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LOKI 2.03 // 2.06

#:[ #loki #lokius #loki (2021) #i guess i should change that tag lol

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Horizon Zero Dawn | ▶

#horizon

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(º ﹃ º )

T-tteokbokki....tiramisu.....

yeah i watched more of those asmr food videos working on these ahahgdshjfgdhfdsjfds

#these are so cuuuute #art

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is there room for one more son | kid!dean & bobby pre-series

whumptober prompt no. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” | overcrowded ER also on ao3!

“We really shouldn’t be here.”

Next to him, Bobby sighed, his knee jiggling up and down. “Christ, Dean. I told you, we’re not goin’ home, now shut it.”

“But Sammy – ”

“Sam’s fine, Caleb won’t let anything happen to him.”

That was true.

Dean still didn’t like it.

A nurse sped by, rushing to help an elderly woman who was coughing up a lung in the corner. Her lips were blue, eyes wide with alarm, and Dean looked away quickly. He glanced down at his own thigh instead and readjusted his achy fingers to apply more pressure. A few drops of blood squeezed out onto the floor. Dean winced; he supposed there must be blood all over the place here every day, but he still felt bad about the mess. He poked half-heartedly at it with the toe of his boot, trying to smear it into something less noticeable.

Dean looked up at Bobby out of the corner of his eye. He’d probably just tell Dean to shut up again, but Dad was really, really gonna be pissed.

“Dad says we’re not supposed to go to the hospital for gunshot wounds,” he mutters so only Bobby can hear. “They ask too many questions.”

Bobby fixed his eyes on him, jaw tightening, and Dean shrank back. “Yeah, well, your dad says a lot of things,” he said shortly.

Dean relaxed a little, Bobby’s anger clearly heading off in another direction.

Bobby must have noticed, because he sighed again - less forcefully this time - and took off his hat to scratch his head. “That’s too deep for me to stitch up, kid, not without infection likely to happen.” He replaced his cap and dropped his eyes to Dean’s leg. “I hope you know how lucky you got. He could’a hit an artery…”

“He didn’t,” Dean frowned, defensive. “It wasn’t his fault. I was just trying to show him – ”

“You shouldn’t have been trying to show him anything,” Bobby insisted. “He’s too young to handle a gun, and so’re you.”

“No, I’m not,” said Dean, sitting up taller.

“You are,” Bobby glared down at him sternly. “Your daddy just don’t wanna hear that.”

Dean glared back, feeling mutinous. “I just want Sam to be safe. He needs to be able to protect himself, in case…just in case.”

Something Dean couldn’t name crossed Bobby’s expression. His lips thinned, but his eyes looked almost sad when he said, “Well, when you two are with me, I’ll be doing the protectin’ - for the both of you. Hear me?”

Dean blinked. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled, eyes falling back to the bloody gauze.

It took another hour, but eventually a nurse ushered Dean behind a curtain onto a tiny bed and stuck about ten shots into his leg.

A doctor came in as Dean’s jeans were being cut up and, just as he had predicted, eyed them all with a distinctly disapproving expression and asked, “How did this happen?”

Bobby patted Dean’s shoulder and followed the doctor beyond the thin curtain to explain with what was probably (definitely) a lie, and Dean immediately felt the urge to call him back.

He bit down on it and clenched his fists at his sides, staring up at the faded ceiling tiles without a word.

----

They ended up insisting on Dean staying put for a few hours so they could make sure he didn’t have any reactions to the cocktail of medications they pumped into him.

Despite Bobby’s urging to just relax and worry about himself for once, Dean begged him to let him use the phone to check in on Sammy until he caved. It wasn’t until he heard Sam’s little voice on the other end, content and sleepy, that all the adrenaline finally drained out of Dean’s system and he realized how tired he was himself.

He handed the corded phone back to Bobby after Sam hung up and rolled over under the blanket they’d given him, his head sinking heavily into the pillows.

“Go to sleep, boy,” he heard Bobby say from far away. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Dean yawned, and let the heaviness carry him off to the feeling of fingers combing gently through his hair.

#whumptober2023 #no.8 #lyric #overcrowded er #spn #dean winchester #fic #gunshot wounds #implied child neglect #found family #solv fic #sometimes this is still a supernatural blog

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STAR TREK SNW s2e1 The Broken Circle "We must steal the Enterprise"

#lmao spock bby #snw #star trek #spock

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me as a writer: Oh no I can’t write that, somebody else already has

me as a reader: hell yes give me all the fics about this one scenario. The more the merrier

#me writing 10000 h/c fics with lots of crying and breakdowns

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LOKI — 02x02 “Breaking Brad”

#lokius #loki (2021) #marvel

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After a thunderstorm in the mountains

#photography #scenery

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a chest filled with diamonds and gold | post-s02e03 ed/stede

whumptober prompt no. 7: “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.” | radio silence | “Can you hear me?” also on ao3!

