#gotta be honest at first i was a little dubious of how they’d pull off something like a simulation plot in a minecraft series that doesn’t

[lunarblazes]

i think that the best merging of our theories and the one that works out the best in my head logistically for the hermits is that the hermits and what they’ve built is real, but everything off the island is simulated. this could be why they (loosely) weren’t allowed to build off the island (in terms of story). therefore, when they “wake up” as the Magic Moon Rock From The Sky is telling doc and ren, the world generation will be VERY different (towering mountains, insane caves opening up beneath the world, almost as if something stretched and pulled it. it’s nothing like they’ve ever seen). basically, i think that the simulation plotline is gonna provide an excuse in the story for why and how they’re resetting those chunks off-island. i can’t wait to see how the hermits explore them, honestly!!

[goddessofgamma]

11 + 53 for thruce, pretty please? I love your writing and I am so happy you're doing these!

ahhh thanks so much for sending the prompt and being so sweet!!  This was a cute combo.  the prompts were from this list  , and anyone can send me prompts anytime if you want me to write something in particular, I love getting prompts and feedback.

I gotta do a little shoutout to @ragnarokdad bc it’s your fault I associate the Mountain Goats with Bruce and  @autistic-thor bc they wrote some awesome ‘Take a Chance On Me’ fic.  Also, I imagined Bruce to be playing the piano version on the Incredible Hulk tv theme, or the “World’s Smallest Violin” song as I now think of it thanks to @flightsofwonder

hope you enjoy!!

Under the Doorway  (Ao3 link)

Summary:  Thor has a thing for his next-door neighbour, but he worries that he he may have created a bad first impression.

Thor smiled to himself as heheard the soft sound of the piano filtering in through the wall that separatedBruce’s house from his.  He couldn’t saythat it would have usually been his sort of music, but anything that remindedhim of Bruce made his heart feel a little lighter.

As first meetings go, theirs had not been the smoothest.  Thor had moved in just a day before, andafter a long day of setting up all the electricals around the house, he’dventured into the kitchen to cook himself some dinner, making use of hisdubious-looking oven for the first time. He’d been in a good mood, listening to Take on Me on his phone as he flipped his steaks.  

His mood was soon interrupted by a thundering knock at thedoor.  Stopping his music, he’d rundownstairs to see who was calling.  Avery angry-looking, soggy man was standing outside his door in the pouring rain.  There was something about the way that his facecrinkled-up with anger that Thor almost found endearing, at least until the manhad nearly yelled at him to stop blasting his music so loud that he couldn’t dohis work.  Thor had to pause for thoughtat that.  He’d not realised that hismusic had been playing through the speakers he’d set up earlier, he’d had hisheadphones on thinking that was the source of the sound.  It was an honest mistake, Thor tried to explain,but the man’s fury didn’t seem to diminish.

Thor thought a lot about that interaction in the weeks thatfollowed.  He wanted to apologize, wentso far as to bake some lemon cakes for his neighbour, but every time he rangthe doorbell to give the cupcakes and say sorry, he was met with no response.

After four attempts at varying times of day, Thor came upwith a fool-proof plan.  If he playedmusic again really loudly, theneighbour would surely knock again, and then he could apologize for both occasionsin one go.  

Dancing Queen wasblaring from every speaker he owned. Making the most of the opportunity, Thor danced by the door, cupcakes atthe ready, listening out for an angry tap.

As soon as he heard a knocking, Thor pressed pause on themusic and opened the door wide.

“For the love of god, can you stop it with the music? I’vealready told you I’ve got work to do, I can’t deal with Abba at 600 decibelswhile I’m mar-“  The neighbour trailedoff when he noticed Thor’s wide smile.  “Whatis it?”  The man asked, his tone still disgruntled.

“I made you some cakes.” Thor presented them, his right hand holding out the display.  “I apologize for my method of asking you tocollect them, but you didn’t answer when I knocked.”  

“You –“ The man still looked annoyed, but more puzzled thananything else. “You baked me cakes?”

Thor nodded.

“Lemon drizzle.  As apeace offering.”

The neighbour looked suspicious, but took them anyway.

“Thanks,” he said hesitantly.  He backed away from Thor’s doorstep, headingdown the small path, back to his house.  Stopping just short of the gate, he turnedaround.  “My name’s Bruce, by theway.  Bruce Banner.”

“I’m Thor!” Thor shouted back, wanting to be sure that Bruceheard from the other end of the garden.

The name ‘Bruce Banner’ had stuckin Thor’s head for a week afterward, repeated like a melody in Thor’s head justas catchy as any Abba song.

A week after that, Thor had been shocked by the sound ofsome unfamiliar music coming from the wall he shared with Bruce.  It was loud, louder than Thor had everthought Bruce would play music, considering how he’d complained.

After an hour, the thought had wormed its way into Thor’shead that this was some kind of response to his own music.  Taking a chance, he walked up to Bruce’s doorand rang the doorbell.

Bruce opened the door so fast that it was clear he’d beenwaiting.  There was a slight smile on hisface, something Thor had never seen before, and he couldn’t help feeling thathe’d like to see that smile again.  Itwas the first time Bruce had stayed still long enough for Thor to get a goodlook at him, and he found his eyes tracing his curls, his face.  

“I-“  Brucehesitated.  “I thought it was my turn tosay sorry. For snapping at you. Sometimes when I get wound up, I lash out, but…”  His eyes flashed down to their feet. “I’msorry.”

Thor gave him the most reassuring grin he had.

“You have no need to apologize, Banner.  You have an interesting music taste.”

“It’s a band called Mountain Goats.”

Bruce looked at him deeply for a moment, before standingmore upright, as though he’d just remembered something.

“Oh, I made you cookies.” He turned around and fetched some gooey-looking chocolate chip cookies. Thorbeamed, surprised and delighted.

“I will treasure them.”

Bruce did a half-laugh.

“I think the idea is that you shouldeat them.”

It had been a year since Thor had moved in now.  Thor and Bruce had created a habit, in the weeksfollowing Bruce’s cookies, of playing their music at top volume when theywanted the other person to come over and visit, to chat and get to know eachother a little more.  Thor soon learnedthat Bruce was a science teacher, he had a cat, he used to play the piano, buthe hadn’t practiced in years, all sorts of tiny pieces of information that madeThor like him all the more.  

Thor had been the one to convincehim to try piano again.  He’d seen thedelivery van arrive outside after Bruce had bought one.  Bruce had pushed it into his house, and Thor couldn’tdeny the way he stared at Bruce’s arms as they strained with the effort ofbearing the weight.

Now, hearing the sound of Bruce playing, just the other sideof the wall, Thor was hit by a swell of affection for Bruce.  He’d long accepted his attraction to hisneighbour who he hoped that he could count as a friend, but with each of theirmeetings, he felt his feelings grow to more than just a regular crush.

Forcing himself to act rather than wallow, Thor turned hisspeakers on.  He scrolled down his playlistuntil he found the song he needed to hype himself up.

Stepping down the stairs, in time to the beat of Take a Chance on Me, Thor waited inanticipation, trying to convince himself to admit his feeling.

The rap at the door came so fast Thor could have sworn Brucewould have had to run.

“Hi, Thor.  Abba,again.”  He gave a small smile.  “I’ve gotta say, it’s growing on me.”

Thor nodded.

“I was sorry to interrupt your music, but, well, I wanted tospeak with you.”  It was funny for Thorto hear himself say that; they’d never verbally acknowledged that their musicwas just an excuse to see each other since the first couple of times.  “I –“ Thor took a moment’s pause, steadyinghimself and looking Bruce in the eyes. “I would like - if you would, of course –to spend some time with you not just on our doorsteps.  To actually go into one of our houses, or goout for dinner.  As a date.”

Bruce froze for a moment, and Thor was worried he’d misspoken.A moment later, all Thor felt was the press of Bruce’s lips on his, Bruce’shand wrapped about his head, pulling him down in a kiss.

Thor didn’t have to think before he leant down into it,holding Bruce close, the contact heated after so long spent so close together.  His tongue flickered across Bruce’s lips.  

That seemed to spark something in Bruce, spurring him on topush Thor against the wall of his hallway, the door slamming behind them,leaving the doorway behind.

[lesbrarians]

Junkrat/Roadhog:: Voyages Ch 1

Buckle up, guys and gals and nonbinary pals, because I’m finally following up Origins with a sequel. If you haven’t read Origins, I really really recommend that you do -- this first chapter is kind of a prologue with some refresher details, setting us up for the bulk of this story, but there is defs the occasional reference that kind of requires an understanding of the first fic to fully get it. I know it’s a bit of a slow start, but I hope you’ll stick with it, and thank you so much for reading! (This can also be read on AO3 but I guess Tumblr hides posts if you put links in them so??)

Title: Voyages

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary:  After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”

---

Junkrat had been the one to suggest that they go international. After the Hyde Global incident, he was more than happy to bid Australia adieu and travel overseas. His flitting notion of going legit had evaporated entirely at the suit’s betrayal, and he wanted to go back to what he did best: good, honest, straightforward crime.

“Gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed that we didn’t end up scrapping any bots after all,” Junkrat said that night, once they’d fled the city and set up camp in an abandoned warehouse further down the coast. “Drones ain’t the same.” He toyed with his RIP-tire, running his finger around its rim. After learning of Junkrat’s treasure, Roadhog had done his best to dissuade him from storing it inside his tire once more, but he had been unable to provide him with a more secure storage space that Junkrat approved of. Back in the tire it went. “Listen, ‘Hog, I’ve been thinkin’...” He dropped his hand and shifted to sit on the tire instead.

Roadhog snorted and put the cap back on his canteen. “There’s a surprise.”

Junkrat kicked at him, his boot striking empty air. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he repeated, raising his voice in exaggeration, “that maybe it’s time to test out my little treasure I got here.” He patted the tire and raised his brows at Roadhog, as if to say how ‘bout it?

“To unleash the god program,” Roadhog clarified.

“That’s the ticket!” Junkrat grinned at him. “Imagine...” He gazed dreamily up at the ceiling of the warehouse. “Takin’ over the omnics. I could make them walk right into my traps, blow themselves up! How lovely.” He sighed, a noise of utter contentment.

Roadhog chuckled. “I’m in. Where?”

Junkrat craned his neck to look at him. “Where what?”

“Anubis took over Cairo. Probably would have spread through all of Egypt if it weren't for Helix.”

“So, where do I want to be god?” He considered it. “Somewhere with lots of bots, yeah? Maybe not here, you and yer mates thinned us out with the whole omnium explosion thing. 'Course, still too many of the bastards for my liking, but at least it's not like Numbani. Place’s crawlin’ with the tinheads.” He paused. “Say, that wouldn't be a bad spot! Sure, it'd be ambitious, but y’know me, I like to dream big.”

“No job too big…”

“...No score too small!” It had become their mantra as of late, and Junkrat jumped at the opportunity to finish Roadhog's sentence every time. He relished the verbal affirmation of their partnership. “But hey, why stop there? We could hit up Tokyo, London--” He interrupted his current train of thought with a gasp. “Korea! Can you imagine takin’ down that huge fucker in their ocean?”

“We'd be heroes.”

They both burst into raucous laughter at the thought of anyone considering them heroes. Junkrat wiped a tear from his eye. “But seriously, mate. We oughta go international. I'm sick of this place. I wanna travel!”

So they traveled. Matters were complicated by the fact that they couldn't go on holiday like normal people. It wasn't like two highly notorious criminals could just saunter onto a plane, particularly two who looked as distinctive as they did.

They resorted to convoluted schemes in an attempt to evade the law, aided and abetted by their ethically dubious associates. With a raid of a scuba diving facility near Sydney and Rosa’s assistance, they were able to engineer a rebreather for Junkrat and an apparatus for Roadhog’s gas mask that served as a carbon dioxide scrubber. Having a computer scientist on their side proved invaluable, as she helped with the electronic bits of the rebreather.

“You sure this is gonna work?” Ava asked, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“You’ve done crazier things,” Junkrat pointed out. He climbed into the motorcycle’s sidecar, feet propped up and head lolling back. “Sliced open me head in yer kitchen--”

“--blew up the omnium--” Roadhog added.

“--busted us outta prison. What’re ya worried for?”

Ava dropped her hand and laughed. “Got me there! Yeah, you’ll be fine.” She pulled Junkrat out of the sidecar so she could slap the two of them on the back good-naturedly.

Rosa kissed them both on the cheek. “Be safe, all right?”

Junkrat grinned. “Can’t promise nothin’!”

“We’ll try,” Roadhog assured her. Junkrat snorted. Empty words. Roadhog might have been more sensible than he was (not that it took much), but they were both reckless by nature, and it was rare for Roadhog to object to any of their wilder ventures.

“I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get,” Rosa said with a laugh.

There was a momentary lull as everyone absorbed the fact that they didn’t know when they would next see each other, or if they ever would again. Although it was empty except for the massive crate containing their motorcycle, the cargo container they were all standing in felt claustrophobic under the weight of saying goodbye.

Rosa broke the silence. “Oh, but before you go, I have a little going away present for you both...”

Junkrat’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he said, unable to hide the incredulity in his voice. People never gave him presents. Junkers weren’t keen on handouts, and he had never had someone in his life who liked him enough to give him a gift without expecting something in return.

