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chantsdemarins · 2 years

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Last Christmas on Midgard... (Loki X Reader)

Dear lord. This was supposed to be my wholesome addition to @lokisgoodgirl “Winter Warmers” collection. It quickly became an angst-filled mini-epic! I guess I just can’t do fluff and happy endings! It was originally conceived as a “remix” to the classic Wham! song “Last Christmas”. I followed the video for a lot of inspiration, but things got out of hand. Included are the screenshots from the original Wham! video throughout! Loki is played by Andrew Ridgeley and Thor is of course George Michael. 😵

I hope someone out there enjoys it! If so, please reblog and comment. Your comments are the world to me!!

Smut level: 🔥🔥🔥

Summary: You are surprised to find your prayers answered, it's just not the right brother. Or is it?

It had been Thor’s lust and immaturity, perhaps.

Beyond your ideas of what was possible, he came to you one day as you were finishing your duties. It took all your strength to believe it. The daughter of a clan chieftain who shouldn’t have been praying to Norse gods. Yet he heard you.

Christianity had taken root in most of your village, except you couldn’t help to ask any raven you saw to send a prayer up to Thor. Find him in Asgard. The god you loved the most. The god that had stolen your heart. In the depths of your reverence, you laid flowers next to the Yew tree for the Norn’s blessings. You asked Freya to help Thor know your pleas.

In your wildest dreams, you never honestly expected him to come down to you in a thunderous snowstorm…

You never expected him to hear you.

You never expected him to fall in love with you.

You never expected him to offer Idunn’s apple.

You never expected him to disappear.

One thousand years is a long time to wait…

Pommes du Luc Ski Chalet, 1986

Saas-Fee, Switzerland

“Being stuck on Midgard is lame,” Loki mused while twirling his fingers around the red ribbon of a present before laying it back under the admittedly impressive, haphazardly assembled Midgard Christmas tree Volstagg had dragged in from the mountainside. His earnest attempt to make the best of their wanting situation.

“There could be worse things, brother, like being stranded on Muspelheim with Surtur using one of us as kindling,” Thor laughed, pouring his brother another stein of grog.

Loki clasped the drink dismissively and took a large swig. He stalked his lithe body across the large A-frame house to look out the window. It was snowing, yet again.

Thor joined Loki near the window, his large paws slapping his back, causing him to spit up some of his drink in a thin spray. He looked keenly at his brother, his blue-green eyes matching the icy weather conditions.

“At least you aren’t blaming me this time. You know we are both stranded here until father lets us come back. It’s equally both of our faults….”

“It’s mostly your fault Thor of course, but I take some of the blame-otherwise the fun I had participating would be for naught,” Loki winked and smirked simultaneously.

Wanting to change the subject to pursue the delight of his thoughts, Thor continued. “Moreso, you realize that neither of us knows how to ski,” he said looking out at the snow-covered mountainside.

“It’s rather ironic, don’t you think? We battle elves and other rather rare life forms with various life-ending capacities, yet we don’t know how to balance on these Midgardian twigs,” Thor philosophically pointed to the lavish display of skis lined up beneath the windowpane.

“At least I know how to surf,” Loki said with a self-assured laugh.

Thor wrinkled his forehead.

“No, you don’t, brother. I’ll wager 17,000 leagues of Vanir Andara.”

Just then, Fandrall woke from his nap to interject a brief sentiment.

“He’s lying. Thor. Let me tell the tale of Brazil once I’m sober enough to drag up the past without passing out from laughter.”

With this admission, Loki promptly threw his scarf at him, which he swatted away and quickly put around his neck. He relished the smell of cedar, smoke, and bergamot that danced around Loki’s being and clung to all his clothes.

“Smells like you,” he said, sniffing it yet again.

“Breathe deep, for this is the only way you shall receive the totality of my essence,” Loki gestured and bowed, perhaps slightly mocking the Allfather.

“Sure,” Fandrall laughed before wrapping the scarf tighter and closing his eyes again, drifting back into his drunken slumber.

Thor caught the faint whiff of his brother’s innuendo toward Fandrall. Never knowing exactly how to process Loki’s rakish gestures, he cleared his mind and returned to his assessment of their situation.

