?" he gasped, your words feeling as if an anchor had just sunk to the pit of his stomach. "Y/N, darling, surely you wouldn't leave home just for--"

"Ah, there you two are." Loki stepped back from you at the sound of Sif's voice floating across the field. "My husband and Odin require your presence, Brother. You'll find them in the Main Hall with the rest of the royal court. And the visitors from Alfheim."

Your mother's words were heavy with an implication that he dared not look into for fear of the conclusion he would come to. There were few potential scenarios for what would greet him once he entered the hall. But only one screamed audaciously with the haughty air of inevitability.

The combined efforts of yours and Loki's to keep Prince Damien from consuming all your free time had led the vapid visiting royal to act rashly. To move up his timetable in such a way that his intentions to woo you would be expedited, and he required the approval of the royals above you before he could proceed.

With a brief peck to the back of your head and a nod towards you and your mother, he departed from the fields and headed off to the Main Hall to see what matter needed his opinion. Or perhaps his approval.

She began to walk the steps toward you, assessing the work you'd done on the target board and the dummy. "You require a touch of practice, my dear Daughter," she commented before her eyes landed on the center of the board once again, realizing that her arrow from earlier had actually been split down the middle. "But your aim is impeccable. I take it the last few fortnights have not been conducive to your training as a warrior…"

Your mother walked over to a small display of weapons and picked out a short sword, motioning toward it and prompting you to pick your own weapon of choice. Daggers.

"One of these days I'll have to watch you spar with your uncle," she said, both of you falling into a rhythm of swings and blows where she tested your defense capabilities. "You're quite possibly the closest to his level of proficiency with this weapon."

"He's an excellent instructor," you shot back, feeling the slightest pinch in your muscles trying to move as fast as she did. "You are right, however, Mother. This past moon has placed the slightest handicap on my agility…and my focus. Norns willing, the next few days will correct that even by a touch. At the very least, Loki seems convinced of it."

Her next swing was strong enough to get you to stumble from your stance. "You two have grown quite close…confide in each other more than others, even. Anyone watching from afar might even mistake you for--"

"Lady Sif, Princess Y/N, your presence is requested in the Main Hall."

You both promptly dropped and stashed away your weapons and followed the palace guard down the corridors toward your destination.

"Might mistake me for what, Mother?" you asked her to fill the heavy silence, trying desperately to put your mind off of what was to come once you walked through those doors.

"Pardon?"

"You were saying something earlier before we were called on to come to the Main Hall. Something about me and Loki confiding in each other…" you trailed off, hoping to prompt her of her prior train of thought.

Recollection lit up her eyes. "Ah yes, I remember now," she murmured, absentmindedly patting your shoulder as you stopped just shy of the doors, waiting for the guards to announce your arrival. "It was nothing, Daughter, truly. Put it out of your mind."

You eyed her with the slightest hint of suspicion, wondering what could have been at the end of her sentence, but ultimately did as she suggested once the palace guard opened the doors and you were greeted with the sight of a packed hall, every seat on the table occupied, with Odin seated at the head.

"Announcing the arrival of Princess Y/N and Lady Sif," the guard spoke before stepping off to the side and making a gesture for you and your mother to step across the threshold.

"I can't find a seat," you grumbled under your breath, just barely enough for your mother to hear.

"Unfortunately, Daughter, you shall be alone in your plight," she answered back with a hint of playfulness. "So long as your father is in the room, there is always a seat for me." She practically glided over to where your father Prince Thor was seated and all too happily situated herself on his thigh.

You couldn't help but watch their exchange with fondness, and a tinge of enviousness. Wondering if this type of affection could even remotely be what was in store for you with what was to come of your life once Prince Damien speaks the words. Or if it would feel as if nails were being hammered into a coffin as the days passed until you were declared his wife.

"It seems I shall be standing, then," you said a little louder, assuming your warrior's stance.

"Don't be so brash, Your Highness," one of the visiting royals from Alfheim chimed in. "There are two perfectly suitable princes more than ready to accommodate you." You raised a single eyebrow at the Alfheim courtier, silently daring him to continue and prompting a barely held back chuckle coming from Loki's direction. "I am positive Prince Damien would be more than willing to offer--"

"Yes, I am indubitably," the visiting prince interjected, sitting up straighter and vaguely reminding you of a Midgardian canine, tongue wagging as he awaited a treat.

"You said two," you pressed on, your tone showing the slightest hint of irritation. "Before you were interrupted."

"Ah yes." The courtier cleared his throat, a seemingly sinister sneer pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Well, there is also Prince Loki."

The sound of a chortle vaguely came from the other end of the table, though you couldn't quite place who it had come from. You opted to instead direct your gaze at the raven-haired prince, raising your eyebrow at him with the slightest scrunch of your nose, as if silently prompting him to confirm.

He responded with a minuscule nod of his head, shifting his posture on his seat that would allow for you to use his thigh as your seat if you so pleased.

You had a choice to make, but as soon as the thought crossed your mind, you felt a harsh, banging pain in the back of your head. The faintest sound of a voice screaming from a faraway distance about how there was no choice. There never was.

Then an invisible force that tried to push you forward.

This visiting elven prince was getting on Loki's final nerve. With every word that came out of his mouth, the god's urge to have him mysteriously and conveniently disappear grew stronger. To perhaps turn him into a mouse and feed him to one of the wolves in the den.

He carefully considered what the consequences would have been for such an act, if he could even get away with it. What the procedure would be if a search and investigation would be launched and who would be suspected and questioned. It was that line of thinking that ultimately had him decide against such an act.

You would have been suspected of harming the prince. And Loki would be inconsolable if he were to become responsible for any harm that would come to you as a result of that suspicion.

He would just have to find another way to extricate the bothersome prince from your lives.

The god's thoughts were abruptly halted seeing the obvious signs of your head hurting once again, your face struggling to not contort into one of discomfort. Vehemently refusing to show any sign of weakness.

You and him were quite alike in that form of stubbornness.

Come to me, my love, he thought to himself. Let me help relieve your aches.

The irksome prince cleared his throat, the sound something that the god likened to a toddler stomping his foot and pulling a temper tantrum. "Princess Y/N, I would be more than capable and willing to help in alleviating the burden of your heavy load. If you would--"

"The burden of my heavy load?" you repeated, your voice dropping into a vaguely menacing tone, stunning Damien silent. "Prince Damien, for the sake of your constituents that are present in the room with us and only for their sake, I will hold my tongue."

The court members from Asgard and Alfheim alike looked to the prince whose cheeks reddened with humiliation, undoubtedly slapping himself internally over his poor choice of words. A chorus of stifled chuckles began to fill the war room before Odin cleared his throat loudly, calling everyone to attention once more.

"Now if you would remember what I said earlier at sunrise about familiarity, you would do well to keep in mind that the lesson rings true and extends to more than simply the monikers and titles by which you can refer to a person. It may extend to this situation as well."

Your expression visibly softened, causing a pit to form in Loki's stomach from even considering the possibility that this would take a turn and you would somehow state that the familiarity could be established in such a gesture. Perhaps even making light of his remark about heavy loads.

"However," you continued, the simple word already soothing the god's concerns. "Much as I appreciate the gesture and the…" You paused for a charged moment, a smirk tugging at your mouth. "…enthusiasm, there are two categorical truths in this exact moment. The first is that your level of familiarity with me, while still quite rudimentary, has improved to some degree."

Suddenly the pit was back in his stomach.

"The second…is that I have that familiarity with and have known for much longer…my own family." You stepped toward the side of the table seating the Asgardian royals, once again beginning to calm Loki's racing heart.

When you reached his side he wasted no time holding his hand out toward you, wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you steady as you perched yourself near effortlessly on his thigh. As if you were meant to be there all along.

"Comfortable, little Princess?" he teased in hushed tones, desperately straining to keep the tone light while thinking of the most unsettling images to quell his burning desires.

"Quite," you answered with unmoving lips, gathering your hair over your shoulder farther from his face. "Is this alright?"

More than alright, my darling. I don't want you to ever leave, he thought to himself, not trusting any word that could come out of him at the moment. He opted to answer you with a soft smile and a nod, his heart skipping a good few beats when you gave him the tiniest scrunch of your nose before facing everyone once more.

"I would like to know what the agenda of this meeting is." The upward lilt of your tone toward the end nearly made it seem like a question, but the god knew you better than that. This was a command, directed at the visiting prince.

You did not need to be present in the minutes prior to your and Sif's arrival to know that he was the reason this impromptu gathering was called. That this was simply his way of trying to reassert some dominance in the relationship he was attempting to establish with you.

"Erm, yes..." he stammered, clearing his throat before starting. "Well, Your Highness, I am quite aware how you value your time and schedule, so I shall do my best to keep this short."

Much like other parts of yours, you tapped into the back of Loki's hand in Morse, nearly failing to stifle a chuckle.

Behave, little Princess, he tapped back, desperately resisting the urge to press his cheek to your shoulder. Or Norns help him, kiss it.

"I would like to formally state my intention to court you. With the eventual objective of marriage."

You went so cold in his arms that if he didn't know any better, he would have thought you'd gone ill in that exact moment. The smallest tremor from you was enough to tell the god that you were quickly growing to be as furious as he was with this development.

This cannot be happening, you tapped with a shaky hand. If he could reject this pesky brat of a prince on your behalf he would have done so in a heartbeat. He didn't need to look upon your face to see the mix of fury and trepidation on your face.

Loki could feel it emanating off you in waves.

"I would completely understand if you feel overwhelmed by my declaration, Your Highness--"

"I'm not," you cut him off, poorly stifled chuckles once again filling the room. You cleared your throat, doing what you could to straighten your stance while perched on the God of Mischief's thigh. "Prince Damien, you have been a guest on Asgard for a full moon, and in that time I believe it would be correct of me to assume that you have heard the whispers about me."

Looks of intrigue colored the faces of every member of the royal court present, shifting their gazes between you and the god that had his arm around you. He for one was much too aware of what the denizens of this realm whispered when they believed that no one of consequence could hear them. What the optics of your relationship with your father's brother implied.

Surely you were not referring to those rumors? He'd spent an exorbitant amount of time and effort ensuring that your ears would never be tainted by those vile whispers, even if they were partly true. At least when it came to Loki's affections for you.

"And…which whispers would we be referring to, Your Highness?"

"The only one with any merit," you shot back almost immediately. "That I have, on more than one occasion, expressed my intent to marry for love. Not for power, alliance, or lineage. Now considering that I am more than capable of droning on until the sun sets and I have the slightest flair for the dramatic--" You turned to Loki for the slightest moment. "--made worse by my time spent with you…" You then turned your attention back to the visiting prince. "I will grant you a touch of mercy and not hold you all hostage with a rather lengthy answer."