Rosa handed each of them two soft, knitted bundles. “What’s this?” Junkrat asked, confused. He unfolded it and shook it out to find that it was a jumper made out of thick, black wool, with his trademark bright yellow, x’d out smiley face stitched on the front. A giggle bubbled out of him, and he bounced as he hugged it to his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore a shirt, a proper shirt -- there was an army green vest that he had worn over his bare chest as a kid, but he didn’t know if that counted.

“I figured you both might need something warm on your travels -- I hear other countries get a lot colder than Oz in November.” Rosa’s eyes twinkled. “And I knew you would probably have a hard time finding ones that fit.”

Junkrat laughed, elbowing Roadhog. “Yeah, can’t be too easy finding duds in yer size, eh, big guy?” He remembered the way Roadhog’s prison undershirt had constantly ridden up his belly, exposing a slice of his tattoo. There was something to be said for this whole “clothes” thing. Somehow, seeing the way the fabric clung to Roadhog, muscles straining against the too-tight sleeves, felt way more indecent than when he was shirtless.

Roadhog ignored his comment; there was no point in saying anything to the contrary. “Thanks, Rosa,” he said, turning the jumper around so that Junkrat could see it. It was the polar opposite of his, light cream instead of pitch black, a giant pink pig’s head instead of a demented smiley face. It should have been all wrong, given that Roadhog was without a doubt an aggressive, spiked up killer -- or, at the very least, ironic in nature. But it wasn’t. The tooth-rottingly sweet jumper just suited him.

“Yeah!” Junkrat enthused. “Thanks, mate.” He spread out the jumper on a nearby package so that he could admire it. He was itching to pull it on right now, just for the novelty of it, but the humid heat of the cargo container made him reconsider.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Junkrat wasn’t used to people being affectionate with him, asides from Roadhog, and even that was still a relatively recent turn of events. It wasn’t for lack of trying -- he’d certainly tried to be chummy with the other Junkers before he’d been forced to go on the lam, but there was something about him that others tended to find off-putting.

So it was nice to have someone else instigate a friendly hug: Rosa’s soft and warm, just like her, Ava’s a tight, one-armed squeeze.

“Thanks heaps for all the help, mate,” he said gratefully as Ava pulled away.

“No worries, you'll just owe me one.” Ava winked at him. “Take it easy, alright? Don't forget about the rest of us down under! And be safe. You lose another limb or get shot, and Dr. Bones ain't around to patch ya up. And I don't really think Dr. Boom is up to the task.”

Junkrat snickered. “Ahh, probably not,” he admitted. He was good at a lot of things, most of which had to do with destroying property or hurting people: healing was not one of these things.

He let Roadhog say his goodbyes in private -- Ava and Rosa were his friends first and foremost, after all -- and crawled back into the sidecar, sloppily folding the jumper and using it as a pillow. If he peeked over the top of the crate, he could see Roadhog’s forehead pressed against Ava’s. Sexual incompatibility aside, there was a certain kind of bond formed between two people who had committed an act of terrorism together. Junkrat had gotten into some serious trouble with Roadhog before, but they had yet to do anything that quite matched the scale of blowing up an omnium.

He hoped to change that. He reached over his shoulder and fondly patted his tire.

There was just enough room for Roadhog to squeeze into the crate before it was sealed.

“Good thing yer not claustrophobic, eh?”

“Speak for yourself,” Roadhog grunted. He handed Junkrat his rebreather.

Outside the crate, they could hear the sounds of Ava and Rosa filling the rest of the cargo container with junk to be mailed. The more large packages to cover up the motorcycle crate, the lower the chances of anyone bothering to pop theirs open for a visual inspection.

The general gist of their plan amounted to the two of them crossing the ocean as stowaways on a cargo ship. Ava and Rosa were their enablers, posing as women ostensibly shipping their belongings overseas for a fresh start. Between bribes, the cost of engineering the rebreathers, and shipping and handling fees, it was turning out to be their most expensive heist yet. Neither of them particularly cared; they needed to burn through their considerable earnings regardless. Australian dollars would be virtually useless to them the minute they set foot in Japan, given that they had no intention of waltzing into a bank -- at least, not with the express purpose of civilly exchanging currency.

The most challenging hurdle would be overcoming the carbon dioxide detectors used to expose stowaways. With any luck, the rebreathers would take care of that, absorbing and recycling the carbon dioxide in every exhale.

It was a long, tense stretch of time as they waited for some signal that they’d escaped undetected. It was only made worse by the fact that they couldn’t speak.

Junkrat wasn’t claustrophobic so much as he was restless. The crate they were in was huge, large enough to accommodate both their bike and sidecar, but with two overgrown men in it, it got cramped very quickly. He could only sit still for so long before he got fidgety.

He didn’t realise he was acting twitchy until Roadhog pinned his hands to his lap. He startled, head jerking up to look at Roadhog. It didn't do him much good, though -- he couldn't read whatever expression Roadhog was giving him beneath his gas mask, and they were currently incapable of using words to communicate.

He sat there, silently staring down at his lap and Roadhog's hand covering the both of his. He had nice hands, Junkrat decided. Strong and sturdy like the rest of him. Nail polish needed a touch-up, though. Still, not as bad as Junkrat's. He had an unfortunate habit of picking at his nails when there was nothing else to keep his hands busy. It was a reflex from back before he'd lost his arm. He might not have had nails on his mechanical hand to properly chip away at the polish, but he could still cause it to flake off with enough persistence.

Maybe it was a good thing Roadhog was restraining his hands, then. A sudden, unbidden image popped in his head of Roadhog’s hands restraining him in other ways. He quickly shook off the thought, as pleasant a vision as it was, by flexing his fingers.

Roadhog squeezed warningly, a silent reprimand to stop moving, there's already not enough space in here. A burst of laughter bubbled up in Junkrat's chest. Holding it in was quite possibly the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life, with the possible exception of learning how to build a peg leg that supported his body and retraining himself to walk.

He really needed to get out of this box.

They both lurched on the spot as the crate pitched forward. Junkrat didn't know what was happening: if they were just being processed, if they were being loaded onto the ship, if someone had found them out and they were being forcibly ejected from the premises. He wormed his hand out from underneath Roadhog's so that he could lace their fingers together. He just hoped that the bribe would be enough to get them through the initial inspection process, and that the rebreather would carry them home.

They'd found the most vulnerable worker to exploit, with Ava as their proxy, and he seemed grateful enough to hold up his end of the bargain. Ten years from now, some child would be going to university courtesy of the country's biggest criminals. It was kind of touching to think about, Junkrat later said, the two of them acting as sponsors to the unwitting less fortunate, even if it was done solely to further their nefarious plans.