The truth was they had angered their father. They had angered Heimdall. Frigga was also none too pleased. The Bifrost was temporarily closed. There was no way off Midgard for the time being. They were both given a simple enough task, and both princes failed. Much worse, they had endangered the lives of the other court warriors. It was a rare event when both princes got in trouble simultaneously. They had been careless with a missive, and it had fallen into the wrong hands setting back years of diplomacy. Now they were stuck and without seiðr until they could answer their father’s rather cryptic riddle.

“Find the heart of the mountain and melt the ice that has grown around it.”

“Allfather’s riddle is lame, too,” Loki croaked out loud, thinking about it for a moment.

Thor, mainly the more immature and loyal one, agreed with his brother.

“Yeah, it is rather dumb. Why must we solve a riddle? Can’t father just punish us in some other, more sensible way? I was never good at riddles,” Thor was growing more pained by the moment.

“Well, brother, you are always in luck while I am around, for as you are most likely keenly aware, I am a master at riddles and will soon have this one solved,” Loki boasted.

Thor rolled his eyes. Loki continued, plans emerging in his head.

“But I ask, why rush back? We have this bleak yet relatively well-appointed human cabin. It’s almost Midgard’s “Christmas”, as Vollstag has helped us make merry with this tree,” he pointed at the dry-looking pine in the corner.

“Perhaps, I should head into Saas-Fee and see who I can wrangle up. Maybe we should have a little faire la fête, as the Midgardians do this time of year?”

Thor looked intently at Loki, his skepticism not well hidden.

“To lighten the mood?” Loki said, twirling around, letting his boots spin him along the smooth wood floor.

Still no response from his brother.

“Right, you’d think Ragnarök happened by how everyone is acting,” Loki mused, looking at the cacophony of drunken warriors laid out in piles, sunken into bean bag chairs, and wrapped in throw rugs. Reassuring himself of the grandeur of his new plan, he prattled on.

“We just made a mistake, and it will be fixed soon. Until then, we celebrate!”

With that statement, Loki opened the heavy door and braced himself in the snow. He turned around briefly to see his brother shaking his head before closing the door.

“Stop. Wait. Don’t go,” Thor sardonically mumbled.

The path to town was covered in thick snow, and Loki was ill-dressed for the trek. He looked down at his shiny black Comme des Garcons boots with disdain. The leather was already buckling—the travails of Midgardian geography, so much damn snow.

“Ugh. Another pair ruined,” he sputtered as he pursued the barely visible path.

By the time he reached the only tavern in town, he was thoroughly soaked all over, not just his boots. Entering the dark building, Loki noticed the patron’s chatter came to a brief lull. He was used to making an appearance, so he was not bothered. He sat in a rather fancy booth and took off nearly all his clothes, causing more of a stir with the celebratory gawking patrons. His sweater, ski pants, and socks came off until he was wearing nothing more than his plaid shirt and tight jeans. He moved his hands through his inky wet locks, gently pulling out the wet knots, slightly frustrated.

“Why didn’t I just wear a hat,” he mumbled, looking at his reflection in the glass-framed vintage absinthe poster in his booth.

He looked around the Midgard tavern, stealing glances with the onlookers. Unfortunately, none of the people were attractive to Loki. They were almost as boring as his fellow warriors napping back at the lodge. Except for one possibility, Loki had scouted out early upon his arrival.

You had been drinking yourself into a stupor all afternoon. You hated the holidays. Especially Christmas.

In your dizzying consumption, you didn’t notice the calamitous man god enter and immediately disrobe in the furthest back booth. How could you? After five drinks in, you could barely make eye contact with the overly nice Swiss wait staff to procure you yet another cocktail.

“Un autre verre,” you spoke, again and again, barely audible to anyone other than trained tacticians of alcohol and imbibed patrons.

Loki thought someone with that kind of appetite for drinking before dinner must be a rather fun person, and likely she had some friends to bring along, who were equally as raucous.

Drink in hand, Loki made his way toward you.

Scooting in, he slid between you and the other partaker on the next bar stool. His thin yet muscled frame, a paper gliding into an envelope. His smile arriving before his words, he put his slightly damp handsomeness to good use.

“What do you say? Can I get you another round of whatever you are having? Whisky sour, is it?” Loki inspected her glass, briefly picking it up and swirling the brown liquid in the dim tavern light. Correcting his immediate rejection of the smell with another wide smile.

Slightly aghast at his sheer audacity, you batted his hand away. A pause before speaking hung in the air as you collected your sprawling thoughts on this man.

“Look, buddy, this isn’t 1977. A woman can sit at a bar and have her drink and not be bothered,” you coldly replied, pulling your glass closer to your person, making a skittering sound across the bar. Loki was slightly perturbed but not yet daunted.

He liked you, a challenge.

On Asgard and practically any other realm, including Midgard-women (and most men) usually fell prey to his charm eventually. Although feeling the sting of your unkind words, perhaps he was misguided in thinking that you were, well…fun?

Taking a moment for himself, too, he thought carefully about what to do next.

Lost in thought, he drummed his long fingers along the bar to the songs from the old jukebox. You were likely what they called “feminist” on Earth he decided. Or maybe worse, you were scorned? Loki began to conjure all kinds of less tantalizing possibilities. He could still depart from your range and go to any other starry-eyed woman on the premise. Yet, he felt he must proceed.

You continued drinking while he was thinking, eventually gesturing to the wait staff to refill your glass again. You turned slightly to avoid this man and return to your thoughts, which were enough for you, and only you, thank you very much.

Languidly you pulled out a pack of cigarettes procured in Paris last Spring. What a treat from your usual hand-rolled. They were long, like your legs, and you liked how they delicately framed your face as you smoked them. Lighting one up, you took a long drag, inhaling, luxuriating. Smoke billowing, obscuring, creating a pillow of silence around you.

You hoped he would get the hint.

After some time and about three Fleetwood Mac songs later, Loki was done pretending he was listening to the music. It was decided he would go another route to entice your interest. You could be a bad girl deep down, and a little frisky yet direct wordplay might just turn your attitude around. He needed to let you know just what he wanted. Leaning in again, Loki made his second attempt.

“My little pet, you are delightful. So full of energy. Let me invite you to a little soiree up the mountain. My brother and I are looking for beautiful women like you to accompany us.”

This was the last straw. You promptly turned your body and looked at Loki with a coy smile, concealing the boiling vitriol behind your sugary pink lip gloss. You blew a thick cloud of smoke directly in his face.

“You minx!” he yelled a little too dramatically as you reached over and left the wait staff money for your tab.

Pulling your puffer jacket on and zipping up quickly, you knew you better exit the scene before this man could stop you with another word or by the reach of his long limbs. You were out the tavern door and peeling towards your chalet down the street.

Yet, of course, he followed you.

Leaving all his winter gear behind, Loki ran through the puffy soufflé of snow in just his flannel. His still-wet hair immediately froze into charcoal icicles. It was very illogical, and Loki chastised himself internally as he ran.

Why bother with this woman? Clearly, she was not interested in his company. Likely 20 other women (and some men) in the tavern would have certainly been a “YES” and not required such theatrics. He yelled at you. You kept walking faster, slightly jogging now. Maybe it was time to try his modest charm. He switched gears yet again.

“By the Norns, why are you running? I’m sorry, my lady, if I have offended you,” Loki choked out as he tried to keep pace with you, finally catching up, arms flapping.

You stopped. You replayed what you thought you had just heard.

“By the Norns.”

It echoed in your head as if you’d suddenly been transplanted into a canyon. A lightning bolt struck you dead in your tracks. You could barely turn to look this stranger in the eye.

“Who are you?” was the only thing that came out of your mouth. Your eyes narrowed as if squinting would reveal something of this man’s heritage and identity.

“Who am I?” He repeated in shallow breaths. Loki was slightly put off. He hadn’t thought this far in advance, was he to tell the woman his real name? You tried to speak again.

“The only time I’ve heard that spoken in the last thousand years was from a Viking.”

He couldn’t be.

It just couldn’t be.

Although looking at him and adjusting your gaze in the singular light of the streetlamp, your mind slowly made a match. He did look familiar, but it was so so long ago.

“Who are you? I should be asking, perhaps,” Loki mused, now wide-eyed. His attention laser-focused on you. The mention of a “thousand years” perked his interest in you even more.

He didn’t expect to find anyone other than your typical Midgardian bores tucked away in these mountains. You were different, not just because you rebuked him. He sought you out. It wasn’t just your negative attitude that attracted him.

You stood near him, looking at every detail. His light eyes, his dark hair. His almost perfect triangle nose. The last time you saw him was from a distance when he arrived to fetch his brother and take him back to Asgard.

Your lover god. Thor. In the woods of Norvegr.

Loki looked closer at your jacket. It appeared like any old puffer ski jacket, except for the diamond and crystal broach you wore on the lapel. You had worn that broach every day for the last thousand years. Almost without thought, you fastened it to your clothing every day since Thor gave it to you.

“Mother’s broach,” Loki thought to himself as he looked up from your lapel and into your searching eyes. His face stone, unmoving. Shock rolled through him.

At this moment, he was confident playing all his cards was not what the occasion called for.

You instinctively placed your hand on it protectively when you caught him looking at it. Time stilled. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes. Emotions long gone came thundering back like your lost god, but his brother was now before you.

Not Thor.

Not the man you had given your maidenhood to all those years ago.

Not the man who told you that you would be queen someday.

Not the man who gave you Indunn’s apple.

Not the man who made you immortal.

The wind picked up, blowing your hair, and a new wave of snow began falling on you both. You wondered what alchemical spell had brought this day to you after so long. No contact. Nothing. You had given up.

Thor had disappeared. Wearing the broach had become routine, although it was barely connected to the past. If the concept of the past even existed in your eternal life.

Loki cut the silence, as he was keen to do. He wanted his following words to you to be the most careful yet.

“Dear woman, I don’t mean to bother you. I intended to invite you to a party, that is all. Now I see I’ve caused you harm. I must ask, though, do we know one another?”

He concealed what he suspected deep within his being just in case you might be able to read his mind or his auric field. You also could not tell him the truth. You knew that much.

If this was indeed Loki, the god of chaos, brother of Thor, he could use your words against you or worse. You were living on borrowed time from Asgard after all.

You spoke again, each word tenderly cloaked.

“We do not know one another, but I am also not entirely like the people here in this village, as it seems you might have noticed.”

“I did notice,” Loki spoke back with a sanguine hush, a purposeful caution edging on something more.

“That is why your mention of the Norse gods took me aback, I have some familiarity with them, but it was long ago.” That was all you would ever say you decided. That was enough. If he was clever at all, he could draw his own conclusions.

“How long ago did you have familiarity with them? If you don’t mind, just a few more questions.”

Loki was surprising himself in this conversation. In another instance, he might had you up against the wall of the corner drug store, one of his knives curled to your neck, forcing a confession. But he did not have his magic, and in this vulnerable state, he defaulted to using his silver tongue instead of his silver blade.

“I do mind, and I am done answering your questions. I am going to retire to my home, um, sir, I didn’t get your name.”

“Loki. My name is Loki.”

There it was.

Memory is a fragmented thing after so many years. If your life had ended when it should have, perhaps at 35, you might not have the darkness in your heart. Darkness prompted moving from village to village when your family and friends died, and you didn’t.

A darkness that you tried to enliven with dalliances into different religions, each with its unique unsatisfactory conclusion. The darkness you tried to quell with lovers and with liquor.

Eventually, you only thought of Thor every hundred years or so. Every hundred years you let yourself still wonder.

Would the gods be back?

Would your god-king return?

Every hundred year you sent silent prayers to Odin’s raven, even if they were with half your heart.

Stilling the shiver pulsating through you, you pulled your arms close to your body.

They were back. Both brothers. Both gods. Broken through the veil of the Christian god and here back on Midgard.

You could not ask about his brother waiting around at the chalet for him to return. You could not step forward or backward. You could not speak Thor’s name.

Loki noticed your hesitation and fright, his annoyance and curiosity changing into concern. He was now sure you would not be heading back to the party with him.

He wondered how much time he had. Were Thor and the rest decorating and waiting for him to return with a crowd? What about the riddle he tasked himself to solve with his superior intellect so they could go home…

His attention had wandered intimately, and completely to this stranger. These earlier concerns seemed so very far away now. Whoever you were, you were hiding your identity, and without his powers or magic, he wouldn’t know who you were unless you told him.

He knew you were beautiful, and the more licentious part of his being wondered if maybe the right thing to do would be to return to your place with you.

Would you soften if he confessed what he knew of the Vikings too? Were you a kind of Midgardian planet-bound Valkyrie? Unable to leave the gravity of this banal realm?

These thoughts ran wild in his mind as he carefully considered if he should let you go.

You knew he didn’t want you to leave.

It seemed that the Norns were overriding all the time you usually spent avoiding contact with others. This was a moment to either tell Loki everything or simply be quiet, reveling in your answered prayers, which were somehow heard once again. They had been heard once before by Odin’s ravens, after all, it shouldn’t be so shocking to finally have it happen again.

But instead of bringing you back to Thor, they brought you, his brother. Loki.

Were the Norns asking you to be twice a concubine to the gods?

This time you were not a naïve village girl.

This time your earnest reverence had been tempered with knowing both passion, love, and disappointment. You knew how life on Earth worked by now and this time your prayers were answered, it was going to go a different way.

Taking in the visage of Loki’s crestfallen and reserved demeanor, you spoke gently. The Norns were playing with your frozen heart.

He was in fact very handsome. More handsome in some ways than your Thor. You could tell Loki’s whole existence was based on rearranging reality, stirring the pot. He wasn’t one for morals or any Midgardian principles of peace the many religions of the populace extolled. You liked that.

You hadn’t felt this kind of madness, this kind of power, in so long. The more you stared at Loki, the more the feeling grew. This power you once felt in your Viking village. The reason you prayed to Thor. You cherished the Norse gods still as much as you had tried to forget about them.

Could you take this man before you home? This god of mischief, could you take him into your body as you had his brother so easily? Not any ordinary woman could change her heart like this, lean into the plaid shirt wearing destiny before her. You were not ordinary.

Finally, you spoke. “I live nearby. It might be nice to talk about the old days for a while. Since you seem to also know about them. Only If you promise not to ask why I know about the old days in 1986.”

Loki looked flummoxed. You had taken the words from him—a rare thing for a human to do.

You had asked him over first; he was not in need of seducing you.

You both walked quickly in the bracing air, watching one another with growing interest. Loki could not shake his need to know just who you were, although his other need to bed you seemed to be taking precedence over getting to the truth. When you arrived to the chalet, you turned the lights on briefly to find matches so you could light candles. You flicked the lights back off quickly when the flames held your tiny house with enough light to see his face and his tall thin frame. You knew he must be freezing.

To warm things up you turned on the old space heater and rubbed your hands together. Loki was shaking. Resisting the urge to coil your body next to his, evoking the ancient snake rituals you could only vaguely recall, you only let your hand rest on his for a few seconds too long as you handed him a blanket.

“No Christmas decorations for you then?” Loki laughed as he surveyed the bare, dimly lit front room. His usual bravado was not on full display in this unfamiliar situation.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” you said flatly, nervously.

“That explains your cheerful disposition then,” Loki jested.

You laughed. An earnest laugh. You were remiss about what to do next. Offer him another drink? You were quite drunk still. In fact, you wondered if in your drunken state you were imagining all this. A cruel trick.

As the heater kicked in, off came more clothes. Leaving only your black turtleneck and corduroys remaining. Next, you unraveled your hair from its braid, placing your barrettes on the side table, it was relaxing, it felt like the home you knew so long ago. Although another drink would be nice. You both needed your nerves settled.

So, whisky from the cabinet was poured into diminutive glasses. Loki started talking about how interesting it was to meet someone who knew of the Norns. His voice sounded like ocean waves coming and going. It was hard to find his exact words in the swell. The low rumble of each sentence felt controlled by the moon or something even more mysterious.

It was intoxicating. Thor did not have this effect on you, you remembered as much.

The anti-hero, it seemed, had more verve.

Not to be too taken by Loki, you remembered bad boys could be easy to let go of. They were often the first ones to leave anyway. Thor wasn’t a bad boy-he was summoned back to Asgard.

This Loki would likely go on his own even before coffee.

The night wore on and eventually you were sitting wrapped in blankets, holding your whisky, talking in what seemed endless cantos. Your voice joined his ocean huskiness until a sweet murmur flowed. You didn’t realize how much you needed to discuss the old world with someone who knew it as you did. Somehow, you’d won the favor of the Allfather once again. You were two drunk strangers nested in the protection of Yggdrasil’s branches. Time had moved and yet not moved at all.

You said his name, “Loki,” and placed your hands on his legs, fingers finding their way under the coarse wool. It was now or never, you supposed, as the sun began to rim the outline of the mountains—nearly dawn.

You were not going to hang on to this god. No tears. No wailing.

You were going to let him go so you better hurry up having him.

Loki was seemingly at your service. Besotted, he let you take the lead.

Your hands removed the blankets from his body, his skin now warm and growing warmer with your nimble hands finding buttons, clasps, and pulling sleeves off his body. You used your teeth, nearly nipping his skin, causing a quick inhalation of air from Loki as he helped you remove his clothes.

He leaned into your body, his head in the crook of your neck, turning his face upward, his blue-green princely eyes taking you in. He finally remarked how truly beautiful you were, kissing you deeply, tongue folding into your mouth, hands holding the back of your head.

“This evening sure took a detour.” He laughed, slightly self-consciously, in whispers.

“I don’t think this is a detour Loki, I knew what I was doing inviting you over.”

“But you nearly poured your drink on my head earlier, and you blew smoke in my face,” he continued laughing in between kissing your neck.

“If those were your real pick-up lines, then I’m sorry,” you smiled pulling back from him slightly. His naked form was gorgeous to behold. When Loki noticed your eyes drinking in every inch of him, he laughed even more.

“Hardly fair, I’m naked, and you still have your clothes on.”

You shrugged your shoulders and smiled.

“I think we need to fix this,” Loki spoke softly as he took off your shirt.

Naked, after some awkward adjustments, including a bra clasp that was apparently broken, Loki’s hands were once again on you, worshipping your body.

The long fingers that earlier in the evening were swatted away when they grabbed your drink at the tavern were now not nearly deep enough inside you. You felt his cock on your stomach. He was impossibly hard, but you were begging for more—one more finger inside you.

Loki could read your mind and crept down the length of your body until his mouth found your wet folds. His fingers and his mouth moved in tandem. You arched your back, spreading your legs in a reverent gesture. You thought briefly of the prayers you had sent to Odin’s ravens to have Thor back, the god you loved. How immature you were even at your age. You hadn’t consciously considered. Perhaps Thor had not been your destined lover all along.

The raven had flown your message to another god.

Loki. Loki.Loki.

You called his name aloud as he sunk his cock inside you. Your hands held on to him with all your life. The lewd noises from his cock slamming inside your welcoming body flushed your cheeks. It had been a while. You forgot what being fucked shamelessly sounded like.

“Open your eyes, dove. I want you to feel this and see it. I want you to look down.” Loki growled into your neck.

You barely dared to glance-but you lifted your body and looked at the god between your legs.

His cock was the most glorious sight. Your cheeks deepened their color as you brought your eyes back to his. His breathing was unsteady.

“You are so beautiful. I wanted you to see how beautiful your pussy looks with my cock inside it,” his words barely audible. He was picturesque. His cock was stunning. His body. His finely hewn muscles. His large hands were holding on to you for dear life. His thighs were holding you hostage.

“Come for me my dove, come for me, whoever you are,” Loki said as he skillfully slammed his body deeper and deeper into your core.

Your immortal strength had rarely been tested with any human lovers. This seemed an apt moment to try it out with Loki. You were never able to do so with Thor.

Suddenly you flipped him over. The shock of being flung startled him as you pinned his hands down to the floor and rode him harder. Harder. Unable to hold you, unable to do anything but be rode, Loki’s orