#*apocalypse I may or may not have big thumbs...

[assaily]

Hi, it's been a while. I'm here to feed the fandom with some fic snippets. I've been having some of the worst creative block of my life this last year but I've made it another rotation around the sun today so I thought I would share what I have been working on.

Working title: Something Delicate Something (still working on it obvs) Colloquial title: Buffalo Wild Wings Main themes: Vulnerability and accepting help

This is from the silly little wing-fic I occasionally tease about. Wings are a rare genetic mutation that only occurs in a small percentage of the population, so Klaus is the only other one besides Five who has wings. People aren't born with wings, but grow them during adolescence. Five is about to grow his but he's the only one that knows that, but his siblings may or not suspect something. When he grew them in the apocalypse, they emerged with one weak, broken, and useless (because he was starving and alone). They were a burden on him his whole life, a point of weakness. The Commission removes them when they picked him up, a cultural taboo that Five is convinced was a necessary procedure. He's afraid to tell his brothers about his wings, afraid to share that vulnerability with them.

Takes place about a year and half to two years after they save the world and return to a timeline much like their original. Five has a large mental break before this part of the story that spurs his brothers into taking better care of him. Five doesn't know how to feel about being taken care of like that.

Klaus did think he was an angel, going so far as to exclaim it loudly for the whole house to hear when he offered the half-cream-half-coffee. He was nearly done molting now, most of his flight feathers coming back in at once, but he was sleeping for periods of twelve hours or more.

Klaus complained about how exhausted he was and how badly the poor things itched. Five patiently brushed oils into the new feathers and carefully picked the loose ones coming out. Klaus had the misfortune of both having large wings and having a molt that happened in one big collapse. It meant a mess.

So while his brother sat in the nest of blankets, pillows, and feathers in his room sipping his cream, Five acquired a broom and started the great clean-up task. Approximately twenty-eight minutes after Five woke him up, Klaus started his stereo, playing something with a gentle piano at a medium volume so it filtered out into the hallways for Five.

It’s easy to work to, and Five lost himself into a rhythm of sweeping and piling the dark tawny feathers together. The sun was peeking in through the windows when Klaus came out to take his empty cup downstairs for a refill. He came back up fifteen minutes later with two mugs and Diego with a much larger broom in company.

“Back up has arrived,” Klaus said cheerily, trading Five the refilled mug for his broom. “Go sit down or something, me n’ Diego can finish this.”

Five only relinquished the broom because Klaus wordlessly threatened to keep the coffee hostage until he did. “I can finish,” he groused, taking a sip and getting instantly distracted. Klaus had been getting very good with a french press lately, and Five was coming to appreciate it. Based on the twinkle in his brother’s eyes as he watched Five drink his coffee, Klaus knew just how good at it he was getting. 

“Go, shoo, we got this. You’ve done enough.”

Five turned his attention to Diego, standing silently by watching the two of them interact like an onlooker at the zoo. “How’d you get roped up into this?”

Diego shrugged, failing to smother a smirk. “Klaus was telling me what a good doting brother you’ve been lately, and we both decided you needed to take a break.”

Five squinted at him, suspicion stirred by the smirk. “Taking care of this idiot,” he jabbed a thumb at Klaus. “Is probably the least stressful thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“Aww, thanks,” Klaus said sincerely from where he’d started tidying up Five’s already made piles. 

“Still,” Diego said, something false about his casually friendly smile, but Five still wasn’t good enough with faces to identify the issue. He sidled up to him, switching the broom from one hand to the other. “It’s so nice of you to help.”

Klaus glanced back at them and straightened with a jolt, Diego’s name forming around his lips. Five sensed more than saw Diego’s palm coming to slap him on the back, and abruptly he understood what the ploy was.

Five would have preferred to save his coffee, but the rage that bubbled up from the pit of his stomach chose vengeance instead. The mug likely broke, spilling really good coffee all across the hallway, but the only one who got to see it was Klaus. Diego ended up being dropped from the second story into an open dumpster two blocks over– it was the closest open dumpster Five knew about, and would force him to walk back covered in trash. Five himself landed on a fire escape just long enough to make sure he hadn’t accidentally hurt Diego, before popping back to his room.

It was silly to be so mad about it, about practically nothing at all, but his hands still shook as he tore into his wardrobe for clean clothes and a towel. A hot bath would help him feel better, the steam would ease the headache drilling into the back of his skull and down his spine. Then he would take a nap, and if anyone had an ounce of self-preservation, he would remain undisturbed.

Of course, none of his brothers had self-preservation, or brain cells. Except maybe Viktor, but he and his lonely brain cell were woefully absent. Klaus was waiting for him in his room when he returned from his bath. He was glad he had the foresight to put a shirt on, but he’d really had hope for that nap.

“What do you want?”

“What, you’re up in my grill for a week and now you want nothing to do with me?”

“I wasn’t ‘up in your grill’. If you didn’t want me to help, you could have told me to go away. In fact you did, so I filled my schedule, I have shit to do, get out.”

“Okay, grumpy, jeez,” Klaus put his hands up, jumping up off the bed when Five came at him, threatening to use his damp towel as a weapon. “Is your back okay?”

“It’s fine,” he snapped.

“Really, cause Diego was gone for like half an hour, and he came back smelling like a dumpster, so I’m just wondering if he hurt you or something because that was really dramatic–”

“Get. Out.” He punctuated his point by snapping the towel loudly.

“Okayeeee!” Klaus yelped, leaping toward the door with an obscene cackle born of hysterical fear. Complete lack of self-preservation. If Five ever made that much noise while in danger, he would have been dead a hundred times over.

Five slammed the door shut behind him, closing his eyes and listening to his brother hover outside for about forty seconds before leaving. When Klaus finally shuffled away, Five let go the breath he was holding, scrubbing at his face.

He hadn’t slept much last night, or most nights. Less so lately with his back beginning to hurt so much. If Diego had touched him, the gig might have been up, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to hide his reaction. The uncontrollable rage was just a side effect of all the hormones his body was releasing, but he was also usually an asshole, so he didn’t think his siblings would notice the difference.

“Dramatic,” he echoed to himself. Sending Diego two blocks over and into a dumpster was a little dramatic, but the other option was the pond in the park a mile and half west of the academy. It seemed like an unnecessarily large expenditure of power to send him all that way, so Diego got the shorter, dryer walk. So really, Five wasn’t as dramatic as he could have been.

And if Klaus really saw that as just an innocent pat on the back, he was lying to himself and to Five. Diego was checking for lumps, or at least a reaction if he hit him hard enough. The lumps weren’t in yet but his back was already showing signs of the blood bruising, and was getting tender to all hell.

He’d done this all before, he knew what to expect, and this time would be a hell of a lot easier because of it. He didn’t need them losing their goddamn minds and crawling down his throat because Mom wasn’t here anymore and couldn’t take care of him like she would have Klaus. Five didn’t need to burden them with it either. He survived the first time, and he would again.

He made sure his door was locked before he went back to his bed and collapsed onto his stomach. He was still warm from his bath, and the last few days had been long and sleepless. He dozed off quickly, but didn’t sleep for long, carved awake as the infant growths under his skin pushed and shifted at his shoulder blades from beneath.

-

Diego was in the kitchen again when Five went down for food hours later. Luther was there too, but his gaze didn’t zero in on Five the second he appeared like Diego’s did.

“Oh look it’s the asshole who dropped me in a dumpster for offering to help.”

“Why are you still here? Don’t you have a job or something?”

“It’s my day off. Not that you would know, freeloader.”

“Child labor laws, idiot. I couldn’t get a job even if I wanted to.” Besides, he’d been pawning off some of the antiques their father had laying around so he wasn’t relying on his siblings’ wallets for luxury purchases. He mostly sold stuff out of the attic so he was sure none of them had noticed anything missing yet.

“Okay, look I just want to eat dinner in peace, please,” Luther interrupted. “Five, there’s a container for you in the fridge, I didn’t know when you’d be down for it so I stuck it in there, but it should still be hot.”

Five’s stomach growled at him at the prospect of food, smoothly digressing off the brewing spat with Diego. He turned to dig in the fridge, finding a plastic container with his name on it in Luther’s neat handwriting. If it wasn’t labeled, Klaus would eat it. He was surprisingly respectful of labeled containers, however, so Luther had gotten very anal about making sure everything of Five’s was labeled. It forced him to eat it or give it away, which then alerted one of them to the fact that he hadn’t eaten it.

A convenient monitoring system for his brothers, a pain in the ass for Five. Though, and he would never admit it, sometimes he would pop down to the kitchen whenever everyone managed to be out of the house but him, and root through his labeled containers like a raccoon with his favorite garbage. 

Five pried the lid off his container, broccoli beef with white rice. Fried foods grossed him out more than he would have liked to admit, but the only one that actually cared was Klaus, who thought it was sacrilege, but then helped himself to all of Five’s portions of the fried take-out Luther always brought home. Luther cottoned on quick and made sure to order him the white rice.

While he worked for the Commission, Five had to be careful what he ate because his stomach couldn’t handle much after so many decades living off expired canned food and whatever he could grow. That was less of a problem now, he could even drink straight milk and oil if he wanted and his young, stout little body would digest it without so much as an ounce of indigestion. No, it was the fact that Five had gone so long without salt and basic spices, that even the beef gravy mixed with the plain rice was still intensely salty to him. Oily fried foods had a taste to them that Five struggled to stomach, instincts still telling him it would make him sick.

Besides, Five could afford the luxury of being picky these days, so he would be.

“Fork,” Luther said, even as Five started throwing pieces of broccoli into his mouth with his fingers. 

Diego snorted, shaking his head before tucking back into his noodle dish. He didn’t seem inclined to keep fighting, so Five sat down at the table opposite both of them after he got himself a fork from the drawer. 

Luther waited until they were all at least halfway through their meals before he started with a casual, “So, Five, it’s been ten days since you’ve last left the house.”

Five glared at him over his dinner. So much for eating peacefully.

“You know what that means,” Diego chimed in, looking a bit too smug at Five’s instant discomfort.

“I have library books that need to be returned anyway,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“I was actually hoping we could go somewhere besides the library.”

Five frowned down at his rice, pushing it around with his fork. His stomach had instantly gone up in knots, and he wished Luther hadn’t done this over dinner. It was hard enough to eat as it was. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s been over a year since you’ve been to the doctor–”

“I would need an appointment, wouldn’t I? Don’t have one as far as I know.”

Luther puffed his cheeks out and inclined his head forward and to the side like he was ashamed of something. “I didn’t want to alarm you and have you spend the whole week overthinking it.”

A numbing buzz started in the tips of his fingers and began crawling through his palms and up his arms. “You made one,” he said faintly, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Diego grimaced, eyes darting between him and Luther. “It’s alright Five, we’ll both go with you. Klaus, too if you want.”

He swallowed thickly, the room around him narrowing down to pinprick sounds and details. The buzzing of the lamps, the tick and churn of the dishwasher, the faucet that no one had gotten around to tightening up, drip drip dripping into the sink below. His brothers, just across the table from him and miles and miles away, each breath they took like thunder in his ears.

“No one has to go, just tell me where it is.”

“I have to go. I’m your legal guardian, remember?” Luther said softly.

“I’m not going.”

“Five–”

“I’m not going.” And he refused to listen to whatever reasoning they had. He wasn’t dealing with it, not right now. He sent them both one final glare each before he blinked back upstairs.

He knew he would only have a few minutes before someone was at his door, Luther rarely backed down that easily when it came to getting Five out of the house, and there was no doubt in Five’s mind that Diego had been there as backup. He stepped toward the window and reappeared on the fire escape, then again on the roof.

He wasn’t thinking about his blinks, following line of sight so he didn’t have to do so much calculation, landing his final jump in the greenhouse on the roof. The setting sun shone through the opaque walls and cast his world in a gentle peachy orange. The smell of soil and dust was familiar and warm, and allowed him to take the deep breath his lungs desperately needed.

“The fucking doctor,” he spat. “They want me to go to the doctor? Now of all fucking times!” He rolled his shoulders without thinking, flaring pain from between his shoulder blades and down his spine. There was no way, the doctor would see the bruising, would no doubt want to examine his back–

He wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his clothes tight over his spine. “No,” he told the universe, the green house, his brothers downstairs that couldn’t hear him, and the theoretical doctor he’d never met. “Absolutly not, you’re not going to touch me, not without losing some fingers; go fuck yourselves. You can go fuck yourselves!”

-

He hid in the greenhouse until well after dark. When he finally went back to his room, his door was left wide open from where Luther had no doubt come barging in looking for him. His room otherwise dark and empty, or so he thought. He closed his door before he heard the rustle of feathers on his bed, scowling into the darkness

“I didn’t yell at you earlier about it, but you’re gonna get feathers on my bed.”

The lamp at his bedside popped on, Klaus stretched out across the mattress like a cat. “I heard you didn’t want to go to the doctor.”

Five scowled all the harder. “Don’t need it, you can’t make me, I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to have a stranger poking and prodding me and asking me if Luther has given me the sex talk yet.”

Klaus let out a surprised wheeze of a laugh. “No, alright, that’s fair. You didn’t object this badly last time, was it really that bad?”

It really hadn’t been. The doctors who thought he was an actual thirteen year old treated him with a hell of a lot more respect than any doctor he had had the misfortune of dealing with when he worked for the Commission. “Yes,” he answered anyway.

Klaus raised an eyebrow, seeing right through him. “No, tell me what’s really going on, Five.”

#tua #tua fic #the draft falls apart after this #i think i got all the notes to myself but i may have missed one or two #eventually i'll get around to finishing this one #the umbrella academy #fanfic #fanfiction #tua fanfic #five hargreeves #number five #wing fic

[thelaundrybitch]

Sniped - The sexy sequel

Well, Turtle Doves,

I couldn't leave well enough alone. My brain kept going back to play in the gutters. Until we ended up right back in the sewers with that beautiful purple genius.

So, here is my garbage mind, for you to enjoy.

Y'all have @t-annuki to thank for this. Bayverse Sniper Donnie won't leave me alone. Go check out their incredible artwork and give their page a like 🙌💜

18+ content - for mature audiences only!

Warning: Friendship, love, some hurt, and still... a very thirsty bitch

NSFW & F!Reader

Reblogs only, please!

Sniped - The Sexy Sequel

It had been nearly a year since you were saved by the purple banded bara. He had brought you back to the safety of the camp and directly to his colossal lab and medical facility. He gave you a thorough examination to check for injuries and then brought you to the chow hall for some sustenance. That’s where you got to meet the rest of his brothers.

They were all quite lovely, and you made friends with them quickly. However, you found yourself continually being drawn to none other than the sniper, himself.

There was just something about him.

He was almost always calm with a cool temperament.

He made you feel safe. And important.

The genius had recognized your need to be helpful early on, and always found a small project you could work on while he was working on something bigger and brainier.

Speaking of brainier… He was intelligent beyond belief.

But! He was also fun. He had an extensive collection of old board games and thousands of movies and tv shows downloaded on thumb drives. He was the one that insisted, then set up movie night every Friday for the entire encampment, on an old drive-in screen he and his brothers had salvaged at the beginning of the apocalypse.

And what happens when crossing big brains with fun? Sass and wit that would knock even the best comedian flat on their behind.

Everyone referred to him as Sass-Master-Tello because he was the biggest wise-ass on the compound by far.

But don’t let all of that fool you, because the man was also an absolute force to be reckoned with.

Nobody dared cross him or anger him. You saw him angry once. And you had said a small prayer for the wolf-man that knocked Don’s laptop off his desk and onto the cement flooring of the lab, successfully shattering it.

Mike had told you that was just a small temper tantrum, and to wait until someone hurts the ones he cares for the deepest.

You tucked that information away for later. You never wanted to upset Don. You wanted to continue being his go-to person for all of his needs. You yearned to be his closest friend… Hoping to someday be one of those he cared for the deepest.

Ok, so it was more than just something about him. It was more like somethings.

A lot of somethings, as it turned out.

💜🐢💜🐢💜🐢💜🐢💜🐢💜🐢💜🐢💜🐢💜🐢💜🐢💜

Standing in the lab at the table, and separating screws, nails, bolts, and washers out of an extra-large tote, you turned to ask your friend a question.

The words caught in your throat as you watched him sip the coffee you brewed for him earlier, as he read through lines of coding at his computer station. The intensity of his stare and the seriousness of his expression had your heart damn near screeching to a dead stop.  

He was gorgeous…

Butterflies erupted in your stomach the second he turned and smirked at you, giving you a flirty little wink.

Oh, fuck. 

You had a sneaky suspicion as to what those things meant. It was confirmed when he stood and walked over, leaning over you to see how things were going. The adrenaline rush through your entire being as he spoke softly into your ear, left you feeling woozy. And tingly. 

You were in love with him.

The realization hit you like a category-five hurricane.

Oh no... You couldn’t be. He was your best friend. This might ruin everything you had built with all of them. You had to keep yourself in check. You had to stop your feelings.

But try as you may, all efforts made to stop your feelings may as well have been fuel for the fire.

Because there was no such thing as a good balance of remaining a friend and keeping one's sanity when your heart decided to go all in. 

Since the universe had a personal vendetta against you, it only made sense that, now, everything he did seemed to have an undesirable effect on you.

And your panties.

For example…

Personnel would come in to upgrade their weapons, or have their tech updated on a fairly regular basis. 

Before? No big deal.

Now? You’d need to slip out halfway through the conversation taking place. His authoritative demeanor and protective stance while he stood between you and whoever came in had you delirious with desire, squeezing your thighs together as you breathed through your want for him.

And God help you if you had a question about a task he assigned to you. That intense gaze would be fixated on you, as he turned his entirety to face your body. He had always given you his complete attention. But now, as you stood there, while he sat in his chair with his thighs spread in front of you and leaning in to see what you were unsure about, you were tripping over simple words.  

He’d give you that look, one brow ridge raised while a corner of his sexy lips pulled up into a sly smirk.

Holy hell. You could cum from that alone.   

Finally, you gave in. 

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Right?

As you found yourself yearning for more than just friendship with this turtle-man, you decided to start dressing a bit nicer.  

Cutesy skirts with a nice top. Dresses that complimented your every curve. Pants that hugged your hips and thighs just enough for you to catch him wide-eyed and jaw agape when you stood from picking up the pencil you had accidentally dropped.

Things had been going quite well for weeks. Verbal compliments on your appearance increased, and light flirting had become a daily occurrence. You took notice of how his eyes would linger when you wore certain outfits, so you tended to wear those more often.

Until one day, you came in, and he was in a mood.

He barely spoke to you, nor had he even glanced in your direction. When you asked him if he was okay, he was curt, appearing almost angry.

You brushed it off as a bad day and tried not to let it bother you. Until it became the new routine.

Sadness filled your heavy heart more and more each day you came into the lab, now. You were working on almost a full month of his shit-ass attitude. If he was upset with you, he needed to pull his head out of his ass and say something.

“What is going on, Donnie? Talk to me,” you pleaded as you stood next to him at the security station.

“Just go back to your task. There’s nothing to talk about,” he dismissed you, not even giving you a glimpse and sending daggers right through your heart.

You stood there contemplating for a moment before you spoke again. “Is this it, Donnie? Is this how it’s going to be between us from now on? I thought we were friends…”  your voice trembled as you confronted his unacceptable attitude. 

When an answer never came, you turned and walked toward the double doors of the lab. Brokenhearted as your whole world came crashing down around you, it took everything you had not to let him see you fall apart. 

"Wait," he said, as you reached for the handle of one of the lab doors.

You turned to look at him, gritting your teeth behind closed lips and reigning in the suffering that he'd caused by giving you the cold shoulder for the last few weeks. Eyes glared back at him, full of anger, with a heart full of hurt.

"Don't leave," he pleaded, with a sorrowful, apologetic look on his face as he walked to meet you by the door. He reached out and watched as he placed a calloused hand just above your elbow and let it drift down to your own. Looking at your joined hands, he let his thumb trace small, sensual circles on the backside of it; a rush of fire flickered through your body, making you swallow hard. All anger vanquished the second he touched you. Looking from your joined hands to his face, your eyes went wide when you met his longing gaze.

“Don?” you whispered, eyes fluttering and stomach doing backflips as he gave you a slight yank to bring you closer to him.

“I…” he breathed out and swallowed, his eyes traveling to the floor, then back up to meet yours. “I think… I need you to come,” he said, licking his lips as his sight set itself on your mouth.

 Nodding, you let out a shaky breath, “Where?”

He looked down with a smirk and let out a low chuckle. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his upturned lips, your pulse quickening with the rumble that accompanied his moment of happiness.

Releasing your hand, he walked to the glass doors to lock them. He returned to retrieve your hand before walking you around the corner to his lab table.

As you went to sit on a stool, he stopped you, “not there.” He pulled your smaller frame in front of him, so your back was to the tall table. It was as if you weighed nothing when he lifted you and set you directly in front of him on his workspace. Gently, both hands guided your knees apart, slipping his hips snugly between your thighs and aligning his pelvis perfectly with yours. His hands slid under your legs and pulled you to the edge of the table. Your core made contact with him, resulting in you throwing your hands up to his plastron in feverish shock. Waves of carnal adrenaline thrummed through your body at his sudden physical advances and undivided attention.

Quickly, his hands moved from your legs and up to your face, cradling your jaw as he watched his thumb move across your lips. “This is my favorite outfit, but you know that, don’t you?” he purred, one of his hands moving up to let your hair cascade down out of the hair clip. 

Placing the clip on the table beside you, his other hand tangled its way to the back of your head, his lips going to your ear, “can I have you?” he breathed, his snout trailing down the outer edge of your ear to the side of your neck, then back up again, his lips teasingly brushing against the sensitive spot right below your ear.

“I don’t understand,” you gasped, not wanting him to stop, but needing an answer to the sudden change.

He pulled back, looking you in the eyes, a smug grin creeping its way across his face, “you’re gonna pretend like you have no idea how I’ve felt about you, since the first day we met?” he asked.

“You’ve wanted nothing to do with me for the last three and a half weeks,” you argued back with a pout.

“All I’ve wanted to do, is you - for the last three and a half weeks!” he admitted, completely exasperated. “God, I can’t get you out of my head! I think about you all day, I dream about you, I can barely concentrate!” He confessed, moving your hands from the front of his plastron to his sides. 

“Then why were you so cold?” you asked, hurt seeping into your voice.

Sighing, his hands dropped to your hips. “I was trying to keep myself in check. We're friends, and I didn't want to ruin it. And I was doing fine until you decided to start showing more interest in my work. And in me,” he told you. “I knew if I didn’t distance myself, I was gonna end up falling even harder… for you...” he trailed off softly, looking down. “I want nothing more than for you to be mine.”

Relief washed over you as your eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling in surprise. 

Was this real?

He looked up, his eyes searching your face as his hands felt their way from your hips and down the sides of your upper thighs until they found the edge of the flared, mini skater-skirt you were wearing. Finding the hem, his hands made an abrupt stop only to begin their trek back up, now underneath the material.

“And, ya know, I was doing pretty good until you started wearing these wicked things,” he accused, his voice husky, “with those delicious low-cut tank tops, hugging every one of your curves like someone painted the damn thing on you. You don’t even bother with a bra anymore,” he acknowledged, looking down at your cleavage. “Do you know, I almost lost it the first time you walked in wearing this?” he huffed with a sultry smirk.

The blush that bloomed and spread from your face to your chest was enough for him to know that you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Mmmm, of course you knew. Because you went and bought more, didn’t you?” he teased, bending forward and rubbing his snout against your nose, teasing your lips with little brushes from his.

“I wanted your attention,” you whispered, leaning in and chasing his lips, trying to get him to kiss you.

“All you have to do is ask,” he whispered, placing a quick kiss on the tip of your nose, his hands finally reaching their destination under your skirt.

Swallowing hard as he pulled back to look at you, he quirked one eyebrow ridge upward as he waited for you to ask.

He was so smug sometimes.

Unable to look him in the face, you shifted your gaze straight forward to his plastron, instead. Heat crept up from your chest, a bit bashful at what you were about to confess, “I need your affection,” you whispered. 

His head bent down to meet your now downward stare. He bumped the side of your face with his and nuzzled you a bit as you felt his lips searching for yours. The moment you tilted your face towards him, his mouth was on yours, firm and full of passion.

Both of his hands abandoned the sides of your panties, and his arms came up to wrap themselves around your torso. His hug was all-encompassing, holding you tight as if you might vanish into thin air. A deep, caring warmth emanated from his embrace as he began to churr, sending ripples of happiness straight through your heart, while leaving your head swimming with a desire for more of his affection.

His mouth moved across yours, in a sensual dance, his tongue slipping past your slightly parted lips. You gasped as your breath caught when he added some light suction to the kiss. Your hands, with a mind of their own, wandered lower to his belt buckle.

He broke the kiss for less than a moment, and you were already grasping at anything you could to pull him back down to you, hungry and desperate for more.

"Not here," he smiled with a sexy giggle, "I want to make sure you're on a soft surface before I have you squirming and gasping as I appreciate your existence, Sunshine."

Your core throbbed at his words as he lifted you off the table and carried you bridal style to his bedroom, which sat at the edge of the lab, just past his office.

His room was bathed in a purple glow, the lights popping on automatically when he walked you through his bedroom door. Once he’d set you on his bed, he reached back up your skirt and removed the lacy, black panties you decided to wear that day. Tossing them on the floor, he quickly removed his boots, followed by the rest of his attire.

In an attempt to remove what was left of your own outfit, he stopped you, "Please," he husked, "that outfit has been the bane of my existence, haunting every one of my fantasies - asleep and awake - for the last three and a half weeks. Please, please, please," he begged, "let me enjoy the slow, satisfying removal as I worship every inch of you," he finished, with a small quirk of an eyebrow ridge, climbing onto the bed, and pulling your sex to meet his mouth.

"Donnie!" you gasped as his tongue gently glided over your folds once, before expertly finding its way to your engorged jewel. His warm, silky tongue laved over the bud, shuffling between whirling, tickling, and flicking. He produced a low hum, making it sound as if you were the most exquisite meal he’d ever had. Some occasional suction had you pressing yourself closer to him as he demanded your body to give him more of your essence.

A whimper left your lips when he pulled his sinful mouth away from your needy body, only to have him pull your petals back, exposing your pearl completely. Kissing then wrapping his lips around her, he alternated between gentle suction and tiny licks with just the tip of his flattened tongue. His hands relocated and now held your hips tight to the bed, so you were unable to move even a millimeter. He had complete control over your pleasure, and he knew it.

He looked up at you between your legs, mouth still at work, watching you with those big honey-colored eyes as you couldn’t help but pant and moan his name, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket beneath you as you tried to keep your sanity. Seeing the tightening of your lower abdomen, he stopped right before you peaked.

You gulped air into your lungs at the sudden reprieve, as if you’d just been held underwater for the last fifteen minutes. Donnie pushed himself to a standing position, his impressive erection bobbing as he got up, beading at the tip. He licked his lips, looking down at you before wiping his chin with the back of his hand. 

He grabbed the waist of your skirt, taking his time as he pulled it down over your hips and past your knees. His eyes glazed over as he watched your body's lower half become more exposed. Once the skirt had been tossed to the growing pile of clothes on the floor, he crawled back onto the bed, straddled your lap, and pulled you to a sitting position. Sitting back on his haunches, his hands found the bottom hem of your tank top. He peeled it off slowly, dragging his nails softly along your sides the whole way up, his eyes drinking in the sight of your breasts as they slid out of the built-in bra and bounced, grateful to be free.

He’d barely gotten rid of your top before his lips were on yours again. Lying you back down on the bed, he left a path of open-mouthed kisses from your lips, to your jaw, and down your neck.

A throaty, satisfied moan left him as he drew one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, and sucking ever so gently. Reflexively, your hands moved affectionately over his shoulders and biceps, appreciating his beautiful physique.

“Donnie,” you gasped when he nibbled one bud, while pinching the other, causing your stomach muscles to tighten, and your thighs to clench. A wet warmth trickled between your legs and onto his bed.

He sat on the edge of the bed, getting up for a moment and tugging you up with him. Pulling you over him, so you were straddling his lap, he moved his legs apart to bring your hovering sex closer to his. His finger slid between your petals, swirling your slick in circles, teasing as he spread the dampness of your core, before lining himself up against your entrance. 

Locking eyes with you, he whispered, “I’m gonna make sure that I give you the best damn orgasm of your life, so you’ll never want anyone except for me, ever again.”

If you enjoyed it, Please reblog for others to enjoy🤩💕

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@leosgirl82 @turtle-babe83 @post-apocalyptic-daydream @tmnt-tychou @8pmblackcoffee @sharpwindow @scholastic-dragon @mysticboombox @raphsweapondealer @raphslovemuffin80 @turtlesmakemehappy @chicchanmooshy @roxosupreme @xanadu-702 @pheradream15 @mistyroselove @ashleighclark98 @sewerninno @zombiesnips-blog @meowph-132 @lazygirlfanfic0-0 @hotredphoenix @happymoonangel @dilucsflame33 @sketch-and-write-lover @fyreball66 @memes-in-a-half-shell @screamingnoodl @android-cap-007 @fluffytriceratops

#sniper donnie #sniper donatello #death by donnie #hot donnie is out to get us all #T-annuki's artwork made me do it #Zero complaints because I fucking love your artwork #Keep. It. Up. #thelaundrybitch #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt aged up #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt bayverse #bayverse donnie #bayverse donatello #bayverse tmnt x reader #tmnt x reader

[squidsniaki]

The 5 Times They Kissed.

synopsis: a drabble of 5 times Meryl kissed Vash. this is something I wrote for a writing partner but liked it so much, I decided to post it here.

warnings: sfw, mentions of blood, gun shot wound mentions, cryptid vash because come on, heavily implied apocalypse au, mentions of unnatural body stretching.

the first time was . . .

tough to reach the highest shelves when you've been granted the height of a rodent . Meryl struggles , as always , to reach the very supplied that are most crucial to the group's survival .

what a shitshow .

she could climb , maybe break an ankle or two on the way . but a presence disturbs those disquiet thoughts , a flash of a smile , a shimmer of eyes . before she can speak , react , do anything . . . there is a large , flat surface propping her up underneath her backside . a few cracks of bones , a stretch of skin , and Vash is pulling Meryl up to the highest shelf on an arm that is far too long to be human . and yet , there's no hesitation as she grabs the supplies , drops them on the ground and tells her companion to lower her down .

but before he can let her drop , her hands gently place on each cheek of his face , thumbs disturbing the glasses that are hiding those hypnotizing luminescent eyes . she leans in , and plants a kiss to the tip of his nose . " thanks , big guy . " she praises , and he's red , his smile turned wobbly , and his sounds akin to a happy chirping . he looked so silly , so proud .

and that's just so Vash .

the second time was . . .

she scrambles to the body laying left , unmoving in the rubble . she's frantic as she scatters about the debris , and the more she does so , to more of him she sees . there's liquid like blood , yet not quite the color . his limbs seem broken , battered . and those extraordinary eyes are closed , unresponsive . Meryl wastes no time .

there's so much urgency in the way she keeps pushing on his chest , to elicit any form of response . yet Vash remains unmoving , and Meryl grows desperate . her body moves , her fingers shaking and clumsy part his lips so she may crush her own on them . she tries . god , she tries to breathe life into the man .

and as soon as she does , the body jolts . springs to life . Vash quickly sits up , and Meryl ends up yelping in surprise as she is being scooped into his arms . it's so unreal , how unaffected by it all he seemed . like he wasn't just one foot in the grave .

instead , he leans his forehead against her , flashes her a reassuring smile , and thanks her . despite not even needing her help , he thanks her .

and that's just so Vash .

the third time was . . .

nobody would really dare to get closer than it was necessary to the strange creature that was Vash . yet when Meryl saw his bionic arm fidget , twitch and flex uncomfortably , she had to ask about it . had to be told it needed maintenance .

had to offer to do just that .

" do you know how ? " he'd ask . " you'll show me . " she'd say . and so he did . and so they did .

it took some practice , but Meryl knew to learn quick . she made sure to avoid the parts that Vash mentioned caused discomfort , and simply focused on the ones that needed to be looked into .

she always wondered how Vash lost that arm . he always seemed so unbreakable to her . invincible . to think something did this damage to him was . . .

fingers began to wander , as gentle blues raked over the expanse of metal . soon did her hands grasp around his own . she felt the cool texture of it , her curious digits soon enveloping his own . they played with his fingertips , smoothing skin over the machine - like nails carved into them .

she couldn't have been thinking when she did this . not when she brought his hand so close to her lips . not when she allowed the same lips to gently brush against the surface of his prosthetic knuckles . not when she kissed them , audible , surprised at how nice it felt .

more chirping she could hear coming from her inhuman companion , and when her eyes turned towards him , he had his signature wobbly smile plastered to his face . his cheeks were as red as his coat , and his eyes tried so hard to hide behind those orange shades , but she could see them . and she could see them seeking her out constantly . and Meryl huffed out a laugh , a chuckle . he was so endearing .

and that's just so Vash .

the fourth time was . . .

well . . . she wasn't really careful during that last shootout . in the end , someone was ought to be the mark . but of all the tall , lanky and humongous people she travels with , the one person who's the hardest to ever get spotted gets shot ? give her a break .

everyone was far too busy to help her with that wound , and she knew that damn well . but patching up a bullet wound she can barely reach was . . . problematic .

the only thing that told her Vash was already by her side , was the sudden change in the air . imagine , how terrifying this man must be to the people who don't know what he's like ? standing there , looming over her like a tower - cast shadow . but she knew him , didn't she ? and instead of fear , there was calm . and instead of a knit of her brows , there was a gentle smile .

he wanted to help , she knew he did . she did her best to guide him , show him where the skin and charred flesh needed his attention the most . he was so patient with her , yet the quiver of his hands betrayed that smile he always wore . she must have made him worry . when her body hit the ground from that shot's impact , she thought she heard something . like a screech , followed by a snarl .

but she wouldn't look into it . not now , not ever .

her entire body jolts to life as she can feel something wet and sticky against her shoulder blade . shivers erupt across her spine , shaking her every nerve as she watches past her shoulder as Vash's ridiculously long tongue covers up her would in its saliva . she is about ready to scream , when all of a sudden she realizes . . . the pain is gone . it's gone , and she cannot shake the feeling Vash was just trying to help the only way he knew he could .

her anger subsides , replaced with something else . something . . . warmer .

and she thanks him , turning around to face him , she thanks him . the way she knows how . Meryl leans in , her tongue darting out . and it drags , a gentle trail up the length of Vash's cheek . and he does the same , his ridiculously massive tongue leaving much more saliva in his wake . he makes her laugh , oh so easily .

and that's just so Vash .

the fifth time was . . .

the jukebox was rather quiet , worn out and probably missing a part or two . but it was loud enough , for Meryl to tap her foot to the song ' Limitless ' by Richard Marx . and it seemed that managed to catch the attention of this one blonde , watching Meryl as she began to sway , move her body in tandem to the slightly muffled music .

she doesn't know when it was that her hands had joined with Vash's , doesn't remember . all she knows is the rhythm of the beat , the clumsy steps , and laughter that filled the otherwise empty room .

the ground is swept from under her feet all of a sudden , and she is held up so gently by hands large enough to encompass her body twice if they wanted to . there is chirping , there's a flash of this ridiculous smile . and Meryl moves on her own , as her lips collide against her dancing partner's . he's soft , and careful , and scared and so , so gentle .

but he doesn't pull away . he closes the gap further , his forehead pressed against Meryl's as his embrace envelops her in so much warmth , so much love .

love . yes . she loves him . dearly , unconditionally . she wants to show this man just how little she cares about their differences , and how much she wants to focus on what they have in common instead . to make him feel that he belongs .

and that's just so Meryl .

and that's the end! hope you guys liked it, it was pretty short but considering I haven't posted in a while I figured it's better than nothing 😅

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#vash #vash the stampede #trigun #trigun maximum #trigun stampede #trigun 98 #meryl #meryl stryfe #trigun meryl #vash is a cryptid with long arms #5 kisses prompt #squidsniaki #vashmeryl #vash x meryl

[angelwheat]

I hope you’re doing well! How would Primis crew propose marriage to their S/O?

Call of Duty Zombies

2.0; Marriage Proposals

this request is so sweet. the boys deserve a perfect life without the apocalypse..

"Tank" Dempsey

He's never been so nervous in his life, and he struggles to hide it. His usual out-going and brash self will fall quiet sometimes as he thinks of the best way to propose to you. It certainly takes a lot of mental preparation for him, and Dempsey will always brush it off as nothing if you ask him why he's so quiet.

He imagines a cliché proposal. Perhaps taking you out to one of your favourite places, maybe a fancy dinner beforehand. He really wants to give his all and make it special, but many times he's been tempted to propose at, what may seem, the most random times.

Those "random" moments are any intimate moments with you. Not essentially sexual, but times when you're alone together. You could be out on a walk together, watching the sun go down over the fields, but conversations are deep and meaningful, being so vulnerable and open with each other. More often than not in those moments, the question is on the tip of his tongue.

Dempsey's proposal is utterly spontaneous; a spur of the moment thing when he realises that the time is perfect. He gets down on one knee before you, and there's a flash of nervousness in his eyes. He's pushes his anxiety aside, but he can't help the way he rambles in the moment...

"You know, I spent so long trying to figure out how I could sweep you off your feet with a fairytale proposal, but I still have no idea how to put things into words." He glances down with a sheepish smile, before locking gazes one again. "All I can say is, there is no one else I'd dream of spending the rest of my life with. Darling, will you marry me?"

Edward Richtofen

No amount of waiting could prepare him for the moment he proposes to you. He's so nervous, even as he figures out when, and how, to propose. Edward truly wants the moment to be perfect and the stress is more than he can handle.

He can't help but worry that you'll reject his proposal, despite how long you've been together, even if it's been years. But he is certain that you're the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

In subtle ways Edward will ask you what your ideal proposal is, and he takes note of everything you say. If you happen to ask him about why he asked you such a question, Edward will try his hardest to brush it off as curiosity. But he knows that you'll now have suspicions about what he's up too.

The day he proposes to you, Edward hopes that he'll be able to breathe a sigh of relief at the end of the day. Everything went so wonderfully as planned, but he cannot shake off the nerves he's feeling at this very moment. He takes in a deep breath now that the time is right, and is on one knee before you know it.

He takes your hand in his. "My dear, I have been dreaming of this very moment for so long, and I'll admit that I'm still just as nervous as I was weeks ago," He chuckles shyly as he caresses your hand with his thumb. "But I couldn't possibly imagine a future without you by my side. Will you marry me?"

Nikolai Belinski

He is the most calm and collected out of the 4, but deep down he is extremely nervous about proposing. He's just very good at hiding it.

Nikolai has been married once before, and there was no doubt that he was heartbroken when he tragically lost his partner. He hasn't completely recovered from it, and he has big fears of losing you too. He knows very well that he should propose as soon as the time is right.

He knows you well enough to then know exactly how to propose to you. If you're the sort to want to have a nice day out with him, he'll do that. Perhaps a nice dinner in a fancy resturant, so be it if that's you're thing. Or if you're the introverted type, he has no problem doing something sweet at home and then popping the question.

Nikolai has made an entire day dedicated to you. He catered for whatever it is you wished for, spent almost every minute by your side, but he is certain that you know his next move. While it is obvious to you that he is about to propose, it makes Nikolai feel much more at ease as he's on one knee before you, wholeheartedly confessing his love.

"Darling, you have healed my broken heart. I was certain that I'd never feel that same comfort of having the one person I love by my side ever again. But you have fulfilled that space, and more." An endearing smile outshines his features. "I'd like nothing more than to keep someone as special as you by my side forever. Will you marry me?"

Takeo Masaki

He has experience with relationships, but they've never lasted long enough for him to consider marriage on such a strong note before. Though Takeo is slumped when it comes to deciding his next move.

As he thinks of how he wants to propose to you, Takeo can't help but smile at the thought; despite how nervous he truly is. He's so utterly connected to you that he knows that you're the one he wants to marry.

Much like Nikolai, Takeo is observant and knows you well enough to be able to put together the perfect proposal. However, he is not fond of the idea of proposing in public. He would rather it be a quiet thing shared between the both of you without a crowd.

The day he proposes seems almost surreal, and utterly perfect. He's been giving you long, lovng glances your way all day, and an endearing smile ever-present on his face. But the moment to pop the question is here, and his heart beats like a manic drum. He composes himself before he gets down on one knee.

He softly clutches your hand in both of his own. "I don't believe I've ever felt a connection so strongly with another, and it had dawned on me that I should not let that go. After much thought, I'm certain that you are the one I wish to spend my life alongside, and that it leaves me to ask," His eyes sparkle as he locks gazes with you. "Will you marry me?"

#tank dempsey #edward richtofen #nikolai belinski #takeo masaki #cod zombies #call of duty zombies #call of duty #codz #call of duty x reader #codz x reader #headcanons #imagines

[wine4thewin]

Which of your fics did you most enjoy writing?

OH GOODNESS. You win the prize for asking a very tough question.

A good rule of thumb with me is if the story is over 80,000 words and complete, I likely had an awesome time writing it. There are only 5 stories on my evilpeaches account that fall into that criteria, though the genres definitely are all over the place between those stories. They each have a special place in my heart due to the fact that when I get that head down into a story, I'm putting my all into it.

The Dungeon Master (Game of Thrones) was the first of the big ones I ever completed and taught me so much about writing and pacing. Not only that, I had to put a crazy amount of research into certain personality disorders due to the very terrifying nature of one of the characters.

I must have crazy loved Forgiveness Doesn't Taste Like This (Shadow and Bone) due to the fact that I recall some chapters constantly topping out at 15,000 words. It was wild. I plotted that story out in 3 chapters and it literally boomed into 13. I love writing rare pairs and this fic was the ultimate expression of rarepair that shocked many readers, due to the fact that they couldn't believe they liked it all when the world was full of Darklina fics instead LOL. This would also by default include my surprisingly lighthearted This Bed Has Three Sides, seeing as it surrounds the same rarepair, just without me being dark & serious & angsty about it haha.

Randomly, I watched Mad Max Fury Road late last year and fell in love with it all over again. As a reader, I go wild for post-apocalyptic stories. I love the genre. I passionately love writing in that genre (usually original fiction) due to the fact that apocalypse settings give carte blanche for terrible situations and characters who have been forced to go morally bankrupt for so many reasons. So, I really enjoyed This Feeling, It Burns Hot because I got to explore deeper into the death cult portrayed in the movie and how that would shape the people inside of it. George Miller is a mastermind for Mad Max, thanks dude.

Finally, the most recent addition to my giant novel length complete stories is A Mistake By Any Other Name (LotR) This one is especially near and dear due to the fact that the characters are my original characters. They burst into life in my mind and somehow I couldn't stop wanting to write a full-length story for them in the Lord of the Rings world. My favorite trope is enemies to lovers, though I hate when enemies to lovers is done with both characters changing who they are to somehow like each other. I don't view that as enemies to lovers, so I write how I like to read it: the characters grow into each other, but they don't 'change who they are' just to fit the needs of another person. If there is personal growth, it must be organic. This story revolves around an orc & a human, mortal enemies. Why do I like monster romance? IDK. I don't understand it, but I blame Beauty and the Beast from when I was a young lass. I also especially blame The Princess and the Goblin (and yes, you can still watch it on youtube, because none of us want to pay $100 for the obscure VHS tape LOL) I'll never forget the goblin prince complaining to his outrageous parents that he may have to suffer the 'ugliness' of the human princess when he kidnaps and marries her. Cracks me up every time.

I'm long-winded, I'm sorry!! Ya'll know this :D

#evilpeaches ao3 #asks

[cloudii-reads]

artwork credit to: nellseto.mp3 on instagram !! created via their picrew <3

About The Reviewer 2023 !!

featuring Rain !!

1. What are some basics about me?:

Feel free to refer to me as either Rain, Cloud, or Cloudii! I use they/them pronouns, my birthday is December 26, and I’m interested in a variety of content/hobbies besides reading! I love writing short stories and creating OC’s in my free time, and a few of the things I’m most interested in would be Genshin Impact, Sanrio, Pokemon (both the games and card collecting,) and practically anything relating to the ocean and fish! I’m also a full time college student and aspiring to become a librarian! :)

2. What are my favorite genres?:

Nowadays, I typically find myself reading fantasy and literary fiction, however I do really enjoy cozy mysteries and magical realism! I also do love reading the odd non-fiction book here and there if it’s about a topic I find interesting, so usually fish, the ocean, or books as a general rule of thumb! I also adore reading books with solid lgbtqia+ representation!

3. What are my favorite books so far this year?:

So I’ve read quite a few books already this year that’s made it in my “all time favorites” category, but I’ll be limiting it to my top three for the sake of this question, haha.

1. The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman

- A charming opening book to a series about old people solving murders! I had the audiobook playing in the background as I was reading a physical copy, and it really made the experience for me! I don’t normally listen to audiobooks since I can get really picky with voice acting and how it sounds, but I think that the VA for this book did a wonderful job! <3

2. Good Omens : The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

- To simply put it, the apocalypse is coming and it’s just a silly time. I absolutely ADORE this book (along with the show, in which I highly recommend watching !! Season two is breaking my heart, why Neil, WHY) and it’s pretty much absorbed my entire existence. Like The Thursday Murder Club, I listened to the full cast audiobook while reading along with the physical copy and.. holy moly. Season two may have broken my soul in two, but at least I can pretend like everything’s fine by listening to the audiobook with the actual book !!

3. Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki

- When I tell you that I practically cried ugly tears over this book, let me tell you, I cried BAD. This novel, as a queer person, made me feel so seen and heard, especially as the book follows the perspective of a trans girl, Katrina, and omg. It honestly just felt like Ryka took a part of my own soul and shoved it into the pages because I related to her struggles and story so, so much. Basically this whole book is just filled with all kinds of heart breaking stuff, and I absolutely loved it for that. Highly recommend looking more into it if you’re interested in reading it, though definitely take a look at the trigger warnings before going in!

4. What are my favorite and least favorite tropes?:

My favorite tropes absolutely have to be found family (as a general rule of thumb) and slow burn for romance! As for my least favorite tropes, I cannot STAND surprise pregnancy and fake dating, both are just really big ick’s for me.

5. What are some of my bookish goals for the year?:

So far, my basic reading goal is to read 25 books this year! The number’s a bit low since I started really getting back into reading a bit late into the year, but I’ll say I’m pretty settled into completing my goal so far, having read 15 books so far. Besides that, I want to try and read a more varied set of genres besides what I normally would read. Due to that, I’ve been trying to get into more non-fiction and I’m thinking of getting into poetry eventually, oh and recommendations would be really appreciated! This isn’t limited to just non-fiction and poetry but any genre, I’m always looking to expand on what I read! :)

#booklr #books #bookish

[writelikeademon]

Charmed: I May Never See the Light (2/?)

Piper/Leo, Paige/OMC

1997: Before she can be killed by the Source (who only did so to protect the Charmed Ones), the Vampire Queen sends her favorite child Leo to kill the sisters before they come into their powers. But the balance of good and evil in San Francisco is severely tilted when Leo turns Piper into a vampire...

Nearly four years later, Prue is an experienced witch and vampire hunter. After rescuing a girl named Paige, Prue is forced to work together with the demon Belthazor to take down the Vampire Queen's favorite minions, and prevent a vampire apocalypse. See Ao3 link for tags and warnings.

Leo pointed to a photo on the wall just behind Piper’s head, of the three sisters at Prue’s college graduation. “Three sisters, huh? Where do you fall in line?”

“Dead center,” she said tightly, doing her best to smile without gritting her teeth. “Do you have siblings?”

Leo’s smile twitched, like he wanted to make a joke but thought better of it. “Lots of them. I’m from a big family, but… I’m not into group dynamics, really. Sometimes you just want to live your own life. Do you know what I mean?”

Piper nodded emphatically. “I’ve shared everything with my sisters since the day I was born,” she said with a snort. “I’ve never had anything that was just mine.”

“Neither have I,” he said. Their eyes met– and Leo felt as if his dormant heart skipped a beat. Who is this girl? All Leo knew was that she was destined to be a Charmed One, and that meant she had to die.

He took a step closer to Piper. Leo took in the scent of her shampoo, the cosmetics lingering on her skin, the sweetness of her lip balm… but the minuscule amount of blood dripping from her thumb blotted out the other scents and focused his senses towards the hunt. He wanted her, and it had been more than two hundred years since he’d been denied anything he desired.

Read More on Ao3

#charmed #charmed 1998 #charmed fanfiction #piper halliwell #leo wyatt #piper x leo #prue halliwell #phoebe halliwell #vampire fanfiction #vampires #vampire au #alternate universe #fanfiction #evil love

[magicalgirlmel]

Anime finished this year 6: The Fire Hunter

6/10

Transcript under the cut

So, the ending of this one surprised me, as in, I wasn't expecting it to end when it did at only ten episodes. Mostly because I didn't know what the episode count was meant to be, but also because it felt like the series was really starting to build towards what was going to be some level of a final act. However, it just cuts off right there, in the middle of what feels like some pretty big raising of the stakes and something of a turning point. As such, I'm not fully sure how to feel just yet. I'm glad that the show is getting a second season, but I also wish that the ending of this season wasn't quite so abrupt.

For me, a lot of the characters here fall a little flat aside from a small handful of standouts, but the world is really meant to be the star of the show here, so I'm not entirely surprised that I ended up feeling that way. However, at the same time, I do wish that I didn't. I would have liked to be a little more connected to them, but some of them can feel kind of flat at times, which does make it a little more difficult. 

Still, the world of the show is interesting and it's always something of a slap to the face to remember that this takes place in a post-apocalypse during a second industrial revolution instead of during just, ya know, a first industrial revolution. It's not that that's a bad thing, but it's something that can feel like a background element until it's really really not. However, the differing factions and the intrigue of the plot were more than enough to carry me through here and I loved the lived in feeling that the city had once we reached it, even if the streets can look empty at times so the crowded feel I think it was going for is a little lacking. I don't believe the novels have official translations at the moment, but I do hope that they get one in the near future since I would love to give them a read.

The downside is there was always this feeling that I had that this series had somewhat bitten off more than it could chew. It's definitely ambitious, but I think that ambition was somewhat of a downfall for the series as well. The art style of the series is fantastic and I really did love the way it had a more grounded feel to it than I think some other productions might have gone for. I may not have agreed with every design choice that was made here, but you also can't say that it wasn't making some strong choices.

The problem is that the animation of that art style could be pretty lacking at times. Because of the look they went for, any CGI elements stood out like a sore thumb, shots of the manor and anytime Kun made use of stag beetles easily come to mind. There's also this usage of cut in shots that don't come up very often and can feel like a reason to not have to animate a full body and just part of one instead. I think the still art pieces that are used at some times are very well done and the colorwork on them is fantastically beautiful, but they also felt somewhat weirdly placed at times and their usage was odd, as some episodes could have quite a few and others none at all. 

It leads to this feeling of inconsistency, like these things were used as something of a band aid patch. That inconsistency is what really keeps them from feeling like a real stylistic choice. That's not even getting into the way that there would sometimes be very obvious animation errors, such as the time that a tree vanished, leaving the man who had been pinned to it very obviously floating in the air.

And for a series that there was a decent amount of moments that were meant to be action, quite a few of those action beats could feel incredibly stiff and stilted. Watching the OP, there are some gorgeous cuts of action animation there that the show was never able to live up to, which was incredibly disappointing to see.

I will be watching the second season that was announced the same day as the finale, to be clear, but I hope that the success that the series has seen can allow them to make change to the production that will allow the next season to feel like it is more consistently put together rather than the roughness that is present in the currently existing one. I think tightening up those animation problems could really make it easier to recommend.

#anime #the fire hunter #hikari no ou #finished 2023 #finished #2023

[chiwhorei]

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema​, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

                                      * * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days. 

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you. 

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward. 

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

                                      * * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time. 

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless. 

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore. 

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

                                      * * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months. 

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.” 

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly. 

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous.  Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast? 

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for. 

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you. 

The way his tongue curls like a signature. 

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk. 

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful. 

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns. 

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name. 

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames. 

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue. 

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence. 

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel. 

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on. 

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair. 

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline. 

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat. 

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke. 

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.” 

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky. 

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.” 

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#aot x reader #aot x reader smut #aot smut #kenny ackerman x reader #kenny ackerman smut #the smut pile: apocalypse #tw: somnophilia #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: sacrilegious #sin.somnophilia #sin.noncon #sin.dubcon #sin.blood #sin.sacrilege

[abitofboth]

Since you were asking for Lokius prompts, may I please possibly ask for Loki teaching Mobius how to dance? I'd really appreciate it!

thank you so much for sending a prompt!! I hope you enjoy!! <3

“No- look, like this,” Loki put his hand on Mobius’s wrist to get him to stop moving, waiting for him to step out of the way slightly so that Loki could take the lead again. “Watch me.”

They were hidden away together on some unfamiliar planet, not even half an hour away from an impending apocalypse. They’d found that coming to these locations hidden away by Nexus events were the perfect chance for them to just be together- plus, Loki could actually use his magic freely here without being held back in any way.

It was rather liberating.

“I’m watchin’...” Mobius murmured under his breath, eyes trained on Loki’s feet to try and figure out how the hell he was supposed to be doing this. The TVA weren’t particularly known for having parties, and Mobius had never had any urge to teach himself to dance, so when Loki had romantically held out a hand to take Mobius into his arms the grey haired man had just smiled sheepishly at him. ‘I don’t know how.’

Obviously, Loki instantly took it upon himself to teach the man how to actually waltz, and of course the literal prince could do it as easy as tying a shoelace. Mobius felt extremely out of his depth.

“So, first,” Loki began, his posture as perfect as it always was when he was standing. “You have to stand like this; your feet apart, about a hip’s distance away from each other, yes?”

Mobius nodded, correcting the way he was standing and throwing a thumbs up towards Loki with a grin. Loki rolled his eyes, but was smiling anyway.

“Good. Then, you step forward, leading with your left foot, mm?” He demonstrated, a slender leg coming out in front of him followed swiftly by the other one. “Make sure you land softly. Don’t go stomping around like a Bilgesnipe, you want to be delicate.”

Mobius laughed, a confused look spreading across his face. “That reference is completely lost on me.”

“You’ve never seen a Bilgesnipe?” Loki asked, seemingly genuinely surprised. He motioned for Mobius to mirror the move he just made and Mobius complied, taking a step forward as lightly as he could. “Big, scaly things. Don’t ever piss one off.”

“Roger that. Don’t piss off the Asgardian dinosaur.”

“Smart man. Now, move your left foot so it’s next to your right. See?” Loki slid his foot over to the right so it was just touching with his other, standing tall with his legs completely straight. “Your turn.”

Mobius rather enjoyed seeing Loki like this. Not only was it heartwarming to see him do something that he was obviously so comfortable in that reminded him of home, like his magic, but it was also incredibly attractive. He knew exactly the right way to move over the dance floor (or, rather, the grassy field they were currently standing in) to make it seem like he was floating. It was downright ethereal. Mobius could only hope that one day he’d get to see him dance on Asgard at a royal ball, the whole princely get-up adorning him. What a sight that would be.

But, for now, he was happy to sway with him under the stars surrounded by the multicoloured fireflies dancing around them. It was rather romantic.

He moved his foot to the right, looking up at Loki to get his seal of approval. He received it in the form of a fond smile, which was plenty enough to get his heart beating just a little faster.

“Then we step back. Lead with your right foot this time, then your left, and then move your right foot over to meet your left, like the opposite of what we just did. Understand?”

“Think so. I’ll be a pro by the end of the week if you keep this up.” Mobius winked at him, then did as told and moved his feet along the earth until he was stood with his feet together again.

Loki watched him, nodding slightly as he went, then threw his arms out to the side with a grin once Mobius had finished. “There you have it! Agent Mobius, master of the box step.”

Mobius reached out to capture Loki’s hands in his own, squeezing them a little as he intertwined their fingers together. “Can’t believe they never went over this in basic training. We had hand-to-hand, strategic planning, yet no waltz? Unbelievable.”

Loki huffed a laugh out, swatting at Mobius playfully. “See? The TVA is completely useless. Who cares if you can land a punch if you can’t even dance.”

Mobius just snorted, tugging on Loki’s hands until he took a step forward to land comfortably in his personal bubble. Mobius swayed the two slightly, swinging their hands between them as he went. This was more his speed when it came to dancing.

But he wanted more.

“Can we do it together, now?” He asked, having to crane his head up a little to look Loki in the eyes. The dim evening light made it seem like Loki’s green eyes were glowing- Mobius wouldn’t be surprised if they actually were. The god was just special like that.

Loki hummed in response, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Mobius’s forehead. “You’re taking the lead. Don’t step on my toes again.”

“Not making any promises, sweetheart.” Mobius chuckled, hesitating for a moment before pulling his hands away from Loki’s. “How do I- uh- hold you?”

He held a single finger up at Loki’s cheeky smirk, absolutely certain that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would be something far too obscene for the situation at hand.

“Spoil sport.” Loki pouted. He quickly recovered though, obviously realising how romantic things were about to get. “Give me your hands?”

Mobius silently held his hands out in front of him, waiting for Loki to place them wherever he needed. Loki’s right hand took Mobius’s left and tangled their fingers together firmly, raising them both up into the air until their arms were out at shoulder height. Mobius took the chance to gently rub his thumb up and down on Loki’s soft skin, warmth seeping between them both.

Mobius felt Loki’s fingers hovering over his free hand, then he was being guided until his big palm made contact with Loki’s waist. His fingers splayed out as he held him, treating him as if he were the most precious thing in the world until it was too much and his fingers clung onto the material of his shirt. Mobius knew that Loki didn’t need delicate treatment, and he wanted to be as close to him as possible.

Mobius could have sworn that he heard Loki take a sharp intake of breath when he gripped into his waist.

“One more thing…” Loki murmured, eyelids low as he looked down at Mobius. With his free hand, Loki’s fingers swiped through the air. Mobius saw a glow of green quickly rising up from the ground before he heard a gentle shimmering noise, and before he knew it he was standing there looking like a… like a… prince.

His eyes raked up Loki from his feet upwards, first noticing the perfectly tailored shoes now standing in the grass. He had what looked like leather trousers on, showing off all of the sharp lines and muscle in his toned legs, and there were gold chains hanging off the waist line that drooped around his hips. His shirt was tucked in, a poofy white garment that was unbuttoned to his chest, showing off his collarbones and the peek of his chest. A long cape was draped across his shoulders, cascading down his back all the way down to his legs. It was covered in the most beautiful embroidery, greens and golds and silvers all catching in the dim light in the stunning patterns they created. He was wearing gold jewellery, rings and necklaces and earrings all jingling slightly as he moved, Mobius catching the black nail polish perfectly painted on his nails. Then his hair. Flawlessly curled and falling around his shoulders, half of it braided back and creating a halo around his head. Small gems and decorations had been incorporated into his soft black locks, and an elegant circlet with small horns was sitting atop his head.

Mobius’s heart was struggling to keep up.

It was one thing to look through Loki’s files and watch him in the time theatre, but having him here, standing centimetres away from him, sharing the same air, feeling his warm breath fanning over his face, having him look down at you like you were the whole universe.

All Mobius could do was remind himself to breathe as he pulled Loki down to kiss him.

He felt Loki chuckle into the kiss, a fond thing that sent butterflies into Mobius’s belly.

“You’re not too bad looking, yourself.” Loki practically whispered, resting his forehead against the other man’s. Mobius’s eyebrows furrowed slightly before realising that he hadn’t looked at himself yet.

He glanced down to see that he looked just as royal as the god.

It didn’t surprise him that a great sense of pride washed through him when he realised he was wearing Loki’s greens. His lover’s colours. He would never get sick of saying that.

“God, Loki…” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was either that, or ramble on for several hours running his mouth with every thought he had.

Loki just simply said, “I know.”

They shared their moment together for a small while, enjoying embracing each other and being able to just love. Not long after, Loki hooked a slender finger under Mobius’s chin and arched his neck back to look him in the eyes. He searched his face for a moment before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips, taking his time with it before pulling away just enough to speak.

“May I have this dance?” His voice was low, intimate and serene and everything that made Mobius’s heart thump. The grey haired man just nodded, carefully placing his hands back onto Loki like they had been standing before.

He took the opportunity to pull him by the waist until there was no room between them at all.

“Just like before, mm?” Loki asked, making sure Mobius knew what he was doing. He nodded, remembering all the steps he had learnt earlier, and rested his forehead against Loki’s.

Their feet started moving, this time in perfect synchronized steps, and they practically glided across the grass beneath their feet.

Some may put it down to a new found skill.

Mobius would put it down to the faint green glow surrounding them.

#lokius #lokius fic #lokius fan fic #lokius fanfiction #fluff #lokius fluff #loki #mobius #mobius m mobius #ao3 #lokius drabble #no beta we die like classic loki asfklsd #millie talks

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 3

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

Word Count: Ch 3 - 1637

In case you missed it: Chapter 2 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 3

One month is not enough time to get used to nights in the bunker, she thinks as she stares at the back of Dean’s door. It’s too sterile, too unnatural, with the quiet permeating every crevice and recess.

There must be some sort of muffling spell or noise cancellation technology… or maybe just really good insulation. She’s used to the chatter of customers, the ding of the door chime, the clatter of plates, and the sloshing of the dishwasher. She’s never had to listen to herself think this much before, and she freely admits she is not a fan.

It’s been about four hours since Dean stormed out. “I’m done,” he said, but she doubts she’ll have to wait much longer. Those last words he shouted before Castiel came in, the way he gripped her and she had to force herself not to cling right back, tells her they aren’t finished, either with their argument or each other.

Muffled footsteps, the only sound besides her heart beat and non-stop internal monologue, let her know moments before the doorknob turns that Dean is back. The door swings open, not with the angry force she’s expecting, but with the same weary resignation that bows his shoulders as he steps into his room and shrugs off his jacket.

His eyes meet hers for an eternity, then he deliberately takes two more steps forward and closes the door firmly behind him.

She’s in his arms without a moment’s hesitation, her mouth on his, devouring him with every bit of desperation she possesses. He tastes of scotch, and she can picture him sitting despondently at the local watering hole, glaring balefully at a single glass of liquor for hours.

His arms constrict automatically until she’s equally breathless from his embrace as she is from the kiss. Just when she thinks he may have to physically hold her up, Dean pulls away just far enough to stare hard into her eyes, his expression daring her to challenge his next words.

“We are not done talking. You are going to tell me every detail of your deal, whether you like it or not. And don’t think for a second I’m going to let you go through with it. Choices be damned, Andy, this isn’t just about you anymore, and you know it.”

She refrains from telling him how much of a dad vibe he’s giving off as she shoves his flannel from his shoulders and pulls his face back to hers, clenching a handful of his t-shirt in a death grip.

Neither of them is gentle as they remove clothing and stagger their way to his bed; she knows they don’t have the time to be, and he suspects as much but doesn’t say so aloud. Neither is willing to ruin their precious remaining moments together by bringing up something as distasteful as reality. Nails score flesh, fingers bruise limbs, even their lips come away with faint traces of blood from accidental clashes with teeth.

“How long?” he rasps, his lips ghosting over her sternum. Her nails dredge shallow furrows across the backs of his thighs as he pulls back before thrusting hard, driving her into his mattress. “How long have we got?”

She tugs his mouth down to her breast, hissing as his teeth scrape and tug. Her fingers thread into his hair, holding him in place, silently willing him to let the subject go. She can’t answer him. She’s had a month with him, and while she’d rather have something closer to a lifetime, all she’s asking now is two more uninterrupted, untainted hours.

If she tells him, then the shortness of their time becomes real, everything becomes devastatingly real. Here in the bunker that is far too quiet for her own peace of mind, she can pretend the outside world and all it’s insane occultists and apocalypses and demons and deals don’t exist. She can pretend it’s just her and Dean, and nothing else bad is waiting on the other side of the horizon.

And he’d try to stop her. And probably succeed. So, no. She can’t tell him.

It’s some time before both of them are sated enough to lie relatively still. She keeps her back to him, knowing if she looks in his eyes she is liable to spill every bit of information she has left, and she does not want a repeat of the scene from earlier. Once was more than enough.

“I’m waiting, Andy.”

We all have to learn to live with disappointment, hun, she thinks. Aloud, she sighs and pushes herself back until her shoulder blades press against his chest. She’s been cold since they first brought her to the bunker, and his warmth is almost enough to make her forget that she’s chilled to her marrow. She shivers, forcing a partition up in her mind to keep out thoughts of her impending departure. She’s going to wait until he’s asleep, then head out to make the last rendezvous.

Sunrise, Dean, she thinks, despite her best efforts. I’ve got til sunrise. We’ve got less than that.

Luckily, she’s had enough caffeine to give a draft horse the shakes, and he’s running on three hours sleep for the last couple of days, so he should pass out pretty soon. The last thing she needs is the infamous Winchester Interference with her plans.

With the confidence that comes from knowing she’s right at the end of everything, Andy rolls over and pulls Dean’s head down so his cheek rests between her breasts, cradling him like a child and stroking his hair just as she’s longed to do since he strolled into her diner and winked at her over a stack of pancakes. He doesn’t protest, doesn’t even pretend to resist, instead nuzzling deeper in her embrace, and that’s when she really knows she’s wounded him far more deeply than she should have been capable.

“It was only supposed to be a fling,” she remarks to the top of his head as she runs her nails over the base of his skull. He shivers, pulling the blanket over them up to his chin and sliding his arms around her waist. His shoulder lies on her stomach, its weight sitting comfortably against her belly. “The first time I met you, you declared your love for me because I brought you bacon, for God’s sake. At four in the afternoon. You were supposed to be a good time, Dean, one good night, and then ride on out of town like a good boy.”

“You’d already be dead if you hadn’t given me your number,” he points out. For once, his lascivious nature is dormant, and he doesn’t so much as sneak a stray lick or grope, despite his optimal position. She strokes her thumb down the side of his jaw, scrubbing over several days’ worth of stubble that covers his cheeks. He turns his face into her touch, sliding his nose against the sensitive skin under her breast, and then it’s her turn to shiver.

“Andy, before you do anything stupid, anything else stupid, I need to tell you...I need you to know that I...”

“No, you don’t,” she chides, cutting him off before he can choke out any more ill-advised words. She can’t hear them right now, they would break down every barrier and barricade she’s constructed to hold herself together for these last hours. And, anyway, he can’t possibly mean them. They barely know each other. “But you could. I think both of us might have, eventually. So, we have that, at least.”

Her ribs creak at the sudden tightening of his grip, and she squirms until he relents enough to allow her breathing to return to normal.

“It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

His words end on something that she would never in a thousand years tell him sounds like a crack. She silently strokes the velvety hairs on the back of his neck, waiting for him to finish clearing his throat.

“Don’t try to be the hero; it never works out for anyone involved, even the people you’re trying to save.”

“Don’t start with me, Dean Winchester. Here we are, having a nice moment, and I will not let you ruin the time we have left with arbitrary things like depth and honesty.”

The air system hisses soothingly in the background, but she won’t let herself be soothed. This time left is for him, she’s not fooling herself about that any longer. What does she have left but Dean, anyway? She’s got three, four hours left at the most, and this is how she chooses to spend them.

She rolls once more, pulling Dean underneath her until she lies atop him, flush from collarbone to ankles. He watches her, his face soft and open for once, golden and warm in the dim light of the little bedside lamp. His hands move slowly, reverently, to glide over the curve of her jaw and mouth, and she can feel the faint tremors that run through his hands. She kisses his fingers one at a time before lifting her eyes to his.

“No, you don’t,” she repeats, “But you could.” The world needs the Winchesters around a hell of a lot more than it needs her. And while she might make people happy, saving people and hunting things is the Winchesters’ family business. This is her only chance to make sure they and the world stick around long enough for that to keep happening. ...

Chapter 4

#spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #andy #original character #original female character #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #crowley #angst #higher than show level violence #violence #light smutting #major character deather #more major character death sort of #more angst #cult activities #blood #inferred suicide #demons #apocalypse

[sooniesspot]

Fluff Drabbles

☁️ Jeongguk Fluff ☁️

warnings: poetically implied smut, longing. Lil smidge of loneliness. Its fluff so, lots of that. Oh and he calls the reader pickle bc I think it's the cutest thing ever. Also very quintessentially British buuuuut... we joon

word count: 2.2k

A/N: it was bc of that goddamn vlive. Made me think of sleepy/silly koo and reader waking up bc they could sense he wasn't with them 🤧 okay don't @ me

“You know I can’t sleep without you.”

1:32am. Blaring red on your digital alarm clock after peering onto your nightstand, futile attempts of finding your boyfriend in between sheets. You could sense he wasn’t with you and that’s why you woke.  The door to your hallway a thin line of light cascading through as you grumbled; hearing fake gunshots and delirious rock music on the game you had abandoned your boyfriend to hours ago. In favour of getting some much-needed sleep you so desperately craved for after a long day. Getting up and groggily making it over to the door, you peered out down the stairs to see your boyfriend, headphones around his neck as he was glued to the screen in front of him, luckily, he had heeded your advice before you shuffled up the stairs and moved further away from the screen to protect his precious eyes. 

You tip toed down the stairs. Still seeing his silhouette, a direct contrast of the zombie apocalypse happening on screen. His back facing you as you could see his head just above the back of the sofa. Instead of scaring him half to death you made your presence known at his side. Watching his profile in wonder. Eyes lighting up; reflecting the screen as his character hopped about around rubble and old cars. Tongue darting out of his mouth on the odd occasion as deft fingers moved around the controller with familiarity. He was wearing spotted pajama bottoms and an old Balenciaga graphic t-shirt as if it didn’t cost the whole sum of your entire wardrobe to be later used as a sleep shirt. 

“Hey.” You whispered, finally getting his attention after he paused the game; looking to you. 

“Oh baby, did I wake you?” he asked, throwing the controller down next to him on the sofa as he grabbed your hands in his. 

Gazing at you just in one of his old oversized shirts that was much too big for you. 

You shook your head no. “You didn’t wake me. Just woke up as you weren’t with me.” You murmured coyly.

He looked heartbroken at the notion even in your sleeping state you could feel when he wasn’t there. Thus reminding him of all the times you must have felt this before, while he was away. He pulled you round to the front of the sofa and pulled you to him; legs straddling his own as he enveloped you in his strong, loving arms. You breathed in his scent contentedly. Scent of Aloe and clean sheets. You hummed non committedly as you moved up and down with his breathing. 

“I’m nearly finished this level pickle, okay?” he murmured into your hair before planting a kiss to your ear. 

“Then we’ll go to bed.” He planted another kiss to your hair as he picked up the controller after you agreed. 

The game un-paused as you sat there with tired eyes staring at the loose thread on the neckline of his expensive shirt. You chuckled at the notion. Money didn’t mean anything to him; neither did it mean anything to you. Owning things and lavish gifts were never something you did in your relationship. Always one to dedicate days to each other on special occasions. Birthdays were never planned. Always spontaneous and always the birthday boy or girls choice. Jeongguk was an enigma when It came to birthday plans you quickly came to realise. 

The last 2 birthdays of his spent in completely different ways. The first being taken to a large theme park, complete with rollercoasters and the like. endless laughs and taunts to each other (mostly you) as your boyfriend was quite the daredevil, whereas you were more, shall we say, cautious? Valuing of your safety? The latest birthday spent glued to one another between sheets. Your boyfriend was rampant and driven that day. Only leaving the bedroom for snacks. Even when showering he insisted you do it together. It was ‘The Birthday Boy’s Wish’. Your birthday’s were different. Wanting either to do nothing, lounging about the house watching movies or doing everything you could in one day. 

Your first Christmas with him was sweet. You had met his family and you had travelled with him to meet yours back home. His family were loving and welcoming, something you were nervous of; not being accepted. But they saw the way their son looked at you and anything else that may have mattered, faded into the background when they saw him completely smitten for you. He was kind and chivalrous. Complimenting your mothers cooking and engaging in otherwise boring conversation with your father. Adorned in ugly Christmas sweaters as you joked over steaming hot chocolate. 

The last Christmas you had spent together had been spent with the boys, but mostly spent settling into the house you had moved in together; making it your own. Moving in and decorating the house for Christmas at the same time made it feel like no end, but your boyfriend always found a way to make it interesting. Lights from Christmas trees tied around wrists as he would kiss every inch of your skin. No mistletoe in sight as he would devour you on the living room floor. Never getting to finish those decorations until the next day. What? You were otherwise occupied…

Sat there on his lap in the living room, hearing the faint humming of the tv behind you and his breathing, calming you as you could feel his heartbeat against your own. You would occasionally pepper a kiss along his neck while he played; sometimes causing him to shiver and then you giggle. He would grin down at you and shuffle in his seat slightly as his eyes were still trained on the screen. His arms still cradling you as his hands continued to berate the controller in the hopes it may let him win. To no avail. He would sigh and groan, as he would respawn after falling or being killed. You would look up to him; eyes sparkling as you tried not to laugh. He would roll his eyes with a scoff before he continued playing. 

it was getting later and later and he still couldn’t finish the level, giving him positive reassurance that he could do it he tried once more, but alas. Maybe he was getting tired. He decided to save his progress and switch off the game. You sat up, confused. 

“I thought you said you wanted to finish the level?” You questioned; head tilted to the side. 

He laughed again, cupping your cheeks in his hands before pulling you forward and planting a kiss to your forehead. “I’m getting tired and I’m ready for bed.” 

So without further ado, he got up from the sofa, you still cradled around him like a koala as his hands held your thighs, shuffling you up his torso so you wouldn’t slip. Arms soon returning to surround your waist. He climbed the stairs with ease, you trying to contain your giggles for no reason as he laughed himself, finding you finding him funny, hilarious. Suddenly enveloped in darkness as you entered your room, finding your bed in no time. Lots of practice, clambering into bed without turning on the lights. He threw you down on the bed after switching on the lamp on your bedside. Revelling in the way you would bounce at the impact of your springy mattress. 

You would shuffle under the covers and look up at him expectantly, before he ventured to the bathroom to clean his teeth. Finding peace in the low noise of your boyfriend brushing his teeth in the bathroom down the hall. Staring up at the ceiling, alight in intricate patterns from the lampshade you insisted on buying when you moved in. you had dragged your boyfriend round an old antiques store, looking for something different. Something you. You had come across and old copper and beaded lampshade as you grinned at your boyfriend. he was sworn against it but couldn’t stop what you spent your money on. You set it up that night and was fascinated by the patterns it made against the blank canvas of the ceiling. 

“You’re right baby. It is very you, and I love you.” Jeongguk whispered into the night of your bare room, only a bed and lamp inside until the rest of your furniture was delivered. 

Smiling at the memory. So many happy moments and also so many sad. You remembered all the times you would gaze up at the ceiling; seeing the patterns and being reminded by him. On the other side of the world. You wouldn’t turn the lamp on hardly ever while he was away on tour. Nudged by the unwelcome thoughts that he wasn’t here to sleep beside you. To hold you, tell you everything was going to be okay. you would cry yourself to sleep some nights, after you had finished your video calls with him. The lamp gathering dust, until he would come home again. 

Pulled out of your reverie by the padding of bare feet on wooden flooring, your boyfriend re-entered, showing a sparkling bunny tooth grin. He closed the door behind him and plodded over to his side of the bed, pulled back the covers to be greeted by your form, still swallowed in his large shirt. He smiled before crawling into bed and pulling the covers over you both again. Scooting closer to you as he tried to place his cold feet on your own and you squealed; legs kicking about within the sheets. 

“Shhhh.” He whispered, laughing as he cupped your cheeks, pulling you closer to him. 

He planted his lips on yours, tenderly as his fingers ran through your hair. “God, you’re gorgeous.” He mumbled, thumb caressing your now rosy cheeks. Gazing into your eyes as they looked back at him, big and bold. Eyes he could get lost in. lips. God, your lips. He could get into so much trouble over your lips. Finding them irresistible and difficult to leave alone when they would linger so brazenly against his own when you would kiss. 

He planted his lips on your again for a moment before he pulled away, lips a hairs breath from your own. “I love you.”

"Love you too." You murmured sleepily.

He settled on his back with a sigh, gazing up at the ceiling, a faint smile on his lips. Seeing the patterns as you did, out of that godforsaken lampshade you were desperate to get back when you first moved in with one another. Not wanting for anything else in the world apart from this lampshade. He couldn’t ever say no to you, enamoured by your strength and individuality you had seemed to grasp at a young age, whereas that had been something he had struggled with for most of his teen years into early adult life. 

Glancing up at the ceiling he was also reminded by lonely nights in his hotel room, after shows. Between shows. Between travelling. Just staring up at boring white that would burn at his retinas unlike anything he had ever known, used to and comforted by the patterns that would occasionally dance upon the ceiling back at home. Back at home with you. There were so many times he would toss and turn, trying to grasp at sleep but watching it dissipate into the air just out of his reach, like a ghost. Only comforted by thoughts of you and counting down the days until he would see your face again. Watch you stumble. Watch you dance. Watch you linger. Sleep in his arms, the only solace he had ever known. Holding you while the rest of the world drifted into nothingness. 

“I’m so glad I’m home baby.” He whispered, unsure if you were asleep or not. 

Glancing your way for a moment to see half lidded eyes looking at him. He felt as if his heart would burst with love for you. 

“Glad you are, too.” You hummed.

He brought his arm under the pillows you slept on, under your shoulders and scooped you up closer to him. Your head now resting in the crook of his shoulder as your hand was across his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. 

“You know, I couldn’t sleep on tour, without this stupid light on the ceiling.” He chuckled.

To which you opened your sleepy eyes with an amused smile. 

“I couldn’t sleep without you.” You whispered into his shirt, he seemed to hear. 

“is that why you came to find me?” 

You nodded. “I thought you’d fall asleep on the sofa.” 

His chest rose with a stifled scoff. “wanna know the reason I couldn’t sleep without this stupid light?” 

You gazed up at him with all the wonder in the world. Anything in his life could never compare to this.

“Because this light was at home with you, where I wanted to be.” 

He kissed your forehead repeatedly pressing kisses against your skin and your hairline.

“So you couldn’t sleep without me, too?” you asked, holding onto a yawn as you felt sleep take you. 

“You know I can’t sleep without you.”

© sunnysidejoon - 2021 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

Hope you guys enjoyed! I take requests so please do ask 😊

Love Always

Mac 🧡💜

#just an absolute sweetheart #jeon jeongguk fluff #koo #jeon jeongguk #bts fluff #bts #bangtan

[unprofessional-bard]

Chapter 10 - The Good News

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: Nothing much, just fluff

Summary: The reader and Joel, well, seal the deal.

Word Count: 4.405

Author's Note: Okay so my dumbass mixed the dates in the previous chapter and although I fixed it on the other post, I just wanna clarify that this is December 2035! I almost screwed up the story line a lil bit but, no worries, it should be fine now 😅 Apologies again for late updates, I promised you all I'd see to the end of this series and I will, trust me!

Enjoy!

You weren't expecting him to propose.

Oh no ma'am that was the last thing you were expecting.

But that didn't stop you from whispering a soft 'yes', of course. It took you a moment to process because you were caught off guard, but without hesitation, you placed a tender kiss to his lips after your answer.

He knew the idea of getting married in the middle of an apocalypse was a silly idea and the whole labeling yourselves thing even more so, but he was more than relieved when you said yes. The circumstances you were living in (being lucky enought to live an almost normal life in Jackson) made it a bit more available for a an in-front-of-god's-eyes kinda ceremony; you were even fine with calling him husband and him calling you wife - you didn't even have to get married for that if you were honest. Your feelings towards each other were deep and true, you just had to label it without official papers.

You could tell Joel was scared, though. He confessed that he'd been only thinking about proposing to you, but after everything that happened, he knew he might not get another chance at doing so. You understood better just how scared to death he was all that time you were captured by Axel, then in the infirmary where he thought you may not survive it.

There was also the tiny, insignificant issue of his ex-wife, of course. It had been more than 25 years since her and you weren't worried about it at all, obviously. Tommy let you have an insight to their relationship from time to time (brief but still eye opening) and you knew everything you had to know - it wasn't pretty, and you couldn't help but think Joel's mind often wandered to his old memories, which perhaps made him feel insecure. You didn't say a thing about it, of course. If he wanted to talk to you, you'd be more than willing to listen.

In the end, he chose not to, even until the wedding day, so all you could do was assure him over and over again just what a perfect husband he was going to be, without touching the other subject. He was the ultimate family man, according to the younger Miller and you could see that too. You loved him for who he was, dearly, and that's really all that mattered.

Breaking the news to the close circle- to Tommy, Maria and Ellie, was delightful. Ellie was a little bewildered, but still happy. Tommy was surprisingly too enthusiastic, insisted you made a ceremony, despite your and Joel's protests.

"We don't want no fuss, Tommy, we already talked about it and decided not to," Joel gently traced your fingers with his thumb as he held your hand in his.

"Aw c'mon, this is big- for the both of you!" Tommy chuckled. "You're the town's sweethearts, not many people have beef wih either of you and, plus, it'll give folk some break and a reason to celebrate."

You reasoned with it and decided to do it, but without the usual formalities. Naturally, it was impossible to get all dolled up for a wedding with the traditional dress and suit in the post-outbreak world. Plus, the weather was going to be very cold by the time you had healed completely, or enough to stand on your feet without any help.

...The remaining 2% who helped you around was either Ellie, or Jesse, who was absolutely thrilled to see you out of the infirmary and when he heard about the big news. As soon as Ellie brought him over to visit you at Joel and your (now officially) shared house, he bombarded you with questions like when you were going to heal completely and join patrols again, or when the wedding was, which made you really happy and appreciate him. Dina was, well, very happy too but kept telling Jesse to Shut up! Let her rest, she just got out! Sweethearts they both were, probably your favourite kids in Jackson after Ellie.

Speaking of Ellie...

You got to spend more time with her again once you moved back in. You sometimes had your meals together while Joel was away on patrol, but whenever the three of you were together, Ellie got quiet. She sometimes wouldn't say a single word from the beginning to the end unless you made her talk, but you stopped pushing it after a while, as you realised how tense she'd get and how she'd start to play with her fingers. You wanted to ask her about it, but you also didn't want to push her; she always came to you when something bothered her, so you decided to be quiet about it and let her come to you.

By December, you were capable of standing on your own feet for the most part. Although not mentally, you had healed a lot and what was left of the attack were a couple of bruises. Your nightmares, well, they were reoccurring and continuing, but with Joel by your side, it was easier to handle than it was when you were in the infirmary and alone. It took you a long, long time, but you felt like you were finally ready to move on.

What was done, was done. Axel had killed your family, you thought he died and focused on your grieving; he turned out to be alive years later, almost killed you and your husband, so you dealt with the only option you had left: Killing him. Was it... necessary precautions? Or was it just revenge? He was clearly looking for you, he somehow managed to track you to the outskirts of Jackson, so really it was either him or you - a group of murderers or a town filled with innocent people.

You came to the conclusion that, by torturing him to death, you were taking advantage of 'getting rid of him for the sake of the town'. Everywhere he went, he brought destruction, he surely would've attacked the town if you hadn't killed him. While sparing Jackson from a dangerous threat, you also put an end to a vendetta you didn't know existed until then.

You didn't feel good, much as you were relieved that he wasn't going to be a trouble for the town and you anymore, it didn't feel good at all. Like you'd said before, he had ruined you.

Even though you were going to get married, the weight of that day still pulled you down from time to time. Days grew shorter and nights turned longer, but without being able to help around town to busy yourself, you thought too much about it. Joel noticed this of course and did everything you asked of him: From asking him to stay in occasionally, to giving you some space.

You knew Joel was scared when you pushed him away, which was on very rare occasions. He was scared that you wouldn't want to marry him, or worse, do something stupid. But, you needed him more than ever. It never crossed your mind once, to cancel the wedding and move back to your house. You loved him and nothing changed that: That's what you had told him too, with a genuine smile.

"I hate it when I don't have you around," You'd admitted two weeks before the wedding day, cupping his cheek. "I hate it so much when I push you away and- and seeing you upset because of it- but I wouldn't do it if I didn't need it."

"I know Dolly," He kissed the inside of your hand which was cupping his cheek.

"I love you, Joel," You grinned as he peppered kisses across your knuckles. "And I'm not planning on not marrying you. It's gonna take something real awful for me to not marry you."

You hadn't seen him smile this big ever since you replied yes to his proposal, he then chuckled: "Lord, you even started to talk like me."

Nothing that scared Joel happened. On the same day you shared your first kiss, you got married; Tommy was right too, the winter was taking it's toll on the townsfolk and they needed something that would take their minds off of things. Despite a few figures you weren't exactly fond of but had no actual beef with, it all went accordingly.

They got the both of you as pretty as you could get in the middle of an apocalypse. In Jackson, there were a variety of resources of pretty much everything - wedding dresses weren't one of them. You were dressed more like you were going to a cocktail and you felt a little embarrassed, Joel's situation was no different.

"This is ridiculous," He complained. "Last I checked, I didn't gotta shave for a wedding- it's not a rule or anythin'."

"Well..." Maria insisted as she fixed up your hair.

"Darlin', you want me to shave?" Joel abruptly turned to you, a brilliant smirk creeping up his face.

"No honey," You smiled sweetly, a little exaggerated to tease Maria. You agreed that this whole dress up was ridiculous as well. "I love your beard- don't ever shave it in fact."

"Ugh, you two are infuriating," Maria sighed, defeated.

"Perfect match," Tommy agreed as he snickered from the doorway.

"It's December, snowing outside- cold as fuck and you want me to wear a dress." You groaned.

"Don't you make the sweetest bride, Dolly..."

"Shut up Tommy."

Most of the town was there, except for the people in the infirmary and the people who were assigned for patrols. You and Joel were placed on a table away from most people, creating enough distance to make space for a not-as-big-as-Maria-liked kind of dance floor. The speakers were set, lights were up and the cozy atmosphere mostly eased your stress. You kept getting the feeling that something bad was going to happen, because surely this was too good to be true: You couldn't afford to have good things for too long, something terrible ought to happen-

"Hey," You suddenly felt Joel's hand envelop yours in his. "Will you relax?" Your forced smile, which was mostly you pursing your lips, didn't convince him; he leaned in a little and whispered softly: "If this gets too boring and you promise to at least act like you're having a good time, maybe I'll help you relax..."

His tone sent a shiver down your spine. You loved it when he suggested a quickie or talked dirty to you in public, soft promises of how he wanted to bite the insides of your thighs before diving his tongue into your depths - a teaser of what you were going to get as soon as you were alone.

Just before you could say anything, a familiar redhead with a brunette by his side appeared by your table, making the both of you tense up: "Hey, you two..."

"Hey Bruce," You forced an awkward smile. "Walt..."

Bruce was a small figure, comparing to the other patrol leaders- especially next to Walt. He had jet black hair, big eyes matching the colour of his hair and an oval face. He was always clean-shaven, which made him look a whole lot younger than he was. Him and Walt were really good friends, that's why you assumed he didn't like you too much, given your history of ups and downs with the redhead... Too loyal of a friend, if you said so yourself, but you didn't care.

"Don't you look handsome," You heard Bruce comment, looking at Joel, making you look between him, your husband and Walt. For a moment you thought he was joking, but the suggestive tone in his voice made you raise a brow.

"Uhm... thanks?" Joel replied awkwardly, a little confused because he looked exactly the same, the only difference was he was wearing something that resembled a suit. "It's nothing new though..."

Walt was giving Bruce a look too, which the man in question noticed and immediately spoke: "I mean, it's hard to see you two in anything other than pants and a t-shirt... You both look different, I mean-"

"Yeah, it's nice for a change," Walt immediately interrupted. "We just wanted to say congratulations."

"Thanks," You offered a soft smile and a long blink in acknowledgement. Just then, someone called for Robert and he left with a sincere smile. "Is he okay? He looked nervous."

"Yeah, he's a lil' on edge, dunno why," Walt scratched the back of his neck, although his face indicated that he knew exactly why. "Anyways," He cleared his throat and turned to your husband. "I wanted to say that, I know we got off on the wrong foot Joel and, I also know that we haven't been on very good terms," He looked between the both of you. "But I just want to you both to know that I'm very happy for y'all... I- I hope-"

"Joel!" Ellie suddenly appeared, to the left where he sat. "You need to come with me, don't ask why."

"Uh-?" Before he could even process, Ellie was tugging him by the arm and off the chair. He gave a look to Walt: "'scuse me."

You both gave Joel a quizzical look as Ellie dragged him away. Walt chuckled lightly, scratched the back of his neck once more and politely asked: "You mind if I sit here?" There was a chair by your side where Maria was supposed to sit when she announced you as married. You nodded and turned to the right as he sat towards the edge: "Look, (Y/N), I know we couldn't talk properly after what happened to you... I came to visit but, well, Joel has a way of putting me on spot."

You chuckled and nodded: "Yeah, I heard. It's okay though, I appreciate it."

"He said you would..." He grinned shyly. "You really love him, huh? 'Cause you sure as hell have him wrapped around your finger."

Your smile grew wider and you nodded: "Yeah, I do. I- I'd tell you more but I don't really wanna cry on my wedding day," Your voice cracked a little. "As best as I can, anyway. I'm too overwhelmed with- everything, y'know?"

"I can guess," He laughed, a bit more comfortable now that he was sure you weren't hostile towards him. "You know I'm... I'm really glad you're- I- ah, I'm very happy for you. Sincerely. You two are just... perfect for each other."

"Oh shush," You looked up and blinked several times. "I'm glad makeup doesn't exist anymore!" He laughed a little more, his dimples showing themselves under his red beard. "Hey... thank you, though. Let's uh- let the past stay in the past, yeah?"

Walt looked at you in surprise for a moment, then finally processed what you said: "Oh, s-sure, definitely. Those awkward chats were killing me..."

"Yeah," You smiled apologetically. You had to talk sooner or later, you sometimes got paired up for patrol and you had to interact to make everything work. Slowly, it turned into casual 'how are you's, but stayed that way until the wedding day.

You smiled at each other for a moment, then he finally nodded and got up: "Congrats, again. You two make a good couple. A power couple, in fact."

"Okay okay," You giggled and shooed him away with your hand. You watched him walk back to his table: The fact that he seemed to have gotten over you was a delight. Just then, Joel appeared and sat by your side, taking a seat beside you.

"You two good, then?" He asked with a netural expression.