After what felt like an eternity, they heard the unmistakable sounds of the ship's engines roaring to life, followed by the gentle rocking of the waves as they pulled away from the port. Junkrat let go of Roadhog's hand and sat up so quickly that he banged his head on the lid of the crate.

Roadhog detached his rebreathing apparatus for the express purpose of laughing at him, or so Junkrat was convinced. He rubbed his head ruefully and struggled to remove his own rebreather while Roadhog shouldered open the lid of the crate.

Junkrat unfolded his body and climbed out of their hiding space onto the metal shipping container that was wedged behind their box. “Next time, I say we just steal the fuckin' boat,” was the first thing Junkrat said after emerging. He cracked every joint in his neck with a satisfying series of pops and stretched out his back. His head was sore -- that was going to leave a bump -- but the relief he felt at pulling off the first leg of their venture surpassed any physical discomfort.  

“Good a plan as any.”

“This whole ‘bein’ careful’ thing is a roight pain in the arse, I tell ya,” Junkrat continued. They were no strangers to convoluted plans, but they weren't used to being cautious. It just wasn't their style. They were loud and obnoxious and stuck out like a sore thumb, and if Junkrat was going for an elaborate scheme, it was going to be a bold one. After spending more time in the slammer than either of them would have liked, however, they decided it was time for a change of tack. Actively attempting to evade capture, as opposed to doing whatever they wanted and running when they were inevitably caught in the act, couldn’t hurt. “Tokyo better be worth all this bullshit.”

He glanced around the cargo hold. They were on the far end of the ship, near the loading ramp, surrounded by packages that ranged the gamut of sizes. There was hardly any floor space to navigate. He envisioned crawling around on top of boxes to get from one side of the hold to another.

Entirely out of nowhere, his thoughts from inside the crate popped into his mind. “Yer nails are chipped!” he blurted out and pointed at Roadhog triumphantly, thoroughly pleased that his memory hadn’t failed him for once.

To his credit, Roadhog took the abrupt change of subject in stride. He looked down at his hands and grunted in agreement. “Yeah. So are yours.” He pulled their dwindling supply of nail polish out of his pocket and sat down, Junkrat scrambling to sit next to him.

Junkrat held out his hand expectantly. He hadn't been very good at applying nail polish when he had two arms made out of flesh and bone. Now that one of them was mechanical, he was even worse, thanks to the fact that it was nigh impossible for him to hold the small brush in his right hand. Built out of scrap metal and a prayer, his prosthetic naturally lacked the epidermal ridges that would help secure his grip, so the brush just rolled out from between his metal fingers.

Thankfully, he had Roadhog. Roadhog, who always painted Junkrat’s nails first before painting his own. “A proper gentleman,” Junkrat had once called him before bursting into a fit of giggles, although Roadhog had maintained that it was because he couldn’t paint someone else’s nails while his own were still wet.

It was one of the few times when he was capable of sitting perfectly still, his fingertips poised on Roadhog’s palm. The spell was broken as soon as Roadhog declared the touchup complete, and it was back to fidgeting as he waited for his nails to dry. He’d gotten impatient in the past and started touching things before they had set, and it always led to smudged nails, so he had quickly learned his lesson.

It didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though. He groaned dramatically, waving his hand in the air, while Roadhog studiously ignored him and concentrated on applying polish to his own nails. The wait was made worse by the fact that he was intensely curious about his surroundings and wanted nothing more than to poke around and see what other people were shipping overseas.

The moment his nails were dry enough for him to handle objects, he bounded to his feet and set off to explore. The cargo hold was filled with countless packages, and it was sensory overload as his eyes darted here and there, trying to figure out what he wanted to pry open first. He climbed over boxes, peeking at shipping labels and attempting guess which of them contained interesting loot.

He drew up short when he saw a large parcel with a logo on the side that identified it as a gourmet gift basket company. It took him a solid five minutes to figure out how to break into the crate, until he found a piece of metal that served as a crowbar. He wrenched it open to discover an enormous, cellophane-wrapped basket stuffed with fancy Australian cheeses, biscuits, macadamia nuts, and--

Junkrat threw his hands up in the air. “Jackpot!” he crowed.

“What did you find?” Roadhog called out.

Junkrat brandished two bottles. “We got wine, mate! And food too,” he added as an afterthought. “But the grog’s the important bit.”

He snatched up a lump of gouda to bring back with the bottles of wine, so that they could pretend to be the snobby fine dining assholes that they so often mocked. Junkrat put on his poshest accent.

“Wine and cheese for the good sir!” He bit into the hunk of cheese and passed it to Roadhog along with one of the bottles of wine. He plopped down beside him, the second bottle in his lap, and unscrewed his index finger to expose one of the screwdrivers that were part of his mechanical arm’s infrastructure.

Junkrat took care of the cork by stabbing it with the small screwdriver. He raised his bottle in Roadhog’s direction. “I propose a toast!” he declared. “To new adventures!”

“To new adventures,” Roadhog echoed. “And old friends.”

Junkrat was touched, but he tried not to let on just how much the sentiment affected him. Still, he couldn’t hold back the smile that stretched across his face. “Cheers, mate!” he said, clinking bottles with Roadhog and taking a hearty swig. He was fairly certain wine wasn’t meant to be chugged, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him.

Unlike hard liquor, which made him rowdier than ever, wine turned Junkrat into a sleepy drunk. A bottle or so later, he yawned and inched closer to Roadhog, seeking out creature comforts.

“S’good shit,” he mumbled. “Only ever got pissed off plonk before, y’know, whenever one of the Junkers got their hands on a wine cask or two.” He didn’t know that the good stuff tasted so much better. Wine would likely never be his drink of choice, but it wasn’t all that bad.

“Good old chateau cardboard,” Roadhog rumbled.

Even in his groggy state, Junkrat found the term inexplicably hilarious. He laughed uproariously and pressed an affectionate kiss to Roadhog’s arm.

For once, he didn’t have much to say; he just wanted to be close to his partner and enjoy a moment of silent, drunken bliss. They didn’t get quiet moments together very often. Roadhog was absorbed in sewing a new patch onto his harness, and Junkrat pulled out his detonator to give his own hands something to do. He rested against Roadhog’s leg, his entire body heavy and lethargic and warm as the waves of drowsiness washed over him.

Roadhog placed a hand on his head and ruffled his hair, and Junkrat barely suppressed a purr of contentment. It was a small gesture, but one that he loved. It was affectionate in a way that he had never experienced before Roadhog came into his life. It spoke of familiarity. It made him feel like he was home. He leaned into Roadhog’s touch and fiddled with his detonator, wrapping tape around it. It was cozy in the cargo hold like this, tucked up against Roadhog’s side, and he gradually drifted off to sleep, detonator falling to the wayside.