Ed keeps expecting Stede to show up at his door.

Even if Stede can’t bear to look at him, Ed thought there would at least be a fight - a discussion - about Ed commandeering the captain’s quarters for himself again.

Ed keeps waiting for the knock to come.

It doesn’t.

He considers storming out onto the deck and slapping that wide-eyed-injured-lamb look off Stede’s face, or kissing him so thoroughly he can’t breathe, or possibly shoving him overboard for the sharks.

He doesn’t.

Ed checks for the fifth time that the door is actually locked and stalks back to the window. Stalks back to the door. The window. The door…

This isn’t Ed’s fault. He had wanted to get away from all this. He had tried choosing his own happiness for once, he had planned them a way out, he had tried –

This isn’t his fault.

(He must have done something wrong. He always does.)

(What had he done wrong?)

Ed very much on purpose does not look at the gun on his desk, the pile of knives next to the destroyed sofa…

He had already chosen to come back (to come back to Stede, but Stede doesn’t want you, does he?) and he’d be a coward not to stay.

(He doesn’t want you. Why would he?)

Ed doesn’t think he much minds being a coward anymore.

-------

“Ed - Ed - come on, Edward, open your eyes for me, darling – ”

The voice is panicked. There’s fire burning up the length of his arms and a pounding in his head and a hand slapping his face insistently.

Someone is holding him.

Ed wrenches his eyes open, and Stede’s bleary, gorgeous, stupid face swims into view. That face crumples as Ed blinks the haze from his eyes, and he’s pulled closer against Stede’s chest.

“There you are, you idiot, idiot man!”

Stede nuzzles his nose into the hair at Ed’s temple and keeps muttering nonsense.

The burning in Ed’s arm flares excruciatingly. He jerks away.

“Hold still,” says another voice, frustrated and harried, and that’s when Ed realizes Frenchie is sewing up his arms with needle and thread and splashes of rum.

Ed flails and tries to scramble away, out of Stede’s arms, away from the stitching, away from all of it –

But Stede holds fast.

“Ed – Ed, stop – he’s almost done – ”

“No,” Ed snarls, kicking blindly and knocking over the bottle of rum. Past the throbbing in his ears he hears Frenchie mutter, “Well that was rude, that’s good stuff…”

“Ed, don’t,” Stede whimpers, and there are tears dripping down his chin.

Ed despises himself for letting that stab his heart straight through.

“I hate you,” he whispers. He doesn’t really know who he means it for.

“I know,” says Stede. “I’m sorry, Ed, I’m sorry, I should have been there.”

Ed growls. “Go away, Stede Bonnet,” he tells him. Or thinks he tells him anyway, it’s hard to know if his mouth is working properly.

“No,” Stede says. His chin wobbles, but then he sets his jaw and wipes his cheeks. “I’m staying this time.”

You shouldn’t, Ed thinks. And neither should I.

He closes his eyes again and holds onto Stede’s hand so tightly it makes his bones ache.

#whumptober2023 #no.7 #lyric #radio silence #quote #ofmd #blackbonnet #fic #self hatred #suicide attempt #solv fic

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“if you take medication for that, you’ll be taking medication all your life!!” yeah, and?? bud, i already put on my glasses every morning. it’s like. a condition of mine, not a side hobby i’m pursuing irresponsibly. 

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✨ Office chair ✨ . . One chair in your office? No problem, Loki is learning that sharing is caring 😇

#things i did not expect to ever do in my life: #ship loki with a tiny bureaucrat #lokius #loki (2021) #marvel #fanart

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Interstellar (2014) Directed by Christopher Nolan

#interstellar #god this is pretty

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whats the meaning of life? son, its those little tiny pumpkins. the ones that are mad small.  you know the ones i mean. 

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Tomorrow is Yesterday STAR TREK (1966–1969)

#bones you little bitcH how i love thee #star trek #tos

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we carry through the fears | la'an & una pre-series

After the Gorn, La'an is found. whumptober prompt no. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.” | made to watch | “It should have been me.” also on ao3!

It’s sudden; one minute she’s staring at the blank metal wall of her tiny prison, the next she’s materializing in a foreign room surrounded by strangers.

La’an stands there, straight-backed and frozen still.

Then the man closest to her stretches his hand out as if to touch her, and her mind goes blank. Pain blooms at her back as she smashes into something hard. A ringing starts in her ears and she covers them, desperate to make it stop.

Awareness is crucial.

She doesn’t know where she is or what’s happened, and her mind is screaming at her that this must be another trick –

Past the hands covering her ears, La’an begins to hear singing.

Her vision focuses again, and she realizes she’s backed herself into the corner of the room, folded into herself as small as possible. There’s a young human woman crouched in front of her, several feet away, and her mouth is moving.

It’s only the two of them in the transporter room, now.

Cautiously, La’an lifts the pressure off her ears, letting the music in.

“On a wide open road, Golden helmets are singing,” the woman sings, a kind smile brightening her eyes.

“They mounted their horses, They leaped, The sound of their riding boots Could be heard far away…”

La’an uncurls a little, letting her feet slide out from under her along the floor.

“On a wide open road, golden helmets are singing…”

The young woman hums a few more soft notes then falls silent.

“Hi,” she whispers after a moment. “My name is Una. Can you tell me yours?”

La’an swallows, lips pressed into a thin line. She wrenches her eyes away from the woman’s - Una’s - face and glances all around the room, taking everything in. She must be on a starship - a fairly large one judging from the size of the transporter bay.

Bigger than the Puget Sound, anyway.

La’an’s breath hitches, the screams echoing in her ears. “Manu,” she whimpers. “Manu…”

“Manu,” Una repeats. “Okay, good job. I’m not going to hurt you, Manu.” She reaches out a cautious hand, palm up. “Do you think you could let me take you to sickbay? I just want to make sure you’re not hurt.”

La’an doesn’t correct her; she can’t make her lips move to do it. But she grits her teeth, braces herself.

With a deep breath, she takes Una’s hand.

-------

After her cuts and scrapes are healed (and she’s given some clothes that aren’t stained with blood), she follows Una silently to the mess hall. La’an hasn’t let go of her hand since the transporter room, and she wonders if Una’s fingers are as numb as hers.

But she can’t bring herself to let go.

The USS Martin Luther King Jr isn’t like the colony ship. The officers they pass stare at her, intrigued. There are no families on board, no children, and La’an gets the feeling this is the most interesting thing they’ve encountered in a while. She tucks herself close into Una’s side and tries to ignore it.

When they get to the mess hall there are only a few other people scattered throughout the room, and La’an is thankful.

“What would you like?” Una asks, leading her over to the replicators. “We can make pretty much anything here.”

La’an immediately thinks of the jiaozi her mother would make for her, and her breath quickens.

“It’s okay!” Una says quickly, giving La’an’s hand a squeeze.  “You don’t have to choose. How about some oatmeal? That’ll be easy on your stomach.”

La’an nods.

Una smiles in relief.

They find a table at the back of the room, away from everyone else, and La’an takes the seat by the wall so she can see the door. Una slides her chair close enough that their shoulders and thighs are touching, and it gives her the courage to slowly, slowly release Una’s hand.

Una doesn’t ask La’an questions, just chatters on about the ship and its crew and the space station they’re heading toward. She doesn’t make a fuss when La’an can only finish half the bowl of oatmeal. She doesn’t complain when La’an takes her hand again and holds on like her life depends on it.

“Manu is - he was my brother,” La’an whispers, staring at the table without seeing. “I’m La’an. La’an Noonien-Singh.”

Una’s face pinches with sadness, but her lips quirk up encouragingly. “Nice to meet you, La’an Noonien-Singh.”

-------

The first officer finds them and informs them that La’an will stay in sickbay for the remainder of the journey as there will always be someone there to supervise her.

Una’s expression hardens though her tone is perfectly respectful when she says, “That’s alright, La’an can room with me until we get to the station.” She looks down at La’an. “If that’s okay with you?”

La’an nods quickly, so grateful she feels her throat begin to burn. She blinks hard, viciously smothering any tears.

-------

As an ensign, Una’s quarters are tiny. But she doesn’t have any roommates and La’an breathes a sigh of relief.

“You can take the bunk,” Una tells her brightly. “My back’s been hurting anyway, I could use a night on the floor.”

La’an looks at her doubtfully, but Una’s already rolling out a sleeping bag next to the bed.

“Sweet dreams, La’an,” Una murmurs after they’re both settled. “Get some rest.”

La’an shut her eyes tight, her family’s faces bursting into her mind.

I haven’t earned it, she thinks, I haven’t earned it.

-------

She wakes screaming.

She doesn’t remember the dream, only the tearing and the blood and the screams. The begging.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says a soft voice, and suddenly Una is next to her on the bed. She reaches out tentatively, as though she isn’t certain if she should touch.

La’an throws herself into Una’s arms, clinging desperately to her nightshirt. The tears finally spill down her cheeks and she’s sobbing so hard she can’t get any words out.

“It’s okay,” Una tells her, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now, you’re safe. I won’t let anything else hurt you, I promise.

She tightens her arms around La’an’s shaking body.

“I promise.”

#whumptober2023 #no.6 #lyric #made to watch #quote #star trek #snw #la'an noonien singh #una chin riley #fic #childhood trauma #solv fic