"Here we go," both Thor and Sif muttered before shifting their position in their seat as if settling in to watch a play.

"To put it succinctly, I do not love you. I'm not even quite sure if I am inclined to say that I like you. This past moon I have been more than gracious in granting us both the time to acquaint ourselves with each other's characters and if I may be plain, I find that I am left wanting. There is much that I wish in not only a husband but a partner and I am yet to find those traits within you."

It was at this moment that the elven prince's colors had begun to show. Damien scoffed at your words. "I am the crown prince and Future King of Alfheim, what more could you possibly want in a husband?"

"And I am to be the Queen of Asgard and the Nine Realms." Your voice took on a tone that he'd not heard since the Summer Solstice, when you had Astrid removed from the palace. "The last time I consulted the records, Alfheim is among those realms. My list of wants may be exhaustive but I can say here and now that my requisite is fealty. I am in no need of a king that finds he needs to satiate his hunger with a harem of maidens at his disposal. I need a partner. And while I find myself too aged to believe in myths of fated souls and crimson threads, I must admit that would be, as the Midgardians call it, a nice cherry on top."

Oh darling, if only you knew that your fated soul currently held you in his unconditionally devoted hands, Loki thought to himself, struggling to hold back his smirk once he spotted the prince once more visibly seething from across the table. He once again had to hold back the urge to make any move that might create the image of him staking his claim on you.

He would continue to toe that fine line of occasionally indulging in the chimera of having you to call his while he fulfilled his unspoken vow of keeping you safe from those who wish to do you any harm. From those who intend to use you to further their agenda driven by power or greed.

Before you could continue and before the prince from Alfheim could utter a word, Odin broke the silence. "Ehem, I'm sure that what the princess here means is that...not enough time has passed for the two of you to adequately familiarize yourselves with one another. Perhaps extending your visit a few moons more would grant you both the opportunity to bridge this gap?"

You'd begun to subtly shake with your barely contained rage. If this meeting didn't conclude within the next few minutes there was no doubt within his mind that this would lead to a shouting match between you and the Allfather.

But before Loki could step in to find a way to mediate the course of the conversation, you spoke again.

"Or perhaps we could agree upon a different type of partnership. One that requires…significantly less physical contact. I own a good few businesses on Midgard, I would not object to you or another representative from your realm establishing your own entity that could franchise off of one of them. That way a unification between our realms can still be attained between our realms by less…antiquated means."

The god once again felt you relax in his hold, just as the other prince began to visibly seethe in his seat, the tips of his elvish ears beginning to turn pink. "And why would I want to have anything to do with Midgardian business?" he questioned, hissing his words through his teeth. "Those Earth folk are--"

"We will forward your gracious offer to the royal family for consideration, Princess," one of Damien's royal advisors spoke for him, putting an arm out in front of the prince whose attitude likened him more and more to a bratty toddler throwing a tantrum with each passing second. "We are most grateful for this opportunity, Your Highness."

"But I will still extend my stay on Asgard," the crown prince spoke again, his tone more whiney than resolute. "I wish to stay this course. I have said in the beginning of my visit that I no longer have the wandering heart that I once had in my youth. I have been reformed. And I will prove it to you."

"Very well." Loki did not need to see your face to know that you, too, had begun to speak through your teeth, the exchange becoming more insufferable with every word that Damien uttered. "If you do not wish to take the offer of a business merger, I do hope someone within the royal court of Alfheim will be willing to take that helm. As for your visit moving forward, we can discuss a schedule that will allow for you to stay your course while I can maintain my duties, for I refuse to be stagnated any further. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Well then…I believe we may adjourn this meeting. I'm quite sure we all have our own duties we must get back to and I'm quite sure Prince Loki here would be more than happy to be relieved of the burden of my heavy load."

The room burst into a fresh round of chuckles, some much louder than the others, as most of the attendees stood and took their leave from the Main Hall. A quick look around the table and Loki spotted his mother attempting to demurely cover her mouth with her hand to mask the wide smile, and Sif currently had her face tucked into the crook of Thor's neck, shoulders visibly shaking with her laughter.

He bounced his knee once, making you jump slightly on his thigh letting out a little hiccup that had you looking back and playfully squinting your eyes at him. "You are not, and you will never be a burden, little Princess. Remember that," he said just loud enough for you to hear before he lightly poked at your side.

It was all he could do not to pull you back to him when you stood from your seat on his thigh, smoothing your hands down the skirt of your dress. "Well, I shall get back to my planning for the Winter Solstice festival." You turned once more to face Damien, squaring your shoulders and straightening your back as if daring him to defy you. "We shall discuss that schedule tomorrow morning. After breakfast. And not a moment sooner."

"Y-Yes, Princess." From the corner of his eye, he could see his mother's head tilt to the side the moment the elven prince's jaw clenched once you strode out of the room.

Just as Damien was about to take his leave from the Main Hall, Thor's voice boomed and filled the room.

"Prince Damien, a word of advice. My daughter was not made to be impressed by titles and shows of sheer arrogance. She was raised to value people for their character, for their substance. You wish to be favored by her, then show her that you are someone worth favoring."

"Of--Of course, Your Excel--"

"Otherwise please do cease your continuous waste of all our time."

Thor's words took everyone aback, an evidently proud look coloring both Sif's and Frigga's expressions.

"I--I do not wish to waste anyone's time, Your Highness," Damien stammered, the legs of his chair scratching across the floor with a grating sound once he stood. "I will win the Princess' favor, I swear it."

Once he too had taken his leave, the remaining Asgardian royals also dispersed, and Loki followed the arrogant tone that could only belong to a certain visiting prince down the halls to see his character's truest form. He found him at a rather secluded corner of the palace, not too far from one of the hidden passageways.

He quickly cast a cloaking spell, ducking behind the hidden door before the elven prince began to pace around the corridor.

"It was humiliating, Father!" he whined into the Midgardian communications device that looked quite similar to the devices you would at times be seen fiddling with for more trivial amusements. "I will not bend the knee to this bratty entitled wench of a Princess. She enjoys trying to make a mockery of me as if she's so special and powerful and Oh Princess do you wish for me to drop to my knees and kiss the ground you walk on while you ask me to satiate my needs with only you for company when you would probably be the lousiest lay in all of the Nine Realms?"

Loki began to grow white-knuckled from how hard he clenched his fists. How dare this short-sighted infantile excuse of a man speak about you so disrespectfully? It would already set the god uneasy if this Damien were to talk about any woman in this light but to hear these vitriolic words spoken about you led him to strongly consider violence toward the visiting prince.

Another quick enchantment granted him the ability to hear the other end of the call.

"Son what have I said about grinning and bearing it for the sake of the Realm? All you have to do once she's agreed to marry you is ensure that you do not perform a Vow of Fidelity so that consequences won't come to you once you need to seek…better company at night. Your females here are growing more and more desperate for your return I might pay them a visit to calm them some."

"What pigs," the god muttered to himself. He needed to do something. Stop this courtship in its tracks before you had to be strong armed by Odin to marry into this repugnant family.

"You're welcome to them," Damien answered with a dark chuckle. "I'm running low on funds to keep these wenches quiet, make sure they don't run back and tell their beloved Princess about their visits to me. Norns know that if she ever finds out, she and her magic-wielding guard dog will thwart our family's dreams of my becoming Allfather on the spot."

"I shall send more, Damien, don't you worry. You only focus all your mental efforts on how you will secure this Y/N's hand. Then you marry her and come home. Where you can live your life as you decide, not how she or her family dictate. She may be in line for the throne to rule all Realms, but until she sits on said throne, she is just another woman. Granted she is afforded a few choice privileges that stop the moment she steps foot on Alfheim soil."

"Thank you, Father. I'll marry her and rip her away from that overprotective oaf of a father of hers. And that incestuous prince. Then when she's stripped of her defenses all she will be is a vessel to bear my children. Then our family shall rule the Realms and everyone in the Realms that looked down upon us will watch helplessly as their beloved Princess becomes nothing more than a Royal Childbearer."

Loki's blood ran cold. This was the plan? He'd known the moment he laid eyes on this Damien that something wasn't quite right with him, but to have targeted you simply for your title and isolate you from everyone that loved you and that you loved in turn? From your friends? Your family?

From him?

No. He would not stand for this. There had to be another way. He would find another way.

He would move the Realms themselves if it meant keeping you safe from those that wished you even a fraction of the misery that this elven bastard of a prince planned to put you through.

The god moved through the passageways as quickly as his feet could carry him, nearly breaking into a run until he reached the exit that led straight into his mother's workroom. He'd forgotten his manners and simply barged through the threshold, eyes wide and murderous as he caught his breath.

"Loki! You nearly gave me enough of a fright to send me to the Healers. What has gotten into you, my boy?"

"We have a problem."

A/N: *peeks from around the corner* Well hi there…it's been a while since the last episode from this series…like about 7 months give or take 🥴🥴 When I tell you my writer brain just decided to go wheeeeee…I barely even know what I'm working on these days 🤣

Anyways, RTC is back and I'm doing my best to plan out the last 3 chapters of Season 1 and then the series will officially go on a break to plan for Season 2 because I gotta be honest I have little to no padding for the first half where I intend to cover the events of the betrothal 😅

But the plot (I hope) is plotting and now y'all can see what the actual driving force behind Loki's surrender was 🥺 And we hate Damien and his father in this household because seriously?? Writing that conversation gave me the ick and if you knew the type of "comedian" I had to watch just to get that vibe down like I need to cleanse my soul after 😩

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

[dailykugisaki]

Day 121 | id in alt

They're recreating something that happened on a mission. Gojo is invested. Fushiguro? Lightly shaken.

[littleladymab]

how is the fic going, you ask? Well I haven't worked on it for 4 days and i have 7 chapters left and much editing to do and STILL no title, so have this:

“I will say,” Phoenix says as he turns towards his desk, flexing his fingers as if he longs to reach back for Miles and pull him in closer. “You will be quite pleased of what I have been able to discover about my magic.”  Miles’ attention, distracted for a moment by watching those fingers, immediately snaps back to the conversation. “You had been able to fix the sigil, hadn’t you? When Miss Maya and I were trying to reach the mansion.”  Phoenix gives a whistle. “I hadn’t thought that would work.”  “Understandable, it is an untested as far as potential theories go, I hadn’t ever heard of it working before you—”  “No,” Phoenix laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his sideboard. “I meant distracting you from kissing with talks of theory.”  Miles feels the flush creep up the back of his neck and he presses his lips together in a thin line. “Well,” he huffs. He tries to think of a decent comeback, but it all comes back to the shape of Phoenix’s fingers, the ring, the way his lips still tingle from the kiss, and his own burning curiosity waging war for attention.  So all he manages is another, just as frustrated, “Well,” before stalking over Phoenix’s desk. 