[bibliosexxual]

the blazing bombardier.

Idk, this is just a summery fluffball of a Sterek getting-together drabble because I’m tired of winter. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Derek fundamentally doesn't understand people who like roller coasters.

He knows such people exist because he's been standing in line with them for the Blazing Bombardier for half an hour now, but even when he's looking right at them, it's hard to believe. Seriously, why. The list of things to do on a Saturday afternoon that don't involve screaming and trying not to hurl is literally infinite. He could be lounging around in his pjs in his dorm right now and rereading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, just for example. Or working out, or going for a drive to the beach, or watching a movie with Boyd and Erica. (Boyd and Erica are officially his favorite people right now because, unlike his sisters, they understand the basic concept that friends don't make their friends who lose bets ride the most terrifying invention since clown costumes.)

The line moves forward, and oh god, now Derek can actually see the loading station. The seats are wicked-looking hanging harnesses painted to look like flames. He's going to be sick before he even sits down in the thing.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Cora. send me a selfie when you get on the ride or we'll make you go on it again.

"Dude," the guy directly in front of him says, eager, and for a split second Derek tenses, thinking he's being addressed, but no, he’s talking to the guy in board shorts beside him, showing him something he’s found on his phone. It looks like he’s on Wikipedia. "Did you know it’s actually possible to kill someone with a roller coaster? Like, hypothetically, you could build one that kills you with its g-force.”

“Awesome,” Board Shorts Guy says.

(Derek does not think it sounds awesome. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about happy things, like puppies and solitude.)

“Yeah,” Wikipedia Guy goes on excitedly, “it’s called the Euthanasia Coaster. First it drops you from the top so you’re going over two hundred miles an hour, and then it loops and loops in tighter circles until you die...”

Puppies, Derek thinks aggressively, and then, Don’t throw up, don’t—

“...It only takes seven loops. Three minutes and twenty seconds. There’s a mathematical formula and everything. God, what a way to go, right? First you’d be having the ride of your life and then you’d faint, and then boom..."

Someone behind Derek pokes him in the small of his back, and he opens his eyes to see the line’s moved again while he’s been standing there, trying and failing to tune out Wikipedia Guy. They’re at the gates now, next in line to board.

His phone lights up with a text from Laura. It’s like she can sense him scrambling for last-minute loopholes. pics or it didn’t happen! and no just standing beside it and then walking off, bby bro. you gotta actually be STRAPPED IN.

Fuck.

“Hey, man, you okay?” someone says, and Derek looks up, straight into the warm, concerned brown eyes of Wikipedia Guy. “You look kinda pale.”

“I’m fine,” Derek gets out through gritted teeth.

Wikipedia Guy doesn’t look like he believes him. Derek half-turns away. The gates to board the ride open, and someone behind them yells, “Are you going to get on or what?”

“No,” Derek mutters, and presses himself up against the railing so the people behind him can get past. To his surprise, Wikipedia Guy doesn’t budge, either. He just turns to his friend and says, “Hey, Scott, you go on, okay?”

Before the guy—Scott—can respond with anything more than a nod, Wikipedia Guy has Derek by the elbow and is dragging him aside a little, urging him to lean against the wall and breathe while he distracts him with bad puns and chatter. It helps. Derek wonders how old he is. Probably early twenties, like Derek. He says his name is Stiles.

“Look, man, you don’t have to go on this if it scares you,” Stiles says finally, after Derek’s stopped hyperventilating and explained a little about why he’s here.

Derek knows that, okay, but on the other hand… a bet is a bet. He and his sisters bet each other on practically everything, and none of them have ever backed out, not yet. Derek’s not going to be the first to do it, that’s for sure.

But on the other, other hand, just glancing over at the Blazing Bombardier is enough to get his heart racing again.

But on the other, other, other hand, there’s something about Stiles that makes Derek want to impress him. It’s illogical—he’s probably never going to see Stiles ever again after this—but he wants Stiles to remember him as more than just that wimp who got scared of a ride that even pre-teens are going on. He’s seen the group of them over Stiles’ shoulder, bouncing on their heels with excitement and giggling, not scared at all.

Stiles rests a comforting hand on his shoulder and says, “Screw your sisters. Do what makes you happy.”

It’s how soft he’s pitched his voice, like Derek is fragile or something, that finally strengthens Derek’s resolve. The gate is just opening to let the next batch of people get on the ride, and Derek squares his shoulders and tugs Stiles forward by the wrist. “No, I can do it. Really.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He looks a little doubtful, but he doesn’t question Derek’s choice.

Before he can over-think it, Derek pulls down his harness to lock in place and hands over his phone so Stiles can take the photo evidence for Derek’s sisters.

As soon as the ride starts moving, Derek grabs Stiles' hand in a death-grip and doesn't let go until the end, when he's shaking too hard to undo the clasps on his harness and Stiles has to help him.

At least Derek didn’t faint or throw up. He just screamed a little. Or a lot.

“Do you want to ride the scenic riverboat with me?” Stiles asks him at the end of the exit ramp, when Derek’s racing heart has started to slow, finally.

Derek realizes he’s still clutching Stiles’ hand from when they got off the ride, but Stiles hasn’t let go.

“What about your friend? Scott?”

Stiles shrugs. “He texted me, he’s going to ride the Blazing Bombardier again. After that, I dunno, he might go find our other friends. We came with a group. Anyway, I figured we could do something else.”

Derek blinks at him. “Why?”

“Well, I can’t in good conscience just abandon you to your sisters,” Stiles says, squeezing Derek’s hand a little. “But to be honest, I’m not that selfless. It’s mostly because I think you’re really hot, and I’d be down with getting to know you a little better.”

“Oh,” Derek says. He’s been trying not to stare too much at Stiles, especially at his mouth, or his hands, or his neck. (Derek has always had a thing about necks.) The fact that Stiles thinks he’s hot is definitely okay with him. “Okay.”

*

As it turns out, Stiles loves roller coasters, the more terrifying the better, but he’s also perfectly content with the tamer aspects of the park. They ride the riverboat, as promised, and Stiles gets the brilliant idea to send a selfie of them together to Derek’s sisters. Then Derek turns off his phone just as the first volleys of “who is that? DEREK, WHO IS THAT?” texts come in. It’s pretty good revenge.

After that they just wander, going up to booths and competing for prizes (Stiles has terrible aim and a competitive streak a mile wide). They eat themselves into a food coma. They get into a lively debate about whether Rey is a Skywalker or a Kenobi. They spot Derek’s sisters across the street and duck behind a group of German tourists to hide, and Stiles says he feels like a secret agent; he sounds pleased. They try on ridiculous sunglasses in the gift shop, and Stiles gets Derek to take a picture of him like that to send to Scott. At one point Stiles mentions that he goes to Berkeley, which is where Derek goes, too.