"Yeah, you two, too," You smiled at him. He looked unimpressed, so you gently placed a hand on his thigh: "He was genuinely happy for us, Joel, relax..." Then, at your own words, you smirked devilishly, giving his thigh a squeeze. "If you act like you're happy about it, maybe I'll help you relax~"

He gasped when your fingertips brushed against his crotch lightly, the both of you gazing at each other's lips then simultaneously making eye contact: "I need to relax," Joel growls. "Now."

Your eyes widened at his tone of his voice, giving him a big, excited smile; only to be interrupted by none other than Tommy, who probably knew what you two were planning. He was holding a microphone in his hand, he walked up and into the space between where you and your husband sat: "Right... Today's a good day, folks." Almost everyone directed their attention to where the three of you were: "It's been around two and a half years since my big brother showed up at our door with Ellie and a lovely lady- none other than our (Y/N)... I say it was about goddamn time they got married." Tommy snickered and made the people laugh. "No really, I remember the day I met her," He turned to you: "She had a knife against Eugene's throat and we were only a second away from killing each other-"

"I forgive you!" Eugene suddenly called out to you across the room and you hid your face with both of your hands as the people continued laughing.

"Something fierce, she was- still is!" Tommy continued. "Don't make no mistake about that... She'll tear the whole country down to do what's right." He smiled at you sincerely: "I've spent most of my life with Joel and I've only known her for around two years but, I can confidently say that these two were made for each other."

You and Joel shared a look: No one in town had seen you smile this big- ever, you thought. Even Joel, who had seen your smiles countless times, was looking at you as if he'd seen you smile for the first time and he was falling in love with you again. Tommy's words meant the world to you: You had no family left and Joel only had his younger brother, and you had his only family's blessing. He'd seen the best and worst in both of you, knew what Joel had gone through all those years ago and he still claimed you as the perfect match for Joel. The realisation hit like a tidal wave and your eyes filled with tears. Chuckling, you spoke: "Okay, enough."

That earned another round of aww's and laughter. You looked at Ellie for a moment and saw the content spread across her face - despite the growing awkwardness between her and Joel, she still cared about him deeply. The look on her face even gave you some sort of hope that, whatever was going on between them was going to get solved soon. Everything felt so perfect and normal for a moment.

"Yup, now, y'all gotta dance," Tommy smirked.

Joel didn't look too pleased, being the centre of attention while doing such a simple yet special thing with you. You Have Been Loved started playing suddenly and your eyes shone brightly, then he led you to the makeshift dance floor. You pressed your chest against his lightly and your hands met behind his neck, while he repeated the motion around your waist. You slowly started to sway to the rhythm and he watched you fondly.

"I love this song," You muttered and looked into his eyes, beaming up at him.

"I know," He grinned.

A minute or two passed, then Tommy appeared with a video camera in his hands: "Here are the lovebirds..." You both smiled at the camera with such genuineness that even Tommy felt your shared happiness, even more so when he captured the moment with a camera. "Don't tire her out too much, big brother. It's my turn after you."

You giggled at his comment and Joel raised a brow at him: "Why is everyone so appreciative of my wife all of a sudden? At our wedding?"

"It's the dress," You bit your lip and smirked.

"Tsk," Joel looked elsewhere with a chuckle and it gave you an opportunity to kiss his cheek, then place your chin on his shoulder. He welcomed your body gently into his embrace and wrapped his arms even more around your waist, while you connected yours around his shoulders.

"Shoo, Tommy, let us dance in peace," You waved your hand in a go away motion and he did as you asked.

Now it was just you and Joel.

If I was weak, forgive me

But I was terrified

You brushed my eyes with angels wings, full of love

The kind that makes devils cry

So these days

My life has changed

And I'll be fine

But she just sits and counts the hours

Searching for her crime

Many songs played and other couples took you and your husband's place on the dance floor not so long after. Tommy kept his word and danced with you to a short song, where he expressed how grateful he was for you. He deeply cared for Joel, definitely more than he led on and that's when he told you once more that you were good for the older Miller- that you completed him. A picture of you two was taken right after he had said: "Welcome to the family- officially."

A few more songs later, it was Jesse who asked for a dance, much to everyone's amusement.

"If you're trying to make me go easier on you on training days, it's not gonna work Jesse," You smiled at him.

"No ma'am," He spoke seriously, then gave you a silly grin. "Not even a little?"

"Don't push your luck, rookie."

"Are you trying to make a move on my wife, son?" Joel growled, messing with him. Jesse however didn't understand that Joel was just joking, so you both laughed at the poor boy's tense expression.

"C'mon then," You got up from your seat, actually feeling a little tired already, then patted a red-faced Jesse on the shoulder. He'd grown quite tall over the years: He reached and maybe became a little taller than Joel.

You were Jesse's mentor ever since you started taking up patrol duty and training. He had moved to Jackson with his parents only a few months before you had. Being trained in the army and serving for almost 20 years, you were in charge of training new comers and teens who wanted to sign up - Jesse and Dina were assigned to you at first, until Dina switched to Eugene some months ago.

Jesse was enthusiastic about training and he was still very young, which helped him progress better. On a side note, his parents were lovely. Dina would occasionally tease that he had a crush on you, like a silly little teacher crush, then she'd joke about how she was jealous of you because he never admired her like he did you. You'd just smile, feeling like your age and tell Joel about it later.

You loved both of them as if they were your own, while being reminded of the kids in the prepatory school back in the Boston QZ. Guilt occasionally gnawed at your insides whenever the thought lingered too long on your mind. You really wished you could break them out and bring them here, give them the life and childhood they deserved. You kept telling yourself, like Joel, that there was nothing you could do about them, but still...

That was how fate worked, you supposed. If you hadn't been ambushed and Alpha One had survived, you may have never met Joel and Ellie, arrive in Jackson and, most importantly, you wouldn't be sitting across Joel when he took you as his wife.

Perhaps, there was no way- no alternative scenario about bringing your family to this safe haven. To have them sit there amongst the crowd and cheer you as you kissed your husband after his sister-in-law announced you married. Oh, how badly you wanted them by your side that day: Kurt sending death threats to Joel if he ever broke your heart (jokingly, of course), Maxim and Amanda encouraging you, Robin and Cole trying to tell embarrassing stories of your younger years...

Felicity and you having a talk.

Felicity.

She'd be the one to style your hair (maybe Robin too), fit you in your dress and of course, the first person to hear about the good news. She'd take your hands in hers, smile at you, then hug you.

You'd give anything to hear her voice again, to have her talk to you- even just for five minutes.

Nevertheless, you were still grateful for the new life that was given to you by the man who held your hand and smiled as you spoke to the microphone: Alright folks, thank you for coming... Training starts early tomorrow, so get some sleep! A new chance, given to you by the man made love to you in the following hours and who now slept next to you peacefully. The man, who introduced you to a new family and gave you hope that, in these times you lived in, there was still love and humanity left.

You studied Joel's relaxed features as the sun slowly crawled up the horizon. He was sleeping facedown, muscular arms partly under his pillow and face turned to you as he breathed through his nose slowly; his naked body disappeared under the thick blanket, meeting yours.

The alarm on your side of the bed went off minutes later, waking him as it did. He met your half lidded gaze with his own and mumbled something that resembled a good morning. You smiled and whispered it back, then watched his eyes close again. Your smile grew wider instinctively, then you tapped his right arm (the arm on your side) gently. He immediately turned his body towards you in the bed and opened his arms for you: "Ten minutes at most."

He nodded sleepily as you pushed yourself into his warm, naked embrace, placing yourself against his body, head right below his chin. Your arms found themselves on his waist and you sighed contentedly, placing a kiss on his collarbone.

Perfect. That's how everything was when he was involved.

As you stayed in his embrace, your eyelids automatically pushed themselves down. Inhaling his scent and listening to his heartbeat, you thought to yourself before dozing off:

Huh. Maybe it really was meant to be.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou x reader #tlou fanfic #tlou imagine #tlou fanfiction

[chipper9906]

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 8: Homesick

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 7,142

Overall Word Count: 72,547

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (8/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Is it because you don’t want to hit me?” It takes everything Sylvie has not to physically laugh in his face. “I know we’ve grown a fair bit closer since then, but you seemed to have no trouble doing it in the past. You slammed my face into that… stool thing, remember? Just… think about how annoying you found me then, or… or think about when I accidentally destroyed the TemPad, or -- Oh! How angry you were when I tried to stop you from killing He Who Remains, that was -- Oh wait! A little bit earlier, when I said about falling in love with this other version of you! What would you do if you saw me after catching me flirting with—”

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* * *

The morning after was never usually so comfortable for Sylvie.

That was because most of the time… there was no morning after. It didn’t matter how kindly her partner for the evening has treated her, or how clingy they became — whether they knew the Apocalypse was upon them or not. She would never, ever, let herself fall asleep in a strangers bed, or… or couch, or… well, sometimes in an Apocalypse, it’s more of a ‘hook up in this dark alley’ kind of moment, so it wasn’t like she would be getting any sleep there, either. 

It was a new experience for her. For a moment, she wasn’t sure why she had awoken with a smile on her face, given that there isn’t usually anything good happening in her life to warrant its presence. But then her sleep-addled mind registered the sensation of arms securely wrapped around her, of warm, bare skin pressed against her own, and the memories of last night came flooding back: clothes haphazardly tossed to the side, slick mouths sliding together, hands exploring toned muscles that danced under each others touch, fingers tangling into long locks as breathy moans are panted against each other's lips, the feel of sweat covered skin as they moved against one another. 

She hadn’t realized just how much she wanted this, how much she had been missing. She had only really known the physical side of sex, because… it is a very physical act. But now she knows how different it is when she’s not letting some random stranger be the one to explore her body, but someone she cares for, and someone she knows cares for her in return. No, not just cares for her, but loves her. 

She still couldn’t quite believe it, even though Loki had repeated the confession a few times at her request. She had never really considered the possibility of love — both loving someone, and having someone love her back. There had been no room for it in her life, living the way that she did, and she could never look past the mission. It hadn’t seemed to matter what became of her life once she took down the TVA; revenge had been all she knew, and all she ever wanted. 

It was strange that now, that want had transitioned from one singular mission to… a person. Actually, when she thought about it… that was greatly oversimplifying things. She wanted more than just Loki, she wanted… a life with him, some sense of normalcy — as normal as normal can be in their life, anyway. Something other than being on the run constantly, or being hunted down, or being the one doing the hunting. 

Even now, living in this small slice of domesticity with Loki, she still struggled to see that future. Not just because she’s never lived that kind of life, but because… she couldn’t see an end to this. It had taken all this time to kill one man, and now… they have to kill endless amounts of that same man?

They still had so much to learn about the Multiverse. Even if she could wrap her head around the number of timelines that now exist, and even if they could kill every version of He Who Remains in those timelines… wouldn’t there always be timelines popping up into existence with every small alteration? From one singular timeline, there had been an eruption of other timelines, to which those timelines bred their own timelines, and so on and so on. Killing every version of He Who Remains — or at least, the bad versions — didn’t seem like a job they could just… wrap up and then carry on with their lives. It wasn’t even a job that seemed achievable in their lifetimes. They would have to pass it on to someone else — which then brought up the question of who they would pass such a burden onto, especially when… when all this was on her. 

Or… or they’d have to find a way to run things from outside the limits of time. Set up shop in the citadel at the end of time, keeping them from aging so they can do this… endlessly. Never growing old, never able to find a moment of peace. It would make these little moments they found within Apocalypses seem like dream vacations in comparison…

“Should I be worried over whatever you’re worrying about?”

Sylvie startles at the sound of Loki’s voice, shuffling around and glancing up to see him peering down at her with groggy eyes.

The clarity slowly comes back into Loki’s eyes as he wakes up. It was surprisingly easy for Sylvie to lose track of her thoughts when his eyes met hers, still able to picture the way they had looked last night:  the blue of his irises all but disappearing as his pupils took over; darkened eyes hungrily taking her in, drinking in every detail and preserving it to memory like he may never get the chance to see her like this again—

“Sylvie?”

“Uh…” Sylvie snaps herself back to the present. “…What makes you think I’m worrying over anything?”

Sylvie feels Loki’s arms shrug around her. “Call it a hunch. Or… call it the fact that you feel so tense, I was wondering if you were about to bolt from the bed.”

Loki’s tone was a joking one, but Sylvie could hear that little tidbit of anxiety hidden in there, too. He genuinely thought that the last part was a possibility, and whilst she knew that wasn’t going to happen, she couldn’t blame Loki for thinking so. 

“Nothing, just… overthinking, as usual.” She gives him a small smile, one that he mirrors back at her. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m… just getting used to the feeling of all this, I suppose.”

Loki chuckles in agreement, glancing around at the cozy wooden and stone walls of the Inn that sheltered them from the elements. The single window situated in the wall to the left of them showed views of the snow-covered forest they had come from, the few snowflakes they could see lazily drifting to the ground in no way an indicator of the deathly snowstorm that was supposed to befall this picturesque little village. 

Sylvie turns herself around in Loki’s arms until they were face to face. “Aren’t we supposed to be out there saving all the universes?” she asks teasingly, playfully nudging her knee against his. 

Loki lets out an odd mixture between a hum and a groan. “We probably should be, yes. Doesn’t mean I want to right this minute, though.”

Loki was much too comfortable right now to do much of anything. He didn’t want this small bubble of peace they were engulfed in to be burst — which it would be. It always is. But if he could just get a few extra minutes of this, then… He’d do whatever good deed the universe… universes —plural — was now apparently expecting of him.

Sylvie apparently agreed with him, seeming in no hurry to escape the comfort of the bed’s plush blankets — or his arms, for that matter. 

“How did you end up being the big spoon?” Sylvie asks him, referring to the sleeping position she had woken up in.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Loki was getting strangely offended at the challenge to his role in spooning. “I am the taller one; it makes more sense for me to be the big spoon.”

“Hmm… you didn’t exactly have that kind of mentality last night,” Sylvie’s words land exactly the way she intended, grinning at the flush that steadily made its way across Loki’s face. “The man who clamors for control… actually prefers being dominated.”

“When it’s you,” Loki grumbled. 

“Oh? So you’re more… ‘in control’ with other partners?”

“Yes,” Loki asserts, trying to claw back some of his pride. “I usually prefer being the one who dictates the flow of things… leaving my partner at my mercy — and my mercy alone.”

“Mm-Hmm,” Sylvie hums thoughtfully, peering up at Loki through squinted eyes. “So… why did you leave all that to me last night?”

“Because, when I typically take control, I intend for my partner to thoroughly enjoy it,” Loki answers. “With you… I didn’t think you’d like that all that much; losing control, especially when in... in such a vulnerable state. I…”

Loki paused for a moment, frowning in concentration as he tried to find the right words. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I think we both know that all of your previous partners have been one-time affairs, have they not? With this, I…”

“Were you… worried you wouldn’t compare?” Sylvie asks.

“What? No—” It was kind of that, but it wasn’t the main point Loki was trying to get across. “—No, it’s…” Loki sighed harshly. “Call me sappy if you’d like, but… I guess a part of me was scared you might see this as another one of those one-time things. I… I didn’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, so I just let you take the reins, because… the last thing I wanted to do was scare you off. I wanted to ensure that this, that our first time with each other, would be one to deposit into your good memories. Because, whilst it might be our first time, I was rather quite hoping that it would be the first of many.”

Oh…

Loki’s eyes dropped down and away from her, and just like that, any pretensions of teasing him any further had flown right out the window. Sylvie lifted up her hand from where it rested against the bed, placing it tenderly across his cheek. Her thumb slowly drifted up and down across the sharp edge of his jaw, drawing his line of sight back to hers. 

“First of all? You don’t need to worry about comparing yourself to the others. Not one bit,” Sylvie assures him. “In fact, it doesn’t even compare. None of them do.”

Her words at least seem to be reaching Loki as the truth she intended them to be, the corner of his lips curling up by just the slightest. A part of her wondered if he was playing this as a whole ‘self-conscious lover’ kind of thing so she’d sit here and boost his ego. Then again, she’d probably do the same thing…

“Secondly, I fully intend for this to be a regular occurrence,” Sylvie states like it’s a matter of fact. Loki raises an eyebrow in surprise at the confidence in her voice — but naturally, he doesn’t question it. He’d have to be crazy to question such a thing. “And… okay, so you might have been right—”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Loki asks in disbelief, untangling one of his arms to cup his hand around his ear. “My, my… hearing that might just have felt better than—”

Sylvie shut him up with a swift punch to the arm, glaring at his ear-to-ear grin. “Egotistical bastard…”

“Sorry, sorry -- you were saying?”

Sylvie kept up the glare for a good few seconds more before she continued. “I was just going to say… thank you. Letting me… be the one in charge, it… it helped keep me at ease. And I know you wouldn’t do anything to me, but… bad habits die hard, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” Loki reassured her, lazily drifting his knuckles across the soft skin of her chin. “Having this… it’s already more than I ever thought I’d have. One step at a time, right? These are big changes; I wouldn’t just expect you to jump between them like it they’re no problem.”

“No -- but I’ll still give it my all.” Sylvie surges up to plant a soft kiss on his lips, pulling away before she lets it lead into a repeat of last night that they, unfortunately, didn’t have time for. 

Ironic, considering they had two devices in their possession capable of transporting them through time and space. 

“But that means you’ve got to start pushing me a little, too. Sometimes I’m going to need some help, someone to nudge me out of my comfort zones, okay? I want to start meeting this other Loki your other partners have had the privilege to meet.”

Loki grins unabashedly at her, raising a hand to his head in a mock salute. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Now, come on—” Sylvie makes a start to get up, pulling herself out of Loki’s grip. “We should really start getting ready—”

Loki’s arms almost immediately snake back around her, dragging her back towards the warmth of the bed. Loki’s smile was nearly bright enough to match the pure white of the snow-blanketed on the windowsill, placed there not because of his actions, but because of hers. He knew that, if she really didn’t want to be pulled back into the bed, she would have stopped him. The fact that he was able to pull her back into his arms was because she was letting him.

Because she didn’t fancy leaving the bed as much as he didn’t

“Five more minutes?” he offers when she falls back into his chest. He uses his free hand to pull the blankets back around them before she even has a chance to respond to his offer. 

“Fine.” Sylvie sounded annoyed, but Loki could hear the pleased undercurrents to her tone. “Just five more minutes.”