[asynca]

I understand the irony of asking the queen of femslash for hunky bear content but I am so desperate for good halsin smut gondor calls for aid

LOOK HE'S HOT AND I'LL THINK ABOUT IT lmao. especially since he's poly so I could squish a couple of girls in there. physically

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers (But Also Please Stop Crying I'm New To This)

Working for a pest control company had its ups and downs, but for the most part the benefits were satisfactory. Good insurance, optional overtime, the chance to acquire a child who conveniently fit into a shirt pocket while you try to figure out what to do now.

Not quite sure there's a parenting handbook that covers the care and keeping of an abandoned borrower.

--

AO3 Link

My Christmas gift to @hiddendreamer67 (:

Word Count: 9K

--

Humans had many different reactions upon discovering the existence of miniature people living within the walls of their house. Sometimes they would shriek in terror, sometimes they would immediately try to capture them, and sometimes they simply killed them without a second thought like common pests. Sometimes they even liked killing them. Exterminators typically fell into the third category whether they realized it or not, unaware of what else they were poisoning with bait traps and fumes, sealing all the hidden exits to ensure they suffocated with the rats.

Milo didn’t know what sort of reaction an exterminator would have upon learning the true nature of the infestation, but it certainly wasn’t eyes widening followed by a soft, calm “oh.”

The borrower child trembled where he sat on the kitchen counter, desperately trying to push himself deeper into the corner of the wall in the hope that maybe he’d be able to phase through it. He wanted to yank against the twine tangled around his body again as if it would yield a different result than before, but if he pulled any harder the largest knot binding his wrists would turn his hands purple. All he could do was stare at the tan uniformed man looming over him with horrified eyes and hope his impending doom was swift. He was a professional, after all, so what would be the point of sparing another vermin?

The man moved the coffee machine the borrower had been hidden behind to get a better look at Milo’s bound and shaking form. The exterminator’s brows furrowed as he took in the mess of tangles the little one was caught in, but it was not an expression Milo wanted to see when a gloved hand began reaching for him. Attempts to back away were just as futile as they were thirty seconds ago; the most he was able to do was kick his pinched legs until his back slid up the backsplash and granted him a standing position.

Warm fingers covered in latex still managed to find a way to curl behind his back, pulling the borrower closer before lifting him up to the man’s chest. The fingers mercifully opened so Milo was splayed flat on the human’s palm.  The child squeezed his eyes shut to avoid staring at the harsh blue eyes carefully inspecting him. Another gloved hand came up and experimented tugging a few loose threads wrapped around the trembling borrower only to achieve the same results Milo had, which were nothing. 

“You’re really stuck in there, aren’t you…” the human murmured, receiving a strangled squeak of terror in response, one that had been pent inside Milo’s tight throat since he was first spotted by the exterminator.

Teary brown eyes struggled to find the courage to open. He could hear the former prodding hand disappear into the equipment bag set on the counter. Milo’s uneven breathing quickly turned to hyperventilation as the technician dug around for something specific, unable to imagine what kind of extermination device the human was surely looking for. The contemplative hum above him did little to settle his nerves. How many instruments of torture could he possibly have in one bag?! Just pick one and get it over wi-!

“Were you able to find anything, sir?” a woman asked from the kitchen door, the borrower instantly recognizing her as the homeowner. She was such a sweet, older woman, the kind that would make a pie for every new neighbor moving in no matter the street. Evidently, her kindness didn’t extend to rodents, or what she thought were rodents scurrying about her kitchen at night. Milo knew he should have been faster, should have waited until he was sure the coast was clear, but instead he had to be as bold and impatient as any other six year old. How was he supposed to know she’d turn around so quickly?! 

Well, he probably could have expected it, since she always did have a habit of misplacing her glasses as soon as she needed them. He had thought he was lucky she couldn’t make out exactly what his silhouette was when he ducked under the fridge until she called for pest control the next morning. All the most important rules had been broken that night and now the golden rule of never being seen by a human was fractured twice .

He deserved to be left behind.

The only outward signs that the human had been equally startled by the owner’s unexpected presence was a silent hitch in his chest and fingers twitching to cage his little captive more securely. The overwhelming need to get away was coursing through Milo’s veins more than ever, barely able to process the mere idea of being in clear view of two humans at once. Luckily, or unluckily, the exterminator seemed to have no desire to show off his catch to his customer, instead quickly sliding the little bundle of borrower into his shirt pocket before turning to address the woman.

“There’s definitely a lot of gaps in your baseboards, especially in the kitchen and dining room,” he explained, subtly crossing his arms to still the squirming bulge with his hand. “They look like they’ve been there for a good while, so whatever made them could be gone by now.”

“Oh, dear,” the woman sighed. “Maybe it’s to be expected for an older house, but...well, I’m sure I saw something just the other day running across the floor!”

I have a pretty good idea of what it could be, the man thought. “It’s possible a new animal has taken up residence in the old nests,” he said instead. He grabbed his bag to pull out a notepad of order slips, hastily scribbling all the requirements per company policy. “We can either patch the openings and set a few traps, which you could do yourself if you don’t want to pay any labor fees, of course, or we can schedule an appointment to fumigate your house. You would need to stay somewhere else for at least three days, though.”

She waved her hand dismissively, “No, no, give me the earliest time you have to fumigate. I want to be absolutely certain there are no other little guests living with me.”

Milo was barely holding onto the conversation, every word the technician said reverberating in his bones while the silence was drowned out by a heart beating louder than his own. He caught a few scant words thrown around, something traps and...fu-mi-gate? He hadn’t the slightest idea what that was supposed to mean, but to be fair he was more preoccupied with the reality that he was stuck in a pocket! There was no way out but up, to which he’d never be able to climb with his arms tied with various knots and cradled in the natural curve of the fabric, especially not without the human noticing.

He felt himself being rocked when the man started moving, presumably exchanging pleasantries and leaving the home out into the cool autumn air. Not just the woman’s home, Milo’s home - the only home he had ever known, the only home he was just learning to navigate without holding his mother’s hand, the only home he had destroyed when his family discovered the grave mistake he’d made the night earlier. It was becoming harder to contain the whimpers that so desperately wanted to come out, but he swallowed down the lump in his throat as best he could lest he annoy the human with his cries.

It was as if the exterminator had completely forgotten about the unwilling passenger nestled against his chest, silent and relatively still the entire drive save for the couple of times he adjusted his seatbelt to keep the strap from smushing Milo against him. Occasionally, he would glance down at the borrower though Milo never once looked up as he chose to focus all his anxious attention on clenching his hands over and over until his nails threatened to draw blood from his now raw palms. He had no idea how long he had been confined, any time frame far too long for his liking, but he wasn’t snapped back into awful reality until the human was shifting around again. Milo hadn’t even noticed the humming vibration of the truck was missing until he was back to being rocked by the man’s gait, hearing the cacophonous slam of a gigantic door as the exterminator stepped inside.

Inside. Inside somewhere new and unfamiliar. Inside with some one new and unfamiliar, with no tools or family to rely on this time.

Light poured in from above when the pocket was pulled open, only to be blotted out seconds later by fingers fishing around for a solid grip on their prey. It wasn’t like he could do much to prevent the hand from wrapping around him given his limited space and bound limbs, but Milo still squirmed and cried out when he was lifted from his prison. He felt himself being lowered immediately afterwards, gently placed on his back against a cool, hard surface while lingering fingers were careful that he didn’t smack the back of his head when they let go. 

Despite being freed from any physical contact with the human, Milo was paralyzed where he lay in primal fear, unable to command his body to shift in his current state. All he could do was shake uncontrollably and use the last of his willpower to pry his clenched eyes open until they adjusted to the light, shifting his gaze to the technician. The man had crossed his arms and was leaning on them against the counter Milo had been placed on, watching him with a very... unimpressed expression. His calculating gaze was darkened by the shadow cast by the bill of his cap, filled the borrower’s racing mind with images of agonizing, torturous ends, wondering over and over what was going to happen if the human didn’t even find him interesting enough to keep around.

“So,” a voice called to him, much clearer to understand now that he wasn’t directly against the source, “what’s your name?”

Milo was practically yanked out from his self deprecating bubble and met the human’s eyes with his own. It was a small mercy he had no tears left. He knew he had been asked a question and could see the man was clearly waiting for a reply, but the borrower couldn’t cough up any words past his quivering lips, only growing more anxious by the second. He needed to answer now before the human punished him for his insubordination, but he couldn’t talk, couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t!

He must have finally taken too long because the man sighed through his nose with a small eye roll, “Whatever, worth a shot, I guess.”

Oh no, no, no, he messed up. He made him angry. Why can’t he just learn to listen! The mess of apologies he wanted to ramble were stuck behind the bottled up sobs filling his chest, almost closing off his windpipe as the human’s attention returned to his work bag once again. This time, however, it didn’t take him very long to find what he was searching for. Milo stared apprehensively at the slim tool that fit completely within the man’s palm and when he pulled a piece from its side to brandish a blade that was conveniently the same size as his trembling body, his voice finally found the strength to push through.

“M-Milo! Milo!” he cried, twisting around in hopes that his renewed energy would be strong enough to break through the string binding him.

The man paused at his delayed answer, blinking at his struggling captive as he took a moment to understand what Milo was even referring to. “Oh. I’m Ben.” The hand armed with a swiss army knife started descending towards him rapidly, “hold still, please, Milo.”

Milo, decidedly, did not want to hold still in the face of a blade aiming to slice into him. He squealed, his body finally catching up with his mind’s screaming instincts to flee. Despite the twine continuing to pin his arms to his chest and rub sore patches behind his knees, the borrower felt a renewed vigor to fight against his bonds for the umpteenth time, as if it was in this convenient moment that he would be able to free himself and hide. Though even if that were the case, it would do him little good now. He was still in a different home with a stranger, nothing in sight that could be of any use. Slipping into the walls or being recaptured by the exterminator left him with similarly bleak results – Milo was as good as dead.