“We should meet up, then,” Stiles says, smiling. “Hang out, do a study date.”

They’d decided to go for ice cream, so now they’re standing on a bridge overlooking the lazy riverboat ride and talking while they eat. Derek got vanilla; Stiles got this monstrosity of a three-scoop thing with mint chocolate chip, strawberry, and pistachio. He has a bit of chocolate sauce on his chin. He’s the most enthusiastic and also messiest eater Derek has ever seen, and it’s weirdly attractive.

“Yeah,” Derek says, maybe staring at Stiles’ mouth a little too long as Stiles licks a long, slow stripe up his cone.

When Stiles leans forward and kisses him, slick and messy and wonderful, Derek is so surprised he drops his ice cream into the river.

For a second they look down in sad silence at the swirling water where it disappeared, and then they both crack up.

“Here,” Stiles says, “you can share mine.”

Derek is dubious, but it’s actually a surprisingly good combination. (Stiles looks smug.) It doesn’t hurt that this way they get to pass the cone back and forth while holding hands, or that some drips on Derek’s wrist and Stiles licks it up while making intense eye contact, until Derek feels like he’s going to combust.

It’s definitely the best time Derek has ever had at a theme park.

He leaves with Stiles’ number.

[hurricanerin]

I’m Slipping Under Ch. 6

Ch. 6 Can You Feel Me Now?

Summary: That one time Loki was an awful tourist.

Author: Hurricanerin

Character/Pairing: Loki/OFC

Genre: Straight up smut plus a little adventure

Rating: Explicit

Warnings:  Dubious Consent

---

Raising his brows in pity, Loki strode forward.  The cushion she was on dipped with his weight and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  Initially she froze, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  When all she felt was his thumb rubbing reassuring circles against her arm, she relaxed into him, practically boneless.

“Please,” she repeated with a sniffle.

“Oh, sweetling.  I can’t, you know that.  I need you,” he husked against her ear, making the poor girl shiver.

---

The plane landed on the tarmac an hour north of the City at an inconspicuous airport.  As she was herded into a limo, Annalise inquired about their accommodations but the agent in the driver’s seat glanced at her in the rearview mirror and remained silent, his face emotionless.

Though the drive wasn’t long, Annalise, sporting minor dark circles from Loki’s late night attentions, drifted off while the King pestered her regarding the purpose of dual locations for wedding ceremonies and receptions.  Twenty minutes later, an agent shook her awake as they drove up to Carrollcliffe.   Loki peered out the window at the sumptuous castle, a satisfied smirk unfolding across his lips.

As she rubbed her eyes, she gazed up at the fortress before her and her jaw dropped.  It was then that Annalise realized their lavish lodgings were chosen for several reasons.  Firstly, Loki’s ego.  She was certain he’d highbrowed the concept of a dwelling with less than ten bedrooms, and the gargantuan Medieval Norman-style citadel surely had thirty, if not more. Secondly, what had been a castle appeared converted into a high end hotel which meant that it came equipped with toiletries, linens, food; enough supplies to sustain Loki’s small entourage for months.

Loki’s guards exited the limousine and strode into the castle.  Moments later guests and staff filed out the front entrance.  Only several had those frosty blue eyes, but she wasn’t going to question it.  Whatever the agents did to get everyone out was fine with her.  People were safe, and soon they’d be out of Loki’s reach.  Cars and trucks with various state license plates caused a minor traffic jam on their way out of the hotel parking lot, but within fifteen minutes it had remedied itself and the premise was vacated of civilians.  With the exception of Annalise, more or less.

The girl entered through the grand front doors with her head tilted back.  Preoccupied with the 40 foot ceilings, she cursed as she tripped over the corner of an ornate rug.  Annalise chewed her lip and glanced over her shoulder.  There was commotion near the reception desk when the remainder of the hypnotized SHIELD agents began depositing a copious amount of shopping bags on the carpeted floor.  Apparently Loki insisted on procuring Annalise a wardrobe that better reflected her position in society.  Normally, she’d appreciate such a gesture.  But she knew anything Loki did was for his own personal gain.  She rubbed her temples as she took in the furnishings and décor.  The entire castle was a display of superfluous affluence, surely what peaked Loki’s interest.

Loki’s men continued to haul shopping bags in from the car like pack mules, and Annalise chose to bank on the distraction.  She ducked into the closest sitting room and held her breath.  When no one came looking for her, she sprinted for the next doorway, looking desperately for an exit sign.  Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweaty.  This was not a good idea.  In fact, this was a really bad idea.  She kept telling herself she just needed some privacy, that she hadn’t had time to herself since she’d been kidnapped.  Her heart knew better than that.  She wanted to leave.  Her mind spun as she fumbled through making a decision.

He’d hurt her.  She wasn’t sure how, but he would.  The thought of punishment at the hands of Loki’s agents—or worse, Loki himself—made her stomach roll.  She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned on the wall, resting her forehead against the wooden paneling.  Shoulders slumped, she sighed shakily and retraced her steps.

After backtracking through several rooms, she found herself in an unfamiliar area.  She’d tried to escape, chickened out, and got lost.  She was the worst prisoner ever.  There was a dull throbbing at the base of her skull, the place her migraines usually stemmed from.  Huffing, she plopped onto one of the couches and stuffed a pillow against the arm.   Curling her knees to her chest, she pulled the binder from her hair so that she could lay down comfortably.  Her eyes fluttered shut and she gave a deep sigh before nodding off.

It was dark when she woke.   She stretched with a groan, popping a few vertebrae in her back.   Blindly she fumbled for a lamp, almost knocking one over in her effort to flip it on.  When the room illuminated, her heart stopped.  Loki was sitting in the room for her, his ankle crossed on his knee, his hands curled around the ends of the chair arms.  The King tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he watched her.

“Why did you come here?”

“I—.  No reason.  Just wanted some privacy,” she mumbled.

Loki first grinned, then shook his head in mock sadness.

A familiar voice came from the doorway.

“I was hoping you’d be honest with me, my dear.”

Annalise shrieked.  Her head swiveled on her neck as she looked between the two identical figures, her hand going to cover her mouth.  She took several heaving breaths of air, but when that wasn’t enough to calm herself, she grabbed a pillow from the couch and held it to her face.  She opened her mouth against the velvety fabric and screamed, her fingers digging angrily into the plush material.  Sometimes you just gotta scream it out.

When she lowered it to her lap, her face was red and her eyes welled with tears.  Both Lokis watched her, the chair version smirking, the other appearing almost concerned.  The form in the doorway waved his hand and the chair was no longer occupied.