Two hours later, Sylvie was perched on the edge of the bed, finishing up tying the laces on her boots. She watched Loki out of the corner of her eye as he crouched by the fireplace, extinguishing the last few stubborn embers that continued to burn despite most of the fire having burnt out during the night. 

Sylvie shrugged on the fur coat Loki had created for her — and then later discarded to the ground in his haste last night — reaching into its pockets and pulling out the TemPad. She slides it over her hand, squeezing her hand into a fist as she stares down at the TemPad. 

“Would be nice to stay here forever, wouldn’t it?” Loki says wistfully, leaning back from the now-empty fireplace with a bitter-sounding sigh.

Sylvie barely hears him, too preoccupied with running a finger down the singular timeline that glowed up at her. Loki looks over at her silence, standing up from the fireplace and making his way over to her. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, cocking his head at Sylvie as he comes to a stop in front of her. 

“Is it whispering secrets to you that I can’t hear?” he asks teasingly, leaning forward as if trying to listen in closer. 

“Oh, definitely.” Sylvie looks up from the TemPad with a sly smile. “It’s telling me every little dirty secret you’ve been trying to hide from me.”

“Ah… I’m afraid I don’t have any,” Loki counters. “At least, none that I’m aware I’m keeping from you.”

“Well, that’s not ominous…” Sylvie returns her gaze to the TemPad, tapping her finger against its surface. Not to input or choose anything, from what Loki could see. 

“Are you keeping secrets?” Loki jokes… for the most part. 

“None worth telling.”

Now that was ominous, Loki thought. 

Loki takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to her, sighing softly as he runs a hand across the top of his head to push his hair back and out of the way. “You going to tell me what you’re thinking about? Is it… something to do with what you were worrying about earlier?”

“No,” Sylvie answers, and it’s the truth. She wasn’t thinking about that — not right now, anyway. “I was… thinking of doing something selfish.”

A beat of tense silence passes between them. Sylvie glances up to see Loki looking rather concerned, his eyes darting between her and the TemPad she held. It was only natural that he was thinking back to the time she last used the TemPad doing something ‘selfish’, resulting in him tumbling back through a Time-Door and nearly ending up imprisoned and potentially reset. 

“...And… what exactly is that?” Loki finally gathers up the courage to ask. 

“I… I know that we should really get a start on this whole… saving everyone thing…” Sylvie begins, her choice of words getting a hushed snort of laughter from Loki. “But… ever since what Mobius told us, I… I haven’t been able to get them out of my head.”

“Get… who out of your head?”

Sylvie taps at the TemPad, the patterns of squiggly lines atop its surface shifting around until one lone timeline shone up at them. “My family. I know they’re out there now; my past life -- the life I could have lived.”

“You want to see them.” Loki didn’t phrase it as a question. 

“I know I probably shouldn’t. I know it… it won’t do me much good, to see everything I missed out on. But… it’s…”

“It’s home,” Loki uttered softly. 

“Is it selfish?” she asks him, dropping her hand back down to her lap. 

Loki takes in a deep breath through his nose, rocking back slightly. “If it is… I think you’re permitted to be, after everything that’s happened; everything that was taken from you. And besides—” Loki gestures to the TemPad. “—Maybe after we regale them with stories of the terrifying dictator we are courageously facing, we might just sway them into giving us a helping hand. The soldiers of Asgard would certainly be a good acquisition in the coming fight. We’ll need all the help we can get…”

“Kind of sounds like we’re building our own army…” Sylvie notes. 

“I suppose… we are,” Loki realizes. “But… not in the traditional way. There’s a difference, fighting using those under your command, than with… fighting alongside allies.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sylvie says with an awkward shrug of her shoulders. “The only other person I’ve had fight by my side is… you.”

“Well... it won’t be long before we have more allies for you to compare.” Loki stands from the bed, nodding his head towards the TemPad on Sylvie’s hand. “And family is as good a place to start as any.”

A grateful smile hitches at the corner of Sylvie’s lips. She looks down to the TemPad, letting her finger hover over it for a moment before she pressed down on her timeline. The lights of the TemPad pulse with her touch, fading away as the Time Door materializes into existence in front of them. 

“Do you… want me to come with you?”

Sylvie whips her head around at his offer, confused as to why it was even a question of whether he was coming with her. She had thought it would be a given by this point. 

“I understand if you’d rather not have me there for something like this. That’s not to say I feel particularly comfortable with the thought of you being quite so far out of reach, but… if that’s something you want, then I can stay here with the other TemPad and meet up with you on a different—”

“Loki?”

Loki stops in his ramblings when she says his name, mouth snapping shut at the part-adoration-part-exasperation on her face. 

“...Yes?”

“Are you always this much of an idiot the morning after, or is this just a rare occurrence?”

Loki shoots her quite the impressive bitch-face. 

“You’re coming with.” Sylvie reinforces this by grabbing hold of his hand, giving it a squeeze as they move towards the shimmering time-door. “Let’s go home.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Loki splutters urgently, digging his heels into the ground to bring Sylvie to a stop. She does so, looking back at him expectantly. “Just thought I’d check… you did enter a time before the events of Ragnarok, right? Just… you know, to make sure there’s actually a home to go back to…”

* * *

They hadn’t moved an inch since stepping through the Time-Door.

It was quite the juxtaposition: them, stood hidden within the shadows of the forest that sat on the outskirts of the city, whilst the streets of the city itself were bustling with life, crowded with people as they went about their lives. 

It was both overwhelming and not enough at the same time. Neither one of them had said a word, greedily taking in every sight of the place they both once called home. 

The palace stood proud and tall as always, golden and gleaming in the afternoon’s sun, casting an impressive shadow across the city it sat within. Loki wasn’t too sure if it was just nostalgic memories taking effect, but even the bridge itself seemed to be sparkling just that little bit more than what he remembers. 

“Does it live up to your memories?” Loki breaks the silence, somehow finding a way to tear his gaze away to look down to Sylvie. 

“I don’t know yet.” Sylvie’s eyes dance across the sights of the city, repeatedly landing back on the palace. “It… it doesn’t feel like I’m home. If anything, it’s more like… this weird sense of Deja-Vu. It feels familiar, and yet… like it’s the first time I’ve stepped foot in this place. 

“Well… maybe your memory will be jogged as we take a closer look,” Loki offers, gesturing towards the city. “…That is why we’re here, isn’t it? To see home, see our -- your -- family?”

Sylvie nods, unable to hide the nerves that were on full display. Loki steps in front of her, blocking her view of Asgard as he wraps his hands around the top of her arms. “I won't pretend to know how you’re feeling right now. Our memories of home are different; the way we see our home is different. But I know you want to do this.”

“I do,” Sylvie agrees, a glint of determination in her eyes. “I’m just… I never thought I’d get this, you know? Returning home was never something I thought I could do, because… because there wasn’t a home to return to. And now… I don’t know. I guess I’m worried it won't be the way I’m thinking it’ll be.”

“It probably won't be.” Loki surprises Sylvie with his answer — not at all the reassurance she thought she’d hear from him. “Expectations are almost always impossible to reach. But whatever home ends up being for you… surely it’ll be better than never knowing?”

Sylvie’s eyes drift to the small sliver of the palace she can see past Loki. Somewhere in there, is her family. Her mother, her father, her sister… even herself. She can’t walk away from them. She can’t just… leave them again. 

“Okay…” Sylvie modifies her fur coat with a burst of magic, forming a hood that she flips over her head. Loki raises an eyebrow as she hides her face within the shadows of the hood, reminded just a bit too much of the mysterious figure of her that he face to face with back in the RoxxCart. “You should be fine to walk the streets, but I’d rather not risk our people catching sight of two of me if my other self is out there somewhere.”

“Right…” Loki steps back to her side, joining her as they take one last look at the city from this distance. “Do we… do we want to meet the other you?”

“Could be fun,” Sylvie says with the beginnings of a smile. “It’d be interesting to see the type of person I became if… you know — the TVA had never decided to ruin my life.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

Sylvie frowns. “Worried about what?”

“Another version of you out there…” Sylvie could hear the smile in his voice before she saw it on his face, knowing right away he’s about to say something stupid as a joke. “Better hope I don’t go and fall in love with her, too…”

Sylvie slowly turns her head to face him, sporting a bitch-face that looked almost identical to Loki's. She steps up in front of him, wiping the joking smile off his face as she grabs hold of the neckline of his coat, tugging his face closer to hers. Loki swallows nervously, eyes flickering from the eerily calm look in hers to her lips oh so close to his. He wasn’t too sure whether she was trying to terrify him, or turn him on. Either way… both were working. 

“I suppose I’d have to get rid of my competition.” Sylvie’s other hand brushes agonizingly slowly up his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake despite the thick clothing he wore. Loki finds himself leaning towards her, eager to close the minuscule gap between their lips. Sylvie jerks her head back before he gets what he wants, forcing him away with a firm push of her hand against his chest and a teasing smile on her face. “Or I suppose I could call you out for the idiot you’re being and leave your dumb-ass behind.”

Sylvie turns around and walks away from him, heading in the direction of the city and leaving a rather stunned-looking Loki behind. Loki stands there watching her retreating form for a moment until coming back to himself, shaking his head as he hurries after her. 

“So, just to be clear—” Loki starts as they approach the beginning of the city, emerging from the cover of the trees. “—Making jokes about myself and the other you are strictly off the table?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether you value your jokes over my affection.”

“Consider them off the table,” Loki asserts with a wave of his hand. “In fact, they’re more than just off the table; they’re no longer on this plane of existence, reduced to nothing more than a wisp of a former construct developed from—”

The first impression of the two Loki’s this universe is not entirely familiar with is seen through the eyes of a young Asgardian child, who watched as Sylvie unceremoniously shoved Loki into a stall to shut him up. 

“My deepest apologies, I must have tripped over my own feet.” Sylvie bit back a smirk as she continued walking, waiting for Loki to catch up with her after apologizing to the bewildered-looking owner of the stall. 

“Sorry, that was a tad bit harsh of me.” Sylvie has the decency to apologize to Loki as he reaches her side with a huff. 

“I think I might have landed on a wedge of cheese…” Loki wonders out loud, getting a snort of laughter from Sylvie. “If that man chases us down and demands payment for damages, I’ll pass the bill along to you…”

The people of Asgard were all wrapped up in their personal lives, some making their way through the busy streets as they make their way home, others congregated in small groups that added to the bustling crowds within the center of the city. All around them was the buzz of multiple conversations all occurring at once, muted laughter from their people as they went about their day, all sounds of… life. 

Sylvie had lost count of the number of people who had bumped her shoulder as they passed by each other in the crowded streets, tensing up at every touch as she waited for the inevitable moment they would recognize the Princess of Asgard mingling among the common people. Every time, she would pull her hood just that little more over her head, turning her entire body towards Loki as they walked. 

Yet… no one seemed to notice. She was just another name-less and face-less person to these people, going about her business the same as they were. Loki’s towering presence next to her was comforting, his hand wrapped securely around hers, appearing as just another couple walking the streets of Asgard. 

“They look happy,” Loki points out, referring to the swaths of people they had walked through. “It’s… good. Nice.”

“I’m just glad to see that me not being pruned doesn’t result in the destruction of our home…” Sylvie murmurs quietly, still not wanting to attract too much attention to herself.

Sylvie went to continue forward, only to find herself being pulled to a stop. She glances behind her shoulder, confused to see Loki frozen in place, staring at something to their right. She slowly turns towards the direction he was looking to, immediately laying eyes on what had brought him to a standstill. 

It was… her. Not the actual her, but a statue. Its well-polished bronze surface shone brightly as the sun beat down on it, displaying her in a rather impressive looking set of Asgardian Armor. Her metal figure stood proudly, wielding a familiar-looking sword in her hand that she held pointed to the ground, looking out towards the city and its inhabitants. 

“Huh.” Is all Loki can think to say. “That’s, um… that’s something.”

“I don’t know whether to take this as a good sign, or… a very bad sign.”

“...Bad as in…?”

“As in, this version of me had a similar hunger for ruling that you did.” Sylvie glowers up at the bronze cast version of herself. She shifts her gaze from the statue to the palace, the golden spires now looming over them, having inched closer and closer to home.

“We don’t know for sure yet,” Loki says. “We can't be sure of anything until we get in there, and… see exactly who it is that sits on the throne.”

* * *

The Palace was as beautiful as she remembered. 

She would have dreams of walking these halls, albeit from a much shorter height perspective. Everything was as pristine as usual, still clearly well looked after by those that serve her family. Sylvie was only really able to get a few moments to reminisce before yet another patrol of Einherjar would appear, this now being the fourth time she and Loki have had to duck and hide from their watchful eyes. 

“You know, Thor and I did something similar when we snuck out one night.” Loki’s breath tickles the side of her face as he whispers, the two of them hiding behind a marble pillar after waiting for the next set of patrols to pass.

“What for?”

“We were young, and decided that the fading of the sunlight shouldn’t dictate when the fun was to come to an end.”

Sylvie quickly checks to make sure the coast was clear before tugging at Loki’s sleeve to signal for him to move with her. Their footsteps are near-silent as they make their way down the hall, each step careful and deliberate to reduce the amount of noise they make.

“Were you caught?” Sylvie whispers in asking.

“Of course we were caught,” Loki answers. “Two foolish children stood no chance hiding from father's guards. I had only just started learning magic from mother, and to say I wasn’t particularly well-rehearsed in the art of deception and mischief at the time would be an understatement.”

“They realized you had snuck out, then?”

“Realized? They saw us making our escape attempt from a balcony. We weren’t terribly subtle with the way we went about it…”

"I can believe that." Sylvie holds out a hand to stop Loki as they approach a corner. They stand flush against the wall, Loki waiting just behind Sylvie as she cranes her head around the corner, taking a peek at what lies ahead. Or, more in particular, to see just who stood in the way between them and the throne room.

Between her, and..her family.

Or... Her and whatever this other version of herself had become...

"Two guards stationed outside the door," Sylvie whispers over her shoulder to Loki. "We could enchant them, but... I don't see a way we could get close enough to do it before they spot us."

"Hmm... If we can't rely on the element of surprise, then..."

Sylvie glances back over her shoulder, waiting for Loki to finish his sentence. She nearly has a heart attack when, instead of Loki, she comes face to face with one of the Einherjar. Her hand twitches, reaching for her sword, when something in the man's eyes brings her to a stop. There was something... Familiar shining in them. An odd sort of... Glee...

Oh, right, of course... Illusion Casting. What else did she expect from the God of Mischief…?

"Bit of warning next time, Loki," Sylvie grumbles under her breath. 

“I did,” Loki counters. “I said ‘we can’t rely on the element of surprise.’ That was my warning I was about to do something.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes with a barely audible sigh, leaning back around the corner to check on the guards. They were still stood ramrod straight in position, attentive eyes staring dead-ahead, as they usually were. 

“I could pretend to be escorting you, like I did on Lamentis,” Loki suggests. 

“Except the guards would probably be wondering why you’re escorting their Princess,” Sylvie shoots down his idea. “Also, there’s every chance you might be escorting me into the throne room, and in front of… me.”

“Right…” Loki mumbled in defeat. “Um… Illusion Casting requires a little bit more tutoring than a basic crash course, so… unless you suddenly become a master at that, too… we’re running out of options.”

Sylvie sighs from frustration, chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip as she thinks. She takes another glance at the still stoic guards, quickly ducking back behind the corner to avoid being spotted. 

“Wait -- I think have a plan!” Loki whispers excitedly, bringing Sylvie’s attention back to him. “You need to punch me in the face.”

Sylvie was sure she hadn’t heard that right. “You… you want me to punch you in the face?”

“Need, not want; big difference between the two.” Loki lets the illusion of the spear in his hand fade away. He grabs Sylvie by the shoulders, maneuvering them around until he was the one standing by the corner, his back to the edge as he places Sylvie directly in front of him. “You need to get me right in the nose -- make me bleed.”

“You still haven’t explained to me what for?”

“To make it believable, of course!” Loki states like that helped explain his plan any further. “You’re going to hit me as hard as you can, and I’m going to be sent flying backward. The guards are going to rush to help me, and that’s when you step in and enchant one of them.”

“And what about the other one? I can’t enchant both at the same time.”

“I’ll enchant him from the ground,” Loki answered with a grin full of confidence. “Then we can just… put them to sleep and store them somewhere for the time being, steal their armor, and waltz right into that throne room.”

“I don’t know…” Sylvie didn’t hold quite the same confidence in Loki’s plan that he did, given that his last few plans have been less than stellar in both execution and their outcomes… 

“You have any better ideas?” Loki asked, and he had her there. “Look, I have complete faith that the both of us could… go rush them and subdue them ourselves. But could we do it quietly enough that no one hears us on the other side of the door? This way, we bring the guards to us, and take care of them before anyone knows what’s going on. It’s perfect!”

“I think ‘feasible’ would be a better word than ‘perfect…’”

“Is it because you don’t want to hit me?” It takes everything Sylvie has not to physically laugh in his face. “I know we’ve grown a fair bit closer since then, but you seemed to have no trouble doing it in the past. You slammed my face into that… stool thing, remember? Just… think about how annoying you found me then, or… or think about when I accidentally destroyed the TemPad, or -- Oh! How angry you were when I tried to stop you from killing He Who Remains, that was -- Oh wait! A little bit earlier, when I said about falling in love with this other version of you! What would you do if you saw me after catching me flirting with—”

CRACK

Sylvie’s knuckles land squarely in the center of Loki’s nose, the force of the impact sending Loki crashing into the wall opposite. She winced, both from not meaning to hit him that hard, and because the punch was forceful enough that it had ripped open the skin above her knuckles. Loki’s nose was — as expected — bleeding quite profusely from the hit, made all the worse by the edge of the TemPad on her hand catching him right across the bridge of the nose. 

Loki groaned from where he had crumpled down to the ground, and Sylvie had to remind herself to stick to where she was and keep to the plan than go over and help him. She wasn’t too sure whether he was struggling so much to push himself up because it was all part of the act, or… if she had perhaps gone a bit overboard with her punch. 

Either way, what mattered was that the plan, miraculously, was working. The guards had sprung into action the second they heard the crash of metal from Loki’s fake armor smashing into the wall, their weapons held tightly in their hands as they marched over to him. 

Sylvie waited until their echoing footsteps were upon her before darting out from her hiding spot, grasping onto the closest guard's arm whilst yanking the spear out from his other hand. The man underneath the armor didn’t even get a chance to voice his protests before her magic was flowing into his mind, his face going slack as his eyes pulse with a burst of green light. 

Thankfully, Loki was not concussed from the hit, and still had the mental capacity to carry out his part of the plan. His hand had shot out towards the other guard who had come to his aid, wrapping it around his ankle and hoping more than anything that his first time using enchantment on his own on someone that wasn’t Sylvie would work. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, focusing every little drop of concentration he has towards the task at hand. 

Loki’s eyes pop open in surprise when he feels the man’s foot shift under his hold, greeted by the sight of the guard going slack and collapsing to the ground next to him, landing in a less than graceful heap. Seconds later, the guard is joined by his friend as Sylvie releases her hold on the other guard's arm — although Sylvie does at least do the man a kindness and slowly releases her hold so he drops down gently. 

“Ow…” Loki groans from the ground, letting his hand flop down the ground as he rolls over onto his back. He raises his hand to his nose, wiping away the excess blood that had congealed around his face, wincing as he brushes across the tenderized skin. 

“Gods -- are you okay?” Sylvie hurriedly steps over the unconscious guards, rushing to get to Loki’s side. “I probably shouldn’t have hit you that hard…”

“I said to make me bleed and to hit me as hard as you can…” Loki says, his voice nasally due to the blood blocking his sinuses. “You certainly did as I asked.”

Sylvie grabs hold of one of his arms, helping him get back to his feet. Loki groans as he gets upright, pinching up and down his nose to check for any breakages. 

“In my defense, you were doing everything you could to rile me up,” Sylvie says, gently knocking his hands away to check his injury for herself. Loki lets her examine him, surprised by the gentleness of her hands as they brush across his skin, feather-light and delicate as they pass by the area of his nose where the skin had been broken. “And for the record? That wasn’t me hitting you as hard as I could.”

It probably shouldn’t make her feel proud of herself that Loki looked genuinely afraid of her. And… a little bit awed by her. “It wasn’t?”

“Not even close.”

Loki’s nose had long since stopped bleeding by the time they had stealthily moved the guards to an unused room nearby. Whilst he didn’t need to steal the guard's armor given his abilities to cast Illusions, it was much easier to do so than use up most of his focus on keeping the Illusion up and —more importantly — believable. 

Sylvie finished up the last of her temporary golden armor, securing the helmet over her head and making sure it fits snugly. It was a little loose given that the man she had taken it from was slightly taller than her, but not so much that anyone would question it. She looked over to Loki as he scooped up the guard's weapons and shields, nodding in appreciation as he passes one of each to her.

“Wait—” Sylvie stops him just as they reach the doors to the throne room. Loki looks to her with a questioning frown, to which she gestures to her own face with a twirl of her hand. “You’ve still got blood all over your face.”

“Oh.” It only takes a small wave of magic washing over him for the blood to be wiped clean like chalk off a chalkboard. Sylvie nods her approval when he looks back to her, turning back with a shaky breath to the door that, just beyond it, held the answers to what was supposed to become of her family.

What was supposed to become of her. 

Loki didn’t say a word next to her, which she was infinitely grateful for. He was doing all that she wanted from him, which was… just to be there, standing by her side. He knew how important this was for her. He knew that now, more than ever, she just needed to know he was there for her if she needed him. 

And it was rather terrifying just how much she did need him. 

“Okay…” Sylvie breathes out, steeling herself for whatever is about to come their way. She just about catches sight of a flicker of a proud smile from Loki out of the corner of her eye as she nods to herself, raising a hand up and placing her palm against the intricately engraved golden doors. Loki’s hand joins her seconds later, her eyes trained on the door under her hand whilst his were focused solely on her, waiting for her to make the first move. Sylvie pushes hard against the solid metal, Loki following suit and joining her as they push against the heavy weight of the doors. 

Slowly… the doors open.

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

[domesticdeanwinchester]

i know the rain like the clouds know the sky

read it on ao3 or below // 1.7k words

It must have rained last night, or maybe very early this morning.

Either way the sky is a cloudy kind of grey. Overcast with those darklight smudges of stratocumulus. It isn't ominous, though, the clouds. They're calm in the sky. Peaceful.

Peace. It isn't a feeling Dean's very used to, the last two decades of his life being the chaotic, apocalyptic, traumatic mess that they were.

But the last couple of months... they've been his first real taste of that. Of the calm after the storm. Of easy days, of settling down and moving slow, of being worry-free. Well, relatively worry-free. There may not be any big bads looming over them and the last of the apocalypses may be behind them, but he's still got a husband with a rebellious streak a mile wide, a brother and a sister-in-law who both encourage it far more than they should (and can get into a fair amount of trouble themselves too), and a once-capital-G-god-turned-four-year-old-toddler to take care of and keep entertained. So yeah, maybe not entirely worry-free.

It's good though. It's really good. For the first time in Dean's life, he's at peace with it. He's happy.

Dean stares out at the sky through the kitchen window as he waits for the coffee to brew, letting himself get lost in the matching clouds of his mind.

The staccatoed hiss of coffee dripping draws him back to the kitchen, and he watches as the drip turns steady and the pot starts to fill. When the stream comes to a stuttering stop, Dean waits for the last hesitating drop to fall from the nozzle. Once it does, he removes the pot and pours himself a cup — this chipped old thing that reads "I never dreamed I'd be a grumpy 70 year old man but here I am killin' it", with the "grumpy 70 year old man" bit in big red letters, that Claire got him as a joke, but that he secretly loves. There's still plenty of joe left, so he replaces the pot and leaves it for Castiel, knowing it won't be too long before he's up too to claim it for himself.

Dean cradles the mug in one hand and pulls his dead-guy robe tighter around his body with the other, ambling towards the back door. He slides it open and takes the mug out onto the porch.

The morning air is crisp, cool and a little bit biting, but he likes the slight sting. There's still a hint of a mist to it, too, that makes Dean think that more rain isn't too far off. It smells like the rain, like fresh earth and a hint of that residual lightning storm ozone smell that reminds him so much of Castiel.

He stands at the railing, wiggling his toes in his toasty slippers, holding the mug between both hands. It's warm against his palms, and he brings it to his lips to take a sip, letting that warmth trickle down his throat, settle in his belly, and bloom throughout the rest of him.

It's quiet outside, only the soft wisp of the breeze moving through the trees to keep him company. The rest of the world still slumbers on.

Eventually the back door creaks behind him, and the wood of the deck groans a little beneath footsteps. Dean doesn't have to turn around to know it's Castiel joining him.

A pair of strong arms slide around his waist, and Castiel hugs him from behind, pressing his warm cheek to Dean's shoulder. Castiel brings his lips to kiss the point of his shoulder blade, and even through the material of the robe Dean can feel it.

"Thought I'd find you out here," Castiel murmurs. "It's cold," he adds, burrowing closer.

Dean shifts back against Castiel, nuzzling into his hug as best he can. "I like it," he says.

"Mm, of course you do," Castiel says.

They fall into a companionable silence after that, just the quiet sounds of the world around them and their steady breathing filling the space between them.

"Come inside?" Castiel asks after a moment.

"I will," Dean answers. He doesn't move, though.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asks gently, shifting from pressing against Dean's back to burrowing into his side.

Dean doesn't answer right away this time. Instead lets the question settle, lets it bleed into his bones. He watches as a bird takes flight from a branch of one of the trees, sees the light breeze make the small patch of grass dance, admires the still surface of the lake in the distance. He thinks of Castiel, living and breathing right behind him, thinks of Jack, young for the first time in his life tucked away in the racecar bed he'd begged for with his worn in stuffed bee cuddled close, thinks of Sam and Eileen and brand new baby Maura probably starting their morning too all those miles away.

A faint smile pulls at the corner of Dean's mouth. "Yeah, I am," he tells Castiel, and he means it. He really really means it. He pulls his gaze from the lake and turns in Castiel's arms to look at him head on, to meet his eyes and hold his gaze. "I am."

A small smile graces Castiel's lips, and they just kind of stare at each other for a moment before he brings a hand up to Dean's cheek. His palm ghosts over it before settling against his jaw, cupping it softly. "Good," he says, then leans in to kiss Dean's cheek.

They stay like that for a few beats longer before Castiel runs his thumb over the arc of Dean's cheekbone. "I'm going to go back inside," Castiel says, trailing his fingertips over Dean's chip before letting his hand fall back to his side. "It's too cold out here," he adds, scrunching up his nose in a way that pulls a fond chuckle from Dean.

"Yeah yeah, go inside ya big ice cube," Dean says, rolling his eyes and turning back towards the porch railing.

"Don't be too long," Castiel tells him, moving towards the door.

"I won't," Dean assures, and takes another sip of coffee. "There's more in the pot for you, should still be warm," he adds, lifting his mug in reference.

Castiel smiles. "Thank you," he says, reaching for the handle. He opens the door halfway, then pauses. "When you come in we should make pancakes. Jack will like that."

It's Dean's turn to smile as a memory of the last time he'd made pancakes filters to the surface. Jack had been asleep that time too, but when he followed his nose into the kitchen to find Dean behind the stove, flipping a pancake the size of Jack's head he'd been so excited. And so amazed too, by how many different kinds of pancakes Dean had whipped up — chocolate chip, blueberry, cinnamon sugar. He'd even tried out a special new recipe, with fresh honey and vanilla. Jack insisted on assisting with the remaining batter, eager and insistent on helping Dean when it got time to flip the pancakes. All the flavors had been a hit, and Jack had been gleeful all morning — a sticky, syrupy, chocolatey mess, but a very happy one nonetheless.

Based on the look on Castiel's face, Dean figures he must be remembering that morning too.

"Yeah, okay," Dean agrees, giving a nod. "I'll be in soon," he promises.

Castiel nods and disappears back inside.

Dean will follow shortly, he will. He'll head back inside and he and Castiel will make stacks upon stacks of pancakes, and maybe one of them will go wake Jack, or maybe Jack will come find them laughing together over the half cooked, half gloopy pancake Castiel accidentally flipped out of the pan and onto the stove. They'll dig into their breakfast with Jack, sitting around their little table together. And later he'll call Sammy. Ask how Maura is. How Eileen is. Maybe they'll video call, and Jack will steal the phone and hold it way too close to his face, and he'll show Sam the new space in his mouth where he'd just lost his tooth. It might rain again, and if it does Jack will want to put on his ladybug rain boots and his new froggy rain hat and jump around in the puddles. They'll bundle up for it, and Dean might indulge his inner child too and jump around in the puddles with him. Castiel will watch from the porch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he'll disappear back into the house just before Dean and Jack decide to come inside to start up a batch of hot chocolate. All three of them will curl up on the couch and put a movie on. Jack will fall asleep halfway through, tired out from his day in the rain despite the sugary treat afterwards. There will be a chocolate mustache still on his lip, and Castiel will try to gently wipe it away without waking him. He'll curl into Dean's side after, right under his arm, pulling the thick knit blanket tighter around them, and Dean will kiss the top of Castiel's hair. They'll fall asleep like that, too, until Jack wakes them up rejuvenated from his nap and ready for something new. In the evening Dean will make butternut squash soup — one of Castiel's favorites, and they'll eat it with freshly baked crusty bread and some warm apple cider to boot. He and Castiel will tag team giving Jack a bath — he'll beg for bubbles and they'll indulge him, of course — and once he's wrapped up in his favorite pajamas they'll tuck him into his bed and Dean will read him two stories and then Castiel will read a third, and they'll both kiss him on the forehead and say goodnight. Dean and Castiel will take a hot shower together, no fooling around, just the warmth of the spray and their gentle hands on each other's skin, washing, cleaning, touching. They'll dry off and dress in their pajamas, then they too will climb into bed. That night, as another bout of rain pebbles soothingly against the window, they'll drift off beneath three blankets with Castiel curled around Dean. And in the morning, they'll do it all again.

But that will all come later.

For now Dean revels in the peace.

#destiel #deancas #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #toddler!jack #destiel fic #spn fic #deancas fic

[crusherthedoctor]

Why Jim Carrey’s Robotnik is The Fuckin’ Man™

Yep, the movie is still on my mind, and I'd say I love it even more with each passing day. Partly because it came as much relief during a time when IDW Sonic is continuing to aggravate me with nearly everything it does with its story and characters, but mostly because I just really enjoy it on its own merits (and unlike some people, I don't need to add “it's no masterpiece...” to every sentence as if I'm secretly ashamed about liking a Sonic the Hedgehog film). While the movie's portrayal of our old mate Robotnik is far from the only reason for why I love the film, he's obviously a huge factor all the same, so I felt like listing a few reasons for why - already - he's one of my favourite incarnations of the doctor yet.

A lot of it can be boiled down to how accurate he is to Eggman's character despite the face value differences, but to elaborate that little bit more:

- He's every bit as physical as Eggman is in the games. It would have been easy for Robotnik to be reduced to a Non-Action Big Bad in a live action role, given how often that tends to happen with similar villains in similar live action installments of similar franchises... But instead, Robotnik actually lives up to his character's habits and takes a very active role in his pursuits, culminating with him facing the hedgehog personally, and putting up a good fight in the process. Compare this to the supposedly more threatening SatAM Robotnik, who spent most of his time twiddling his thumbs and letting Snively do all the work.

- Also like game Eggman, he's stronger than he looks, and he's equally capable of handling himself in a fight. A much larger guy who Sonic had notable trouble with is thrown out a window like it's nothing by Robotnik, and despite getting caught off guard by Tom's attack from behind, he was quick to turn the tables enough for their brief fistfight to be considered a stalemate. And let's not get into whatever it was he apparently did to that school bully...

- While he's every bit the glorious ham you'd expect him to be, his witty remarks can be downright morbid at times. The first thing he does when he sees Sonic's seemingly dead body? Make a crack about PETA animal testing. Absolute legend.

- Not only is he funny and menacing in equal measures, but both sides of his personality seem to be working at the same time in a lot of his scenes, going from one to the other then back again in a matter of seconds. This makes him come off as unpredictable, which definitely adds to the tension involving him.

- The government is clearly terrified of him, treating the mere idea of hiring his services for the blackout investigation as though he's a Horseman of the Apocalypse, and being incredibly quick to give his existence the '06 retcon treatment when it looks like he's gone for good (spoiler: he won't be forgotten for long). But at the same time, they bring him in specifically because they know that he's the only one with the genius to handle the apparent threat that Sonic poses, and their own talk of him having helped out with numerous foreign coups in the past - probably single-handedly at that - is yet more proof that his credentials are no joke. If G.U.N. exists in this universe, they're basically admitting that they ain't shit compared to this one man.

- Despite technically acting on the government's behalf during the events of this film, Robotnik treats the affair in the same way that Blofeld treats his affiliation with Red China: Namely, it's a very transparent means to an end that will ultimately benefit himself more than them, and it's clear at all times that not only is he the one holding the reins, but that they're perfectly aware of this and are simply unable to do anything about it. Considering this is, again, the government we're talking about, that makes it abundantly clear before we even meet him in person that this guy isn't your typical basement dwelling mad scientist whose ambitions far outweigh their capabilities.

- In a Sonic the Hedgehog movie production starring Ivo Robotnik, played to perfection by Jim Carrey, the meme potential is too vast to quantify.

- His drones are essentially Matryoshka dolls of destruction, and they have the tricks and the persistence you'd expect to be saddled with that implication. They highlight the doctor's own determination in catching the hedgehog, and they also confirm his surprisingly keen sense of foresight in dealing with opposition. If only he leant some of that foresight to IDW Eggman...

- His big black truck is actually really badass for an “evil lair”, as the man himself labels it. It's equipped with the aforementioned super persistent drones, it comes with a hangar bay for his sizable hovercraft (which, by the way, just so happens to have an Egg Mobile colour scheme), he can experiment in his lab while he's on the move, and he even has wacky virtual simulators to play around with on the side... and the means to make a latte apparently. It may not have the scale of a Death Egg space station or an Eggmanland theme park, but considering this is an up-and-coming Eggman of sorts, it's a very interesting and impressive choice for the doctor's first humble abode, as it shows that even when he's just starting off, he's already thinking in a different (and cooler) wavelength than most.

- It didn't take him long at all to successfully harness the power of Sonic's quill in a manageable form, meaning he understood how Sonic's speed worked and was able to use it against the hedgehog himself in a relatively small amount of time. If Metal Sonic is ever introduced, he's likely going to be a juggernaut on par with his OVA portrayal.

- Yet another trait he shares with game Eggman: he does not cower. Sure, he might get startled by seeing Sonic for the first time, or accidentally getting creeped up on by Agent Stone, but in terms of legitimate fear, he has none to show for it. Sonic, who he thought was banished to the Shadow Realm killed, suddenly revives himself and takes back his quill by force, all the while throwing one hell of a death glare his way as he becomes supercharged with electricity. How does Robotnik react to this? By putting on his own game face (and his goggles) and staring him down for a final standoff. The idea of running away or pleading for mercy doesn't even appear to register in the doctor's mind.

- Even after going mad upon being stranded on the Mushroom Planet, he remains as determined as ever to reach his goals, and while he may have nothing else on him for the time being other than Sonic's quill, we know for a fact that his return is inevitable, and he'll be hitting twice as hard no matter what he decides to use. His final transformation into a more recognizable Eggman may be born out of isolation and insanity, but despite the circumstance, it's more strangely triumphant rather than tragic or pathetic. He even notes that lesser men would be hopeless in his predicament, and presumably that includes lesser villains as well.

- This face.

I want that face on a T-shirt.

Overall, despite the expected and at times necessary differences for a live action portrayal, Robotnik hasn't actually been watered down in terms of character OR threat level. He's already dangerous enough to risk the safety of the entire planet, and if the stinger is any indication, he's only getting started.

And you know what else? While it's obviously delightful that his resemblance shifts to being more Eggman-like by the end of the film (and the full moustache actually doesn't look too bad on Carrey's face), I don't think I would have minded that much if his appearance remained the same in a sequel, because the core of his portrayal was so perfect and quintessentially Eggman that the differences didn't even click after a while, even as I kept looking at them point blank.

That's how you know the guy did well. Although it probably also helps that his non-Eggman look is considerably more dignified and cool than SatAM Robotnik falling into a vat of concentrated 90's.

#Opinion #Dr. Ivo Robotnik #Sonic Movie