A sob finally managed to escape his heaving chest when gloved fingers reached to still him. This was it. This was the last consequence to his actions. It didn’t matter to him how the massive hand gave a twitch in hesitation at his downright pathetic display, nor was Milo able to make out the flash of emotion passing on the human’s face when his vision was blurred with newfound tears. He didn’t want to be killed like this; skinned and gutted like a rat, maybe even handed off to be dissected into a million pieces by big, scary humans in white coats and masks. There was no one else to blame but himself for the downfall of all borrower kind, centuries of well kept secrets undone in a single night by a careless child. His uncles were right to string him up with a broken climbing hook while everyone else was busy evacuating before the scheduled pest control visit. His cousins were right to taunt him with the knowledge he’d be snuffed out with the roaches in the wall. 

But all he wanted was to hold his mother’s hand one last time. One last moment of comfort before the painful unknown. Had she realized he was left behind on purpose by now? Did she care? Was she about to risk being snared in a mousetrap in a futile attempt to rescue her sweet baby, or was she shaking her head in disappointment that her own child had caused such pandemonium? Milo didn’t know which mental scenario hurt more to imagine. Maybe he should have stayed tucked up behind the kitchen tiles rather than scooching himself until he could wriggle through an opening behind the counter outlet. At least then he could have gone to the grave with his mistake instead of having his corpse on display.

Milo was so deep in what he thought were his last, morbid musings to notice the tip of the knife slid under the many layers of string as opposed to his flesh. The cool metal pulled upwards instead of plunging down, easily snapping through the bindings with hardly a flick of the wrist. Of course it was nothing to a human, but to the borrower they might have well been iron chains. Pressure was instantly released from around his arms and chest, letting the tingling limbs relax and regain proper blood flow. For a moment, Milo mistook the feeling of freedom as his soul ascending before he realized he was still trapped in an unmarred body. 

Wide eyes blinked their sight clear just in time to see the blade saw against the largest knot that clamped the boy’s wrists together, snapping the last thread and giving him full mobility of his upper half again. He was still processing the fact he wasn’t being flayed for fun while the exterminator worked on cutting Milo’s legs free as well, effectively breaking him out of his half hearted cocoon. 

“How the hel-... heck did you manage to do this, anyways?” The man asked, using his fingers to pull away the remaining bits of twine off of Milo. At this point, it really wouldn’t make much difference for the borrower to speak with a human considering he had already offered up his name. There were no more secrets left to hold, yet the poor thing felt himself clamming up again. Perhaps it had less to do with preserving what little he could of borrowerkind and more along the lines of not wanting to air his wrongdoings and the ensuing punishment. How embarrassing to tell his captor, possibly his killer, that he had been left to gag on fumes by the family he had endangered. 

The lack of response made Ben give a small frown and the borrower felt his heart drop. Obviously, he knew Milo could talk, hence how he knew the child’s name was Milo in the first place. There was no sense in pretending there was any type of language barrier between them that would prevent the little one from spilling all the lore he knew. All it would do is worsen the treatment he received when the human pried the information out of him, both metaphorically and literally. Still, the best he could offer up was a strained whimper, immediately throwing his arms up in front of his tear stricken face to hide when the human leaned closer on the counter. The hand that had moved to curl behind him gingerly touched his back, creating an aftershock of trembling down Milo’s spine. 

“How old are you?” The exterminator tried instead. When that gave him the same non-answer, he huffed. As much as Milo wished he could make this easier on himself, six years of well ingrained instincts kept overriding the desire to comply. If only that could have been the case forty-eight hours ago.

“C’mon, bud, make this a little easy for me,” Ben said softly. “I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be doing here…”

He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything because he wasn’t supposed to ever know borrowers were a race of people that existed. He wasn’t meant to find out his profession made him one of the top killers of Milo’s species, what with his poisons and traps and heavy boots. Who was to say how many lives had been lost in his line of duty, not to mention the child was intended to be added to the death toll. The human could have gone on with his life blissfully unaware the little one he was cradling in his hand should have been suffocating in the walls to die in agony alone. Ben never would have cared about him then, not that he truly cared about him now. He was curious, yes, but eventually the novelty would wear off and be replaced with boredom. Tiny bodies like Milo’s were not made to withstand the types of entertainment humans often put them through.

The tip of a gloved finger stroked the top of Milo’s head, flattening the black waves down and accidentally plucking a few strands out when they would catch on the latex material. Surely the gesture was intended to be comforting rather than mildly unpleasant, but the borrower couldn’t help but wince at the too rough touches. He ducked his head further into his arms to avoid any more petting, though Ben hardly seemed to take the hint he didn’t want to be fiddled with in any capacity. 

“Are you…hurt? Bleeding? Tired?” If he wasn’t going to get a direct answer, the technician was just going to have to resort to guessing games. Unfortunately, his limited experience with children and non existent knowhow of borrowers quickly left him floundering. “Look, just…tell me what you want. Please? You’re making me feel bad about this.”

If Milo knew what audacity was, he would feel quite a bit of it for Ben trying to make it out like he was the unreasonable one. It was hard to say how much longer his patience would last for the borrower’s antics before he grew tired of talking to himself. After all, if he was destined to be experimented on and responsible for a mass extinction, it probably wouldn’t make much difference if he spoke now or not ever, if only to stay a few more minutes out of a vacuum sealed baggie. 

Milo sniffled, curling in on himself tighter and muffling his words “...h-home…”

Having not been expecting another verbal response, Ben blinked in mild surprise. “Hm?”

“ H-home ,” Milo repeated, the word choking him. “I wanna go home…w-with Momma…”

“Oh, bud, I, uh…I don’t know if that’s really…”

Whatever awkward excuse the human was trying to come up with as a means to soften the blow that Milo won’t be returning to his family any time soon was cut off by the sharp ring of his work phone. He cursed under his breath, cringing as soon as the dirty word left his mouth with a glance at the child huddled against his palm. The borrower had heard plenty of swears before, especially when the news had broken about the homeowner spotting him. Still, Milo jolted at the foreign sound of a cell phone, a grating noise different to the landline he was more accustomed to hearing from time to time. He had never known those little talking things could be cordless and boxy until Ben fished the device from his back pocket to answer. 

“Hey, yeah, what’s up?” He asked into it, his focus shifting to the faint voice on the other end that the child couldn’t pick up. “No, no, I’m fine, yeah, just a bit… busy , I guess.”

‘Busy’ meant that he was anticipating being preoccupied with Milo for an extended period of time. Long enough that the human would need to devote a considerable amount of attention to him and not be bothered by anyone else. The color drained from his flushed cheeks, the awful reality sinking in further for the borrower. Ben could go ahead and blab about his discovery to whoever he was talking to right now, offer to bring him over for proof, laugh as they schemed together the best way to make a profit from this discovery. One mention would be all it took before the rumor spread like wildfire with living evidence to back up the claim. 

But the exterminator didn’t say a word, instead letting the conversation be directed about another job he was being requested to pick up this afternoon. No details about what happened at the old woman’s house, no unwarranted gossip about a fun little secret. A half breath of relief escaped Milo without him fully understanding why.

With one hand holding the cellphone, the other no longer prodding him, and Ben’s gaze elsewhere while he was focused on the call, Milo saw no better opportunity to make his great escape than this very second. Humans could be so distracted with their distant talks that they never noticed a tiny person scuttling right under their feet with an armful of safety pins. Granted, the borrower hasn’t the faintest idea what the best path would be for the most secure holding spot, but most kitchens should be the same, right? Any outlet in the kitchen would be prime real estate for a getaway tunnel, assuming borrowers had already settled down in the house previously and loosened the panel. 

Well, even if that weren’t the case, there were plenty of tight spaces and hidden gaps that Milo could stuff himself into where giant fingers wouldn’t be able to pass. So long as Ben didn’t see where Milo had scampered off to, he was in the clear of never being found and thus giving up the search fairly quickly. Then again, this was a human with a deadly profession. The house could be booby trapped in a matter of minutes after he disappeared under the floorboards, sealing him in his hidey hole forever. Or worse, the exterminator had already secured his home with poison and sticky paper as a precaution to other pests that may dare enter his domain.

It was a risk he was going to have to take. Yes, Ben might have seen him and spoken to him, but so long as Milo never interacted with him again, it would be his word against no one. That was one of the few redeeming qualities about humans: if there was no proof, no other person would believe their ‘outlandish’ claims. Little people living in the walls? Really? How asinine! Were they also supposed to believe fairies and goblins existed within the mushroom rings found deep in overgrown forests?

Milo scrubbed his face dry to the best of his abilities with the back of his hands, gulping down a few shuddering breaths to hopefully steel his nerves. Now was not the time to be a baby anymore. He needed to be brave and strong like a real borrower. Inch by slow inch, he scooted himself away from the idle hand still cupped behind him, fully intending to stand up and bolt as soon as he was far enough away that fingers couldn’t hook around him. Unfortunately, things never worked out the way Milo planned if past instances were anything to go by. No sooner had his plan begun it was brought to a screeching halt the second Ben caught his movements out of the corner of his eye. The poor boy hadn’t even been able to push himself off his knees before he was cut off by a hand in front of him.

The gloved barrier startled Milo enough to yelp, replacing his somewhat thought out course of action with the haphazard need to get away get away get away! Little legs scrambled to find purchase on the counter to send him off into a sprint, but it was of no use at this point when his failed escape had been spotted this close to a handsy human. He’d manage to run one, two, three full steps when Ben’s thumb and forefinger pinched the back of his tiny green tunic and lifted him into the air. Being so high up made the boy’s stomach turn unpleasantly, imaging what it would be like if he was dropped from this height onto the linoleum floor and splattering next to the technician’s boots. Either way, the thought didn’t dissuade Milo from struggling in this new hold, clawing at the fingers behind him and kicking his legs fierce enough that he swung back and forth.

“No, no, no! Let go! Lemme go! ” The tears were back and freely cascading down the borrower’s cheeks, but sorrow no longer tugged at his heart. It was replaced with something more primal, more raw, that made Milo feel like he was seeing stars with every labored cry that left him winded. Panic, pure and unfiltered. “ Momma! ” 

As if the exterminator was only plucking a piece of lint and not a tiny child in the midst of an anxiety attack, Ben hardly acknowledged the little one’s tantrum so as to not lose his place in the phone conversation. He maneuvered his cellphone to be balanced between his cheek and raised shoulder to free up his second hand, turning to lean back against the counter’s edge. The squirming borrower was then deposited into his awaiting palm, squishing Milo against his chest before any flailing limbs could climb over his fingers and send him tumbling below. Though it would be more ideal to shush and coo at the sobbing child being forced to cuddle into the tan fabric of his uniform, he couldn’t let his supervisor in on the fact he was comforting a person one twelfth the size of a typical first grader. Which would somehow be just as difficult to explain how he had come into care for a random kid to begin with. 

Tiny fists punched and pushed on his sternum, unable to put a fraction of distance between their two bodies. And here Ben thought he was on to something by making the borrower subconsciously follow the rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat in an attempt to coddle him. Perhaps that was just a trick that worked on newborn puppies; that was what his sister told him was a bonafide trick to settle motherless litters at her vet clinic. Then again, this wasn’t an orphaned kitten mewling for a mama cat. This was an actual child, missing its mother all the same, but presumably with the cognitive function of a human to mourn the loss of their parent and fear the monster who separated them all the same. 

He really, really wasn’t trying to be the bad guy here, though it was hard to dispute that narrative while he was silencing Milo with a hug and pretending there was nothing out of the ordinary for his call. 

“Mm, sure, I can be out in Bilmore before five, as long as it’s just for an ant spray. Kyle owes me,” Ben agreed. Picking up a coworker’s shift was the exact opposite of what he had in mind, but he was too deep in the farce that everything was totally normal on his end to refute. The exterminator most definitely did not have an absurdly small person trying to bite through the latex of his gloves in hopes of returning from whence it came from some old lady’s house, no sir.  

Thankfully, Milo was so caught up in his hysterics that most of his heart wrenching cries were concealed behind gently rubbing fingers, preventing any noises from being picked up on the receiver. Would it have been any more of a disservice to him if another human became aware of his pathetic situation? Probably not. There was little more harm that could be done for the reputation of borrowers at this point. Therefore, the child allowed himself to slip into the throes of his breakdown, the full weight of everything finally crushing his tiny self. He was abandoned by the only family he had. He had lost his mother. He had doomed his species. He was trapped by a man who was so much bigger and older and stronger and scarier . He was going to die.

Milo didn’t want to die, he had barely gotten the chance to live! He hadn’t even learned how to scale the rafters yet, or to know which order of symbols spelt out words to avoid and words to stuff his face with. Hell, Ben could set out a pile of rat poison and a pile of stale cereal bits and the borrower wouldn’t know the difference. Perhaps Ben would be merciful enough to grant him a quick and painless death, just popping his head under the heel of his boot or something. Please, please, just let it be something that doesn't hurt. His heart already hurt so much and now Milo’s head was beginning to pound from the excessive sobbing. All he wanted was for everything to stop and to go back to normal. 

His mother would have known how to fix this. She knew how to fix anything he broke. 

At some point, Milo stopped fruitlessly slapping at the fingers that caged him close and instead gripped onto the uniform of his captor. It was nowhere near the same level of comfort he was seeking out, but it would have to make do in his final hours. It was warm, there was a loudness in the chest he was nestled against, and a repeated touch stroking from his head to his lower back could almost be mistaken as familiar. For that reason alone, the borrower cried harder. Not loud, panicked wails like before, but soft whimpers heavy with tears that soaked into the human’s shirt with barely any notice. His headache was getting worse now, dehydration making him more miserable than ever. 

“Alright, I’ll head out in a bit, thanks,” With that, the technician shifted Milo to be cradled in one hand so that he could hang up the call. “...that was a stupid idea. Why did I do that?” He mumbled.

Immediately, the borrower started fretting again from the movement. The dread that was building in the pit of his stomach wasn’t helped when Ben sighed and rubbed the side of his temple, briefly nudging his hat up to free a few blonde strands. 

Blue eyes glanced down at watery brown ones. “What am I going to do with you now?”

His throat was still raw from the hoarse sobs he had worked himself up over, but words still found a way to push out of his mouth between shuddering pants. “L-lemme go…”

Ben pursed his lips, appearing to actually consider Milo’s request. A spark of hope dared to make his itty bitty heart beat out of his chest, but the fleeting feeling was snuffed out when the human shook his head in disagreement.

“No, you’re just going to get hurt. I mean, I guess I could take you with me but…” He looked at his tool bag, noting how very not safe or comfortable it would be to tote around a child in. There was the option of putting him in his pocket again, but the borrower didn’t seem like he knew how to stay still. “It would be easier if you just stayed put until I got back.”

The problem was Milo did not want to ‘stay put’, of which they were both aware of. As soon as Ben would release him on solid ground, the borrower would make a run for it. Whether or not his latest escape attempt would be successful was to be determined, but Ben was more worried about the poor kid getting injured in an unfamiliar house than actually managing to find a way home. There were simply too many dangers the exterminator already foresaw given his experience with unlucky critters. Exposed wires delivering a deadly shock, a hot pipe scalding flesh, openings too narrow to back out of, hidden scavengers pouncing on an easy meal. The list went on and on. Pint sized or not, these weren’t things any child would be able to fend off without help, and if Ben didn’t know where he was…

A kick that felt more like a tap against his rib shook him from his worries, reminding the technician the problem was still, quite literally, at hand. Milo was trying to push himself up and out of Ben’s grip, uncaring that freeing himself would just mean careening several stories below. Further evidence that the child didn’t have the rational survival skills necessary to be on his own. 

“No! Put me down!” Milo yelled with a couple more kicks. The tears were drying into itchy tracks on his cheeks, though no more clouded his vision like before. It was more of a temper tantrum from not getting his way than the primal panic that had been easily ignored during the human’s phone call. 

“Milo, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself flailing like that.”

“No, I’m not!” Spoken like a true kid. “I don’t wanna be held!”

The exterminator huffed. “If I put you down, are you going to run away?”

The struggling stopped at this, having not expected any sort of compromise from his captor. Milo needed to tread very carefully. Tempting as it was to blindly agree and turn tail as soon as he could, it felt wrong to break his promise to an adult. Even if that adult was twelve times his size and had an arsenal of deadly traps that could be used as punishment. It didn’t feel good to lie, whereas if he listened to whatever rules were laid out to him, the borrower might be rewarded. Returning to his home and into the warm embrace of his mother was probably too steep of a prize to be earned for staying on the kitchen counter, but maybe it was a goal that could be worked towards.

So, Milo shook his head in silent agreement that he wouldn’t try to flee. True to his word, Ben turned around and lowered the child back to the granite countertop. His legs felt like jelly, causing Milo to sit on his knees when the hand behind him uncurled to leave him be. It would be so, so easy to get up and make a mad dash for an outlet or the crevice where the fridge and backsplash met. Anywhere that human fingers would take too long to pry open, the borrower being long gone in the inner workings of the house by the time they found a big enough opening to prod. But he didn’t move a muscle. A part of him wasn’t sure he even could. Everything felt numb and tingly, like when he’d sleep on his arm weird and be unable to move it until after breakfast. 

Still, the exterminator was content with his obedience. He folded his hands together and rested his chin on top, looking down at Milo who was struggling to maintain any type of eye contact. “I think we both have a couple questions.”

“I want to go home.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that really clear.”

“ Please take me home?”

“Look, kid, I,” The human struggled to find the appropriate words. “...well, really, I don’t know what you are. Or where you came from. Or what home is. So, you gotta help me out here, because I’m sure as sh-, sure as heck not leaving you all by yourself.”

If Milo was a foolish borrower, which some may argue he was in the same vein that most six year olds were naive to a fault, he would have happily blabbed away answers to all of Ben’s questions. They were simple enough and it dangled the promise of being carried home then and there as soon as he spilled the beans. However, Milo knew the rules, even if he broke the most important ones. An exterminator knowing the full ins and outs of borrower colonies would only be looking to line his pockets rather than keeping the vague promise of a safe return. For the good of the rest of us , his teenage cousin had sneered.

The child looked away from Ben’s unintentionally cold gaze. He wished the human had soft, warm eyes like his mother and himself did. Hazel tones felt much friendlier than the frozen blue boring down from above. “I can’t tell you,” Milo mumbled.

The man tilted his head. “Why?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Great,” he groaned, and Milo couldn’t help but flinch for the wrong answer he gave. Would he be punished now or later, he wondered. “So, how exactly am I meant to take you home if you don’t tell me where it is?”

That…was a good question. A loophole that Milo’s child brain was not expecting to have to factor in. Well, if they were speaking only in technical truths, it wasn’t that all of Milo’s home was hidden, just the parts that were within the home of another human. Similar to a concept of saying what state or city a person lived in without giving the exact address of their dwelling. That said, he wouldn’t really be revealing anything Ben hadn’t already figured out. Milo was found at the old woman’s house, so he lived somewhere in the old woman’s house. As long as he was dropped off somewhere inside and the exterminator took his leave, the borrower could scamper to one of the many concealed openings back into the tunnels without exposing further secrets.

“It’s, um…w-we were already there,” The borrower said softly. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, like it was the most vile confession of his lifetime.

“The place in Anville? Where you were all tangled up?” Milo nodded in confirmation. “I…don’t think it would be possible to take you back there right now.” Or ever, was the unspoken truth Ben didn’t have the heart to admit. The house was due to be smoked by the end of the week, effectively killing any and all living creatures that had taken up residence without the woman’s permission. Taking the child back would only ensure his demise not long after, and taking him after the fumigation was done was only inviting insurmountable trauma for what he might find inside where his family once was…

Assuming they were still there at all. It was a little odd to Ben that the borrower had been so perfectly wound up in double and triple knots with no signs of a guardian near him. Of course, said guardian could have taken cover before they, too, were scooped up by the technician. But shouldn’t their first instinct be to protect their child, to fend off any threats, make some kind of distraction so they could get Milo to safety? Ben didn’t want to judge the parenting styles of someone he never met, yet he couldn’t shake the idea that the set up for their first encounter didn’t completely sit right with him.

Milo shrank in on himself at Ben’s dismissal. “Wh…why not?”

“Well, no one is scheduled to go back there for a couple days. And when they do it’ll be…y’know, fumigated. That’s not good,” Ben tried to explain.

“Oh,” The borrower said, as if he knew most of those big words. “When will that be done?”

Ben shrugged. “Everything will be all cleared in two weeks, I’m sure.”

“And then I can go home?”

What was the most child friendly way to tell a six year old if they returned and also didn’t fall victim to one of the many, many preventative traps left behind, they would more than likely come across the poisoned bodies of their loved ones? Ben would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit guilty for that fact there was no conceivable way for him to go back and warn ‘Momma’ of her impending doom, at least for the hope of a happy family reunion afterwards. The reality was that if she was still there, looking for her troublesome baby, she would suffocate alone and unknowing if her child had suffered the same tragic fate. It was miserable to imagine, much less explain to a kid who barely trusted him to begin with. 