Annalise closed her eyes, tears dribbling down her cheeks.  It was all too much.

“Please,” she whispered.  “Just let me go.  I just want to go home.”

Raising his brows in pity, Loki strode forward.  The cushion she was on dipped with his weight and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  Initially she froze, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  When all she felt was his thumb rubbing reassuring circles against her arm, she relaxed into him, practically boneless.

“Please,” she repeated with a sniffle.

“Oh, sweetling.  I can’t, you know that.  I need you,” he husked against her ear, making the poor girl shiver.

“Don’t do that,” she whined, embarrassed at how childish her tone was.

“Don’t do what?”

His lips kissed the shell of her ear, then her lobe, which he sucked gently.

She squirmed, but stayed seated and brought her hands to her eyes to rub her tears away.

Slowly he kissed his way to the pulse point on her neck.  She felt his tongue against her skin and she whimpered.  She could smell him; a combination of leather, sweat and pure Loki.

Annalise held her own, putting all effort into staring forward as he teased her.  But when he gently, almost tenderly cupped her jaw and turned her to him, she was done for.  He kissed her like he was afraid he’d break her.  She was the one to press her tongue against the seam of his lips, pleading for his attention.  For as carefully he’d treated her seconds prior, his pace quickly turned relentless.  The memory of how she came to be in his lap was hazy, as was at what point she began dry humping him.   Everything became clear as day when an agent turned the overhead light on and awkwardly cleared his throat.

“It’s time, your Highness.”

Loki’s posture changed immediately.  He lifted Annalise from his lap and set her on her feet before standing himself and taking a moment to straighten his armor and wrap his hand around the shaft of his spear.   He made for the doorway but paused, facing her but speaking to the agent.

“Watch her.  Don’t let her out of your sight,” he ordered, looking Annalise in the eye as he gave instruction.

“I’m not coming with you?”

She hadn’t realized how tight with fear her chest had been.

“Oh no, little peach.  It’s far too dangerous.  What kind of King exposes his Queen to his brutish army?”  He chuckled and strode through the doorway.

She watched him bark orders at a pair of agents, then proceed through the lobby until he disappeared.  An engine started, and he was gone.

If she was relieved, why did his departure make her stomach roll?

x

After Loki left, Annalise desperately wanted to crawl in bed and burrow beneath her comforter so that all that existed was muffled silence.  But no amount of bedding could silence the commotion that was echoing up the Hudson.  At first it sounded like thunder, but when she saw smoke rising in Manhattan she knew the noises were more than that.  There were explosions.  Her stomach churned as she thought of the harm Loki was bringing upon innocent people.  She had been forced into supporting him.  She had helped him up until now, and she couldn’t exist as a bystander a moment longer.  She prayed he’d allow her to appeal to him.

Shaky, but determined, she stepped under a cool shower, shivering as it startled her into alertness.  Once clean, she chose a cream sheath dress, nude pumps and a staggeringly large emerald pendant necklace.   She reviewed her appearance in the mirror as she swept her hair over her shoulder to fasten the clasp.  She fingered the pendant, straightening it so that it hung evening between her breasts.  The gaudy piece gleamed, even in the dull light of the hotel room.  Loki would be appreciative.

Convincing the agents to drive her to Loki threatened to take time and patience, neither of which she had in excess.  So she practiced her diplomacy skills, more or less.  In this situation, that meant spending five minutes total on the negotiation.   She asked nicely to be taken to New York; asked to be taken to New York; announced that it was time to leave for New York; and then threatened to tell Loki they disobeyed their queen if they didn’t depart for New York right then and there.

As they neared the City, she couldn’t pull herself from the window.  Dark armored forms rode airborne machines that looked like Jet skis, darting between buildings as they fired, shooting at people, cars and structures alike.  Massive slug-like creatures the size of whales slithered through the skies, crashing into skyscrapers and sending victims fleeing for their lives.  Overturned cars blazed with engine fires like a scene from Godzilla.

Her driver rolled to a stop 300 yards from a giant crowd of dirty, frightened people corralled in the middle of an intersection.  They clung to one another, staring in fear at the tall, dark haired man hovering before them on one of the monster’s machines.

There was too much destruction to drive through.  She’d have to navigate on foot. Close to where she stepped out of the car were several news anchors still filming, whispering into their microphones and looking back at their cameramen with wide, frightened eyes.  As her shoes crunched on glass and rubble, her eyes flitted to piles of debris—that were at one time buildings—partially burying a red sedan.  She caught several pairs of eyes staring at her through the window of the overturned car and silently she held her finger to her lips.  The two women nodded and ducked back down.

As she drew closer, she saw that surrounding the pitiful group of humans were clones, like the one Loki tricked her with earlier that day, armed with replicas of his blue-tipped staff.  The Chitauri, the dark creatures bedecked with slate colored armor, stood menacingly with their other worldly guns and spears pointed at men and women.  Some dressed in business casual, others with the backpacks and tennis shoes of tourists.

Slowly making her way forward, she stumbled over a beam of wood, at once drawing the attention of all the creatures in the vicinity.  For a moment, she froze.  Loki watched her intently with a haughtily raised brow, as if he were eager to see how his little toy would act now that she was caught disobeying orders.  She cleared her throat and stepped forward, avoiding a lone tire, eyes set on her Loki; the original Loki, standing regally before his subjects on a Chitauri craft.

“L—.  My King,” she began, speaking from her diaphragm so that all could hear and bowing to the best of her ability.

“Ah, my fair, rebellious Queen.  Be a dear, come say hello,” he bid her, motioning for his alien driver to lower the aircraft.  Two of his clones suddenly appeared on either side of her, gripping her forearms to escort her brusquely to the true King.

Once he had both feet on the ground, Loki lazily waived his hand and conjured a grand golden throne and seated himself, a false smile playing about his lips.  He extended an arm in invitation to Annalise.  There was no second seat for his queen.  It was clear he wanted her in his lap like a little pet.  Penance for her disobedience, she assumed.

Annalise moistened her lips and took several steps forward, her throat constricting as the duplicates escorted her past the normal, everyday people-turned-victims that were terrified and looking straight at her with desperation.

She closed the distance between herself and the King, warily eyeing the Chitauri warrior behind Loki leering openly at her.  One of the duplicates at her side roughly shoved her towards the throne before disappearing as the real Loki snapped his fingers.

Annalise stood awkwardly before him, fiddling with her dress, running her palms over the material and smoothing out imaginary lines.  When she couldn’t find a reason to stall any longer, she spoke to him though her eyes were on her feet.

“What’s going to happen to them?”

Loki motioned at the petrified humans.

“Oh, them?  Do not worry yourself darling.  They are mere spoils of war.   They shan’t be missed.  You should be much more concerned for your own wellbeing, my undisciplined darling.”