Rather than opening up this new can of worms that would no doubt reignite the wails and thrashing from ten minutes ago, Ben chose to glance at his watch. If he wanted to make it to Bilmore in time, he needed to get going, which brought him all the way back to square one of what the fuck is he supposed to do with a three inch tall kiddo?

“How about we talk about this when I get back, okay?” He pushed himself up from the counter, only to drop to a crouch so he could root around the cabinet under his sink. “I gotta head out for a bit.”

“To my house?” Milo asked, tepidly crawling near the edge of the counter to get a peek of what the human was doing.

“No. Different house. We can talk more about your house later,” A rattling of metal and a few squeaky hinges were exactly what Ben was looking for, returning to his full height with a small cage in his hands.

Milo knew what a cage was. Milo did not like cages. Cages were what birds and things were kept in, like the old woman’s pretty canary. It seemed too cramped for an animal meant to soar through the sky and the borrower felt terribly sorry for it to be cooped up for so many hours of the day. His aunt, the silly one with three missing teeth, had warned him of humans locking borrowers up in similar prisons. Tiny, cold little cells so the human could be entertained at their leisure by the borrower’s misery. No privacy, no comfort, no being able to run around the rafters and steal the crumbs of chocolate chip cookies. An awful existence, one of the worst fates for a borrower should they ever be caught alive. 

The terror that drained all color from the child’s face for a second time made Ben feel even more horrible about this, but he had no choice! This was the only safe place he could think of for Milo to stay alone without running the risk of him getting into trouble. Besides, it’s not like he would force the borrower to stay in there forever, just…an hour or two, until he finished that stupid job he never should have agreed to cover. If nothing else, this gave him the opportunity to get a few supplies while he was already driving around to make his impromptu guest a tad more comfortable. Some bedding, maybe a couple dollhouse toys, books for guys who didn’t know the first thing about caring for kids, books for small rodent care for new owners. 

There was no sense in acting like this was going to be a short term fostering. As of now, Benjamin Riley, age twenty-eight, was the self appointed guardian of a mysterious child who was in serious need of a growth spurt. 

“Hey, it’s okay, look,” Ben tried to soothe, setting the cage on the counter near Milo. “It’s a humane trap, it’s not going to hurt you. I promise.”

His promises clearly meant nothing to Milo, who still had little to no reason to assume any of his words were truthful. As far as the little one was concerned, the exterminator had shown up, kidnapped him, and had signed for an appointment date that would slaughter his family should any of them still remain after being displaced. Ben had done absolutely nothing for him to earn enough trust to be willingly imprisoned.

Milo squeaked and clambered onto his feet, taking several steps away from the horrible contraption. “N-no, I don’t w-wanna!” 

An understandable reaction, but not the one the human wanted to deal with right now. He didn’t have thirty to forty minutes to waste in settling Milo down enough to be put in the trap. “I know, bud, but it’s not that bad. It’s just for a little bit.”

“No!”

“I’ll let you out as soon as I get back, okay? This is only temporary.”

“No, I don’t want to go in!”

“Milo, c’mon, you’re killing me here. This is just to keep you safe while I’m gone. I’ll come back with things to make it cozier for next time.”

“ No! ”

Breaking his promise be damned, Milo was sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him to avoid being stuffed in a cage. The metal was dark, likely cold to the touch, and had weird upper mechanisms that scared the borrower to touch. The only way it could be more horrendous would be if the exterminator returned it to its original storage space under the sink, where it was pitch black and damp, ready to be forgotten after a long day of errands. 

It was foolish to think he’d ever be able to outrun a human who could close the distance between them without fully extending his arm. No matter how hard his legs pushed and how deep his chest sucked in stinging breaths to propel him forward, Milo couldn’t shake the hand that swooped in from above. Two fingers curled in front of him, knocking the wind from his lungs when he collided full speed with the solid digits. A gloved thumb closed behind to secure his back, preventing him from being able to slip out of the hold. Before he had even gotten a steady inhale, the borrower was airborne, carried back to his original spot with barely any effort on the human’s part.

Except he wasn’t dropped back onto the counter. Instead, he could only watch with wide eyes as Ben used his other hand to undo the latch on the front of the cage, revealing an opening large enough for Milo to pass through. Though his legs kicked and his arms pushed and a strangled cry squeaked out, the technician could not be swayed to release him until after he had been deposited on the cold, metal floor. He should try to take solace in the fact that he wasn’t dropped from a bruising height into his new prison, but it was hard to find any bright side to his horrid situation.

“It’s not forever, I promise,” Ben repeated, removing his hand and pressing the trigger plate to seal the borrower in with a reverberating click. 

Immediately, Milo ran to the bars of the cage, hoping to find a miraculous weak spot that would break free if he shook it hard enough. “No, no! Please! L-let me out!”

“When I come home.” And that was that. Sitting here trying to reason with a child as to why he deemed it necessary to lock him up like a feral rat would only lead to them talking in circles. And because Ben felt increasingly awful by the second seeing the poor, frightened boy trapped in the same manner as a rodent. The comparison seemed gross. Milo was not a rat or a stray or any other animal; he was a… something . Not a human, but more than close enough. A child, for God’s sake. Yet what other option did Ben have on such unexpected notice? He’ll make it up to him later. They were going to be in each other’s company for quite a while.

More pleas and whimpers spilled from Milo in a jumble of stutters, trying to find the right words to appease his captor to rethink the situation. “Please, p-please! I’ll be good! I-I promise! Please let me out, please, please , don’t go!” 

If Ben hung around any longer to watch the tragic display, he just might very well lose his resolve and opt to stay home and care for Milo without the burden of the cage. However, that would mean having to call his supervisor and explain why he was backing out of the shift he agreed to, and not being able to pick up any essentials for the kid, and basically being stuck on house arrest because he would be too guilt ridden to leave Milo alone if it meant having him in the humane trap for any period of time. Kids sure knew how to pull on the heartstrings. 

With that, the exterminator did what he would do for cases of pest relocation involving active and/or anxious critters. He took the hand towel that hung over the handle of his oven and unfolded it, draping the yellow and blue fabric over the cage to conceal most of the outside view from all sides. It was meant to help whatever critter was inside not feel overstimulated by the unfamiliar sights and people so that they would hopefully self soothe into a calmer state before being moved. Ben wasn’t sure how well it worked on Milo since he only continued to beg and feebly tug at the cloth like he might be able to dislodge it from his view.

Well, at least the human didn’t have to look him in his teary eyes as he left. That was not a face he wanted to regret while he was on a job, lest his emotions get the better of him. This was only temporary. This was for Milo’s own good. If that was what he wanted the borrower to believe, then that’s what he needed to believe, too. Sometimes, it’s necessary to be the bad guy when it comes to the world of parenting. Is that what he was now – a parent? Pretty lousy one, if you asked him. Those types of bonds would form more naturally as time went on and Milo wasn’t left for an hour or so in a rodent cage. Maybe. 

Ben gave the top of the cage an awkward pat, the muffled sound of the metal making Milo yelp as the vibrations tingled his hands. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Be good.” He said softly, like it would make any difference.

Boots faded into the distance before cutting off when the front door closed behind the exterminator. It was at this point that Milo was now well and truly alone. There was no reason to keep spouting off pleads when no one was around to hear them. The only thing to keep him occupied was himself and the two tone splashes of color blinding him from the outside world. No way to be able to spot any potential hiding spots once he was out (if Ben was really going to do such a thing), no way to judge the passing of time, no way to look at anything that might be remotely more engaging than a dish towel. He wished he could bring some of the fabric through the criss cross bars of the cage so that he would have something warm to sit on.

Alas, he had nothing. No home, no family. Just a cold, empty cage and the berating voice of his thoughts that listed off all his faults which led him to this moment, oftentimes echoed in the same manner as the relatives who had tied him up. This felt like the perfect time to air his grievances, but there were no more tears to cry and no ache to be screamed. His chest felt empty and numb, as if his heart had been ripped out and discarded. Perhaps that would be a literal possibility in the future should Ben grow tired of his whining. It would do him well to remember who’s mercy he was at now, the one who decided if he would live or die and exactly how painful his demise could be.

Milo dropped to his knees and waited in silence, just like he was told to do. Just like he should have done in the first place when he was warned to never be spotted by a human. If he closed his eyes and thought real hard about it, he could picture his mother running over to lift the fabric away and reveal that she had tracked him down all this way and was here to take him home. Where no one was mad at him and no one was going to die at the hands of the uniformed human and his bag of poisons. 

Yes, Momma would be here soon. He just had to be patient a little longer.

[iinoyb]

Do you think Techno would wear a chastity device if Phil, or maybe anyone, asked him to?

I think he'd be open to it. Especially with Phil since there's so much trust there. They both travel a lot and spend long times apart, maybe they agree Techno isn't allowed to touch himself without Phil around. Make sure he's nice and pent up for the reunion sex that's bound to happen. Phil knows Techno would honestly also hold his promise without the chastity device (again, lots of trust there) they just both think it's kind of hot.

As for other characters, chastity devices remind me of Samnoblade because he seems like the kind of guy who would get real turned on from having that control over his partner.

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[helgiafterdark]

illia ~

[toshidou]

hold up. i just had an idea.

sex pollen fic with ca kestis-

[muddyorbsblr]

relinquish the crown: what could be done

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: Season 1, Episode 13; moments after 'plans & protestations'

Summary: Loki and Frigga look for a way to prevent you from being married off to the Prince of Alfheim

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: themes of incest (he's adopted but still); Prince Damien (yes he's a warning)

Things to be aware of: sad Reader hours; stressed Loki hours

Queen Frigga paced back and forth throughout her workroom, perturbed at the information that Loki had just relayed to her. Royal Child Bearer? The nerve of that insolent inexperienced child of a prince.

She should have nipped this visit at the bud the moment she held the letter from the Royal Court of Alfheim in her hands. Seen the unease with which the palace staff looked upon him whenever she witnessed him crossing paths with one of them. Or now overtly guarded and secretive so many of them had become when she would try to ask them if the visitors were treating them well.

Perhaps she could have even prevented the visit from happening altogether had she spoken to her husband about it rather than entrusted that the future she'd seen of you and Loki being happily married to one another would prevail regardless of hindrances in the form of seedy visiting princes and memory spells. She had no indication to tell her that so many obstacles would have stood in the way of your happiness.

"We must do something, Mother," Loki pleaded, tears filling his eyes even at the mere thought of you leaving Asgard to become that repugnant prince's wife. "I must do something. I cannot simply stand idly by and watch as this insipid excuse for a prince courts her and gains Father's approval. Watch as Y/N's wish to marry for love is taken away from her and she is forced to wed a man that will not treasure her, swear his fealty to her, the way that she deserves. And all in the name of fortifying alliances with the insurgent realm of Alfheim. Even if I do not become her husband and your vision ultimately proves false, all that matters is that she does not enter a marriage where she is used. Unappreciated. Unloved. I cannot bear to see her unloved."

"Let me think, my boy," Frigga said, doing her best to calm her son as his thoughts began to spiral picturing the bleak marriage you would have to the elven prince. And rightfully so, those images were nearly enough to make her send the visiting party home. Invoke her power and authority as Allmother in the name of doing what was best for her granddaughter and for Asgard as a whole. "I have faith that she would be capable of thwarting his attempts in the short term--"

"But what of the long term, Mother?" Loki stood from the armchair he'd slumped into minutes earlier, nearly pacing a hole into the floor from his visible anxiety. "Father seems to be determined to stave off the insurgence that the Royal Family of Alfheim has been rumored to be organizing, and an alliance between our families might just be the compromise he seeks. What if he is willing to disregard Y/N's wishes to accomplish that?"

Frigga resumed her pacing as well, a deep worry taking place in her that the peace she'd seen in her vision of your future was farther off than she'd initially thought. That the contentment and joy meant for you and Loki would serve as the end of the fight of your life. "I will do what I can do postpone any decisions of your Father that would lead to Y/N's hand being forced into this marriage. Meanwhile you, my boy, will do what you can to keep her time occupied. The less time she is around this lecherous disgrace of a prince, the better for her sanity. And yours."

"Postpone," he whined, shaking his head as he were shaking off the short-sighted intention. "We need to stop these efforts entirely--"

"And we will," the queen insisted, pulling her son into her arms. "You give me the next few days, I will find a way for us to stop this fraudulent courtship completely. I swear to you, Loki, on my life. She will not be subjected to a life unloved. She will not be relegated to a stepping stone for this urchin of a prince to ascend to the role of Allfather."

The days following Loki's panicked consultation with his mother were spent on high alert, the god's behavior dangerously leaning toward petulant as he did what he could to prevent you from spending time with the elven prince short of flat out refusing to conclude his time with you. Thankfully you seemed to be more than willing to let the behavior slide as you preferred his company rather than Prince Damien's, and you would even offer up your own thinly veiled excuses if only to lessen your time with the boy of a prince that was all too forgetful of decorum and insisted on touching you with an air of familiarity that he had not earned. And likely never would.

Today was no different, the god sequestering you in the corner of the library that you'd settled into sharing. You were all too gleefully working on the plans for the ball that would culminate the Yule festival, deciding on what would serve as the night's main event.

Meanwhile, his mother Queen Frigga had given him a specific task in their mission to thwart the courtship efforts of the crown prince of Alfheim. He was to look into the customs and traditions that would be expected of a member of the royal family of Asgard if they were to marry. The objective was to make you privy to their intentions once they had found something that could keep you in Asgard, and the three of you could put your minds together into negotiating your way out of the courtship.

Unfortunately all that he could find so far was that the only way to make a clean break from Prince Damien's efforts to marry you was to have it expressly declared by the Allfather that the courtship was concluded and any and all efforts from the Prince would no longer be welcome. And bringing Odin to this decision would take a great deal of convincing. He would have to be offered something much more irresistible than fortifying alliances between Realms and indefinitely hindering the threat of an insurgence.

No one held such ammunition. To Loki's knowledge at least. He could only hope that his mother was more fruitful in her searches.

"Would you be willing to participate in an auction?" you asked, sitting up from your slouched position from earlier while you were penning down your thoughts on various parchments. When you started to clench and unclench your fingers, Loki took your hand in his, massaging your skin in small circles, causing you to let out a satisfied sigh as you relaxed into the cushion. He had to fight back the salacious thoughts that began to infiltrate his mind, thinking of more pleasurable ways to elicit those sounds from you.

"It depends on what exactly would be up for auction, darling," he answered, pressing a fleeting kiss to your knuckles when your hand had fully relaxed in his hold.

"A night's worth of dances." You rested your head on his shoulder, your eyelids drooping when he began to stroke your hair and you fully allowed yourself to take a few breaths and relax. At least until your ever irksome suitor would burst through the doors and announce that it was time for your daily walk around the palace.

And you would have to don your collar piece that the god knew must be warmer than was necessary. All for the sake of shielding your body somehow from Damien's wandering hands.

"If it means keeping you safe from a certain elven Prince with wandering eyes and hands, I would gladly outbid--"

"No no, Loki, you misunderstand," you cut him off with a slight giggle. "The men would be up on the stage, I was asking if you would be willing to auction off your dances for the ball."

"I see," he mused, making a point to turn to a random different page on the book he was reading through to keep you from discovering what he and his mother may be up to. "If it aids in the success of the ball, then…I would be happy to."

His heart beat violently in his chest as you squealed and turned to throw your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you!" You excitedly left his embrace, his arms now feeling hauntingly empty without you in them, and wrote his name down on the parchment.  "At least I know I would be having a good bit of fun before I get shackled down and shipped off to Alfheim to do little more than sit still and look pretty," you sighed, placing your pen down on the table before slumping back into the cushion.

"Darling, if you do not wish to marry this prince, you are very much within your rights to refuse his proposal. I see how you are whenever you have to return to his company, you need not endure this attentions if you do not feel that he would be good for you," Loki attempted to console you, taking your hands in his once more, his heart fracturing at how rife with tension they were again.

"I couldn't," you argued, the furrow between your brows making an appearance as your mouth formed into a pout. "Grandfather would force my hand, tell me that this is what's good for the realm as a whole. Spew some drivel about how sometimes great leaders must make personal sacrifices for the good of their people." A tear began to roll down your cheek at the mere thought, trying to blink them away as you refocused your attention instead on the book laid open in front of him. "Loki? Why are you reading up on Asgardian bedding rituals?"

He wanted to slap himself at the section he turned to. "The information might come useful one day," he tried to wave your queries away.

"You intend to court someone?" A playful look entered your eyes before you put your hand to your temples once more, another migraine pounding away at your head.

"Norns no," he hissed almost instinctively. The only one I would ever wish to court is beyond my reach, he lamented internally, replacing your hand with his and trying to soothe you by massaging away at your temples in slow circles. He decided the best course of action was to offer you a sliver of the truth. "I'm looking into royal Asgardian marriage traditions, trying to find a way to keep you from leaving the realm if it ever comes to that."

"I will need to be dragged to the altar kicking and screaming if the Allfather forces my hand. This prince does not love me, Loki. He loves the throne that would be promised him if he were to marry me. I'd like to believe that I am worth more than a throne." The sullen tone your voice had taken on tore at his heart, making him unable to resist the urge to pull you into his arms once more in an attempt to soothe you.

"You are, Little Princess. Any fool that fails to see that does not deserve you." No one in these Realms could ever love you as I do, he thought inwardly. I would have cherished and spoiled you if I were your husband. You would have wanted for nothing.

Before either of you could say another word, the doors to the library flew open, revealing his mother on the other side, an excitement in her expression as her gaze roamed the area before landing on the two of you. A soft smile graced her features finding you resting comfortably in your fated's arms.

"My son, I may have found something. Come with me." She jerked her head in the direction of her workroom before turning her gaze to address you. "Granddaughter, a certain elven prince is bounding his way down the halls to steal you away from your present company." You let out an unrestrained chortle at the face the Queen made after her statement, clearly disapproving of Damien herself. "How goes the planning for the Yule festival?"

"Progressing quite nicely, Grandmother," you responded, removing yourself from Loki's embrace and putting away your parchments, gathering everything into a satchel before standing upright. "The culminating ball will make for quite the night, if everything goes according to plan. We are to have an auction. Proceeds will go into funding for new weapons for soldiers old and new alike."

He stood from his seat, taking out the collar piece from inside your satchel bag and helping you into the garment. Your eyes had a bleakness in them as he framed your face in his hands, placing a light kiss to your forehead. He slipped his dagger into your bag, whispering a rather mischievous offer against your skin. "If he behaves in a way that renders you uncomfortable, you could always use that on him and say it was me if you are questioned. Stay safe, Little Princess. I love you."

You briefly wrapped your arms around him before muttering back, "I love you, too." You took a step back, mustering a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "How do I look?"

"Your smile could convince just about any audience, perhaps in another life you were made for the stage," he quipped, briefly touching his hand to your chin. "You can't quite fool me, however."

"Of course I can't." You scrunched your nose at him. "You know me far too well, Loki." You smoothed your hands over your dress and turned to face the door, squaring your shoulders ever so slightly, as if preparing to assume a warrior's stance. When Loki turned his gaze to the door he could see exactly why; the Prince was already waiting for you a few feet away from the Queen, jaw visibly tense.

And because of the god's enhanced senses from his Jotun blood, he could hear the impudent prince grinding away at his teeth. No doubt brought on from seeing that once again you were spending time with someone that he deemed 'competition' for your hand.

The elven prince offered his arm to you once enough distance had been closed, the muscles in his face tensing even worse when you maintained your stance, leaving his arm empty. He opted instead to place a hand at your lower back,  holding on to you a touch too tight that it caused you to visibly tense and flinch when his fingers dug into your side.

Loki hadn't even realized he was about to approach you to offer his aid somehow until he felt his mother grab hold of his elbow with a firm yet gentle hand. "If we wish to help her completely, then we must have faith she can hold her own in this moment. Soon enough she will be free of his advances." She gave him a gentle tug in the opposite direction. "We must go now, my boy. You will have much to think about once I tell you what I have found."

He took one final glance back at you, your fist clenched behind your back as Damien walked you farther and farther away from him, and he attempted to reach out to you with his mind. Hoping you would hear his sentiment. "If he ever hurts you, little princess, you call for me. Call for me and I will be there for you in a heartbeat."

Once they'd made their way to Frigga's workroom, he could no longer hold in his words, blurting out his question with little control over the volume of his voice. Or his frantic tone.

"What have you found, Mother? Tell me how we can save Y/N from--"

"You could marry her instead." His eyes widened to the size of saucers at how she chose to lead with her findings, eyeing his mother with thinly-veiled incredulity. "I have combed through every possible scenario that held even a sliver of a chance to get Odin to repudiate his intention to strengthen the alliance between Asgard and Alfheim, and in my search I chanced upon your reports. From your mission that kept you away from us for nearly a millennium."

"My reports?" he parroted lamely. "But those merely stated that the people of the Nine held less faith in our house's power to rule, what help could that offer us in this predicament?"

"If Odin seeks to arrange a marriage for Y/N that will fortify her claim to the throne, then perhaps the only way is to offer him something that would yield a stronger claim," she offered, walking towards her son when he slumped down into his usual armchair and grasping his hands in hers. "If you use your reports to reason with him that this marriage will be more beneficial to the realm than a union with Prince Damien, we can save her from this sham of a marriage he intends for her."

"Father will not so simply agree to this, Mother," the god argued, his mind already firing off scenario after scenario wherein Odin would reject this proposal outright. He'd fought so ardently to ensure that all generations of the royal family that succeeded him would no longer have to adhere to the archaic traditions, and now here he and his mother were, looking for a way to return them somehow. "For him to agree to a negotiation like this, I would need to offer him something in return."

"And what would you have to offer that could hold a similar value to a quelling of an imminent insurgence, my boy?"

Loki ran through everything he could potentially offer for your hand, searching frantically for something that symbolized a significant enough loss on his part that perhaps it would satisfy the Allfather. Nothing of monetary value would suffice, and he would never wish to make it seem from any potential angle that he was buying your freedom.

He held no title other than God of Mischief; he was no crown prince, he had no clear path to the throne. At least until his impending duel with Thor, assuming that the most unlikely of scenarios would occur and he would win over his larger, stronger warrior of a brother.

And then it hit him.

"My claim to the throne," he sighed, feeling a sliver of hope that perhaps this might actually work. "I could surrender my claim as Odin's heir. Cancel the duel between me and Thor so that we may never have to shed the other's blood on the battlefield." He looked to his mother, a calm smile gracing her features as she let her pride shine through. "You already came to this conclusion, haven't you, Mother?"

She walked over to her desk, signaling for her son to follow so that she may show him the parchments in which she penned down her findings. There were the words, by her own hand. Loki's surrender in exchange for Y/N's hand. "I needed you to come to the decision yourself, my son," she explained to him. "Surrendering your chance at becoming crown prince is something you cannot take back. Something that thwarts any ambition you may have to become Allfather yourself."

"What value would a throne have for me if I won that duel?" he spat out, hot tears stinging his eyes as he picture what his life would be like. "My brother would be dead by my hand, Asgard's people carrying a burning hatred for me for slaying their beloved prince. Y/N would hate me for taking her father away from her. And my heart would forever be burdened with guilt for Thor's death, and the crippling knowledge that the woman I love is living a bleak life married to someone who views her as little more than a plaything he could discard and betray time and time again. She is worth more to me than a chance at the throne."

He felt his resolve strengthening with every passing moment, already crafting the words he would use from the moment he announced his surrender to his negotiations to become your husband. He knew the words to utter and when; this was his domain, his words a weapon he wielded with the same mastery as he did his magic and his daggers.

But there was one simple fact that weighed heavy on his heart. He was about to lay out his heart on the table for everyone to know. Including you.

And you…you didn't return these affections. You never had. And you realizing his true feelings toward you would ruin your image of him forever, tainting every single memory you two shared.

"She would despise me," he choked out, clenching his fists shut as his eyes filled with tears. "She will know how I have loved her since the beginning and she will loathe me."

"But she will be safe," Frigga insisted, reaching for her son's hand again. "She will be safe and she will remain here in Asgard. With a husband that loves her, that will not shackle her to such a base and primitive purpose." She seemed as if she were about to say more, but decided against it, pursing her lips instead. "Remember what I told you before, Loki. You two are fated. Marriage was always in your future, I just…" She let out a deep sigh. "I just never imagined that this was how we would arrive at this point."

Tears began to fall from his eyes, already bracing himself to burden your hatred of him for what he was about to do. The life he was about to choose for you. "If having her hate me for the rest of our days is the price I must pay to keep her safe from a wretch like that Prince Damien, then so be it."

With those words he strode out of the Queen's workroom. And as soon as he left, Queen Frigga scrambled through every grimoire in her possession, looking for a way to lift the spell that veiled your memories herself.

Loki blazed down the halls of the palace, looking for his brother and his father, finally finding them in deep discussion in one of the war rooms. His loud bursting into the room caused both men to jump slightly at the sound.

"Ah, Brother, perfect timing," Thor addressed him, a grim tone in his voice as he motioned for him to take a seat. "Father has decided that it is time for us to discuss the ceremony that shall appoint his heir."

"There's no need for that anymore, Brother." He made his way to the seat across from the blond god, doing his best to remain the picture of calm and collected. In truth he was a mixed bag of emotions, each so strong that he could feel himself being pulled in vastly different directions and if he failed to control himself it would tear him into pieces from the inside out.

"And why is there no longer a need for this discussion, Loki?" Odin prodded, back ramrod straight in anticipation for what might come next.

"Because I relinquish my claim to the throne of Asgard."

A/N: Besties omg omg omg we are heeeeeeeere 😳👀 When I tell you I got literal chills writing that last line holy fuckque things are gonna be changing from here on, we're finally in the events of the 6k word shoulda been a drabble piece that I wrote over a year ago and Reader's attitude toward Loki is about to be hugely different 🥺

Only two more chapters until Season 1 is finished and then we're heading off into the angst-fest that is Season 2 😳

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover

[allyssl]

Kraang Mikey and Move Along Mi- RAPH from cabin 15 want to know if you'd like some homemade lemonade for your beach day! It's very delicious!

Art by: @spacemimz

Characters by: @spacemimz and @justalittleobsessed

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

Mikey smiled as he walked over, taking out some change to hand over. They were curious about all the campers with pink on them but it didn't want to pry in case anyone wasn't comfortable with it.

"Sure! Bet it tastes amazing!"

[littleladymab]

fellas is it gay--

Miles remains where he’s standing. Staring. Willing himself to decide.  “Phoenix—” he says before stopping. He doesn’t know what he wants to say after that.  Phoenix cocks his head to the side and takes a step up. “Yes?” Five stairs remaining and the pressure compounds against his ribs.  “Thank you,” he finally blurts, which isn’t what he meant to say, but it seems the safest option.  Phoenix closes the distance by another stair. Some of the humor has left his expression, replaced by a softness that is wholly unfamiliar to Miles. “For what?”  Everything, Miles doesn’t say, because four steps is still enough distance between them that he doesn’t feel too vulnerable. 

[the-acid-pear]

I never tried the option myself bc it'd probably mean skipping the Reason You Suck speech at the end (fire for speedrunners though) but I Love that you can frame your Phoneys in 3, especially so if you've already killed the previous two. Like yeah couldn't send you off to die so i'll let the goverment do it for me 🧸 like its just Peak evil imo.

[shivunin]

vibes into your ask

Cullen and Salshira- finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for . :3

Oh hi! <3

Had to take a minute to check what I'd written for them already! (I know pining usually is reserved for people who haven't been together romantically yet, but I took it in more of a 1800s-ish"I long for your touch" kind of way c: ):

After the Dark

Salshira kept pieces of Cullen with her always, in the form of the coin in her pocket, the mark on her jaw, and the ring on her finger. 

The first was a memory of the years he’d spent alone in his own darkness, as much as it was a gesture of love. The second was a tether, something that told her without a doubt that no matter how far away from each other they might be, Cullen was still alive and well. 

The third—well, that was the one she clung to all through those long, cold months in the dark caves of the Deep Roads. 

The Inquisitor pressed it to her lips late at night when it was her turn for watch, willing his presence here, willing herself to believe that the warm metal was somehow a link to him. The nightmares were awful down in the dark, in the deep. Every night, she was a child again, screaming for her best friend while the giant spider dragged her limp body into the depths. Every day, she fought through endless waves of darkspawn, stinking and foul and grinning endlessly. But in the evenings, in the quiet—in those moments, Salshira had Cullen, at least until it was time to curl up on the cot alone again.

They’d been so long in the dark that when they finally completed their mission and climbed back out again, Salshira’s eyes flinched away from direct light. She felt like she rode back to Skyhold with her eyes half-closed, wincing at the brightness of the sun on the snow, at the shine on the others’ newly clean armor. 

When at last they crossed over the drawbridge a week later, there was no pale form on the drawbridge as she’d expected. They’d sounded her party’s return; that was her flag going up on the ramparts. So where…?

Lavellan saw him as soon as she rounded the corner toward the stables. The Commander paced there, his usually neat hair mussed and all in curls at the sides. Both of his hands gripped the hilt of his sword, and he didn’t even seem to see her, so focused was he on scowling at the dirt. 

“Cullen,” she said as soon as her mount passed most of the vendors at their stalls, and had to clear her throat to try again when his name came out in a croak.

“Cullen,” Salshira called, and his head snapped up. 

She didn’t give him time to run for her. Instead, Salshira threw herself from the saddle, very nearly twisting her ankle when it caught in the stirrup. 

In an instant, all the clever words deserted her. All the little jokes she’d thought up on the road here, eyes squeezed shut against the unfamiliar light—all the things she’d wanted to ask him about how he’d been while she was gone—all of them deserted her. There was only him, taking her elbows when she nearly tripped in the process of throwing herself in his general direction. 

She couldn’t seem to see him. At first, she thought it was just the same sun-blindness, but no—it was  a haze of tears instead, when Salshira was loath to cry at all and doubly so in public. 

“Cullen,” she said again and again, the only sensible thing she could force out between her cracked lips. 

Cullen pressed his forehead to hers, murmuring words she couldn’t seem to make sense of— “missed you,” maybe, and, “Maker preserve me,” and her name, over and over. He held her so tightly; too tightly, maybe, with their breastplates shoved hard against each other, but Salshira couldn’t bring herself to care. She just rested her forehead against his and waited, the relief of having him here—actually him, not a piece of metal or a mark on her skin—too powerful for any other thoughts to sneak in around it. 

When they kissed at last, it was almost an accident. Cullen’s mouth still whispered words that might have been prayers or questions, her own trembling with unspoken emotion. 

It hurt, just a little. Not the kiss, which was achingly gentle as soon as he realized that’s what he was doing. No—it was the relief of being home again, in his arms where she ought to be. After months of fear, after that final battle all but on her own, it was almost more than she could stand to finally let it be over. 

“‘Ma sal’shiral,” she said at last when they could tear themselves away, and her fingers at last found the warm skin of his neck beneath the ruff and his armor, “How I have missed you.”

To her surprise, he laughed—a watery sort of laugh—and shook his head. 

“Love,” Cullen told her quietly, “You’ve no idea.”

There would be more words later; better words perhaps, or at least ones she’d planned to say. But here and now, their own stumbling attempts were enough so long as they held on tightly to one another. 

So long as they let go only as much as they must.