She looked up, her brow furrowed.  Ignoring the bit about her, she focused on the people behind her.

“Spoils of war?  A—are you going to kill them?”

Dramatically Loki looked upward in thought and tapped his chin as if searching for an answer.  He spoke to her as if she were a child.

“Well, dearest, slavery doesn’t have a low mortality rate, and the Chitauri are a violent species I’m afraid.  If the humans are intelligent enough to do as they’re told, I am sure that they will be fine.”

Annalise closed her eyes, trying to block out the screams of crying children and the hushed murmurs of the panicky crowd as she attempted to think.  She only knew of one way to appeal to the god.

Bravely, Anna tread forward with an air of confidence she most certainly did not feel and perched on his lap.  Immediately his hands were on her, one curling around her waist and the other situating itself far too high up her thigh for her liking.  Tentatively she slid her hand to his shoulder for stability, but he yanked her to him, forcing her to clutch at him.  He stroked her upper leg, idly playing with the hem of her dress.

“You seem to object to my ruling, darling,” he crooned in her ear.

She shivered.  Perhaps sitting in his lap wasn’t a very strategic move.  In an attempt to fight fire with fire, she turned, nuzzling her nose against him and whispered.

“Maybe I’m just being selfish,” she purred.  “What if you were to give them to me?”

“Give them to you?  As a reward for your unruly behavior?”

She took in a breath as if to speak, but thought better of it.  Loki would only twist and manipulate her words.  Instead, she nodded silently.

He pulled back, narrowing his green eyes at her.

“And give my army what?  Rubble?”

He was going to refuse her.  She could feel it.  Quelling her discomfort, Annalise smiled coyly and buried her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him back to her.  When her breath stuttered against his ear, it wasn’t for show.  Her heart was pounding as she resorted to the last idea she had.

“As a wedding gift, my King.  Please?  For your Queen?”

To emphasize her eagerness and sincere appreciation, she squirmed in his lap, making sure to rub her rear against places that made him hiss.

When he spoke next, he addressed both the cluster of humans and the aliens. He also made sure to look at the news cameras back near his man’s limousine; apparently he’d been aware of them the entire time.

“How can I deny my sweet queen?  She has asked for these humans as a wedding present and I simply cannot refuse her.  Chitauri, gather the remaining people in the area for transport.  You may have the city.  Your patience will be rewarded.”

He knew he’d chosen his queen well.   As he’d hoped, the entire world had just witnessed Annalise putting herself on the line for them.  If that didn’t buy loyalty, he didn’t know what would.  Of course their allegiance would only extend to the human half of their ruling couple for now, but they would grow to worship him as well.

He turned to face the media and pulled Annalise to her feet, tucking her against his side.  Dizzy from standing so quickly, she clutched his long leather jacket.

Loki looked directly into the news cameras with his lips curled into a haughty smile.

“It is thanks to your benevolent Queen that these people go free today.  Do not forget how she begged for your mercy, how she was willing to sacrifice herself for all of your miserable lives.”

Annalise flinched at “miserable.”

She watched nervously as the victims of New York City were herded into Chitauri transport ships that then flow away in the direction of the castle.  Brows furrowed in worry that Loki would go against his own word, she turned to him in panic.

“Hush, little peach,” he soothed, tucking her hair behind her hear and kissing her cheek.

“Your new playthings are being taken to Carrollcliffe.  They’ll be cleaned, watered and fed and we’ll deal with them in the morning.”

Relief hit Annalise so suddenly that could no longer stand up straight.  Her shoulders slumped, she struggled to keep her head from drooping forward.  The adrenaline was gone and she was fading from her efforts.   As she sagged against her King, he caught her.  Compared to his seven-foot frame, she was small enough that he could practically cradle her to his chest like a child.  After conferring with the leader of the Chitauri, Loki carried her through the ruins back to the car.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her eyes sliding closed as the tightness in her chest finally released.  The limousine car door clicked shut after him.

“Don’t thank me, love.  You were brilliant.”

She was almost asleep, he knew.  But Loki watched her face with anticipation, so eager for a reaction.  After several beats, her lids flew open and her ears rang.  Blue eyes squinted with confusion, then widened as she realized what he had done.  What he manipulated her into doing for him.  He knew she’d come, knew she’d see her fellow humans in danger dsand beg for their safety.

He watched her as her cheeks flushed and her lip curled.  

“What did you do? What did you make me do?”

“Dearest, when you look back at this moment, you’ll see it had to be done.  When has post-invasion rule ever started on a positive note? They needed to see that you’re on their side. You’re their hope, their savior, and you’ll get them through this transition.”

Her jaw kept opening to speak, but she couldn’t choose which words best expressed how she felt.  She wanted to strangle him.  To hurt him.  Her fingers curled into fists and, though seated, her back straightened, and she held her head high.

“You are the worst man I’ve ever met.  You’re a cruel and selfish and narcissistic,” she all but yelled, jabbing him in the chest with her pointer finger.  Finger against leather armor wasn’t a good match, but he seemed to get an idea of the level of her fury.   She’d never laid a hand on him before.  Not in this sense, at least.

Despite the steady speed limit at which the vehicle was traveling, she reached for the door handle.

“Stop!  Let me out.  Now.”

In one hand he snatched her wrist with a bruising grip, with the other grabbed for her throat.  He applied threatening pressure to her windpipe with his thumb, cutting off the majority of her air.

“Listen to me, my little whore.  Did you not see the TV crews when I granted you your wedding gift? You just pledged yourself to me in front of hundreds of millions.  What do you think will happen to your caravan of slaves when they reach the castle and you’re not in sight?  Do you think I’ll just let them go?”

He squeezed tighter, causing her to grip his arm, desperately raking her fingernails against his skin to break his grip.  She couldn’t breathe.   The perimeter of her vision began darkening and the energy to fight him disappeared.

“Are you going to be an obedient little slut, Annalise?”

He didn’t let go completely, but let up on the pressure of his thumb and allowed her to suck in some oxygen to answer.

“Yes, Loki,” she rasped.

The pressure to her pharynx returned.

“Your Grace!”

“Better.”

Finally, he let her go and her hand flew to her red throat as she greedily gulped in air.  The car rolled to a stop—they were back to Carrollcliffe.  She may not be permitted to leave Loki, but she sure as Hel didn’t need to be this close to him.  Her eyes were wide with fear as she fumbled for the door handle.  By reaching for it blindly, she accidentally locked it once, then groped desperately for the button to undo the action.

Loki crossed his arms in annoyance and surveyed her.  Finally, she pulled on the door handle and scrambled out from the back seat, kicking her heels off as she ran barefoot into the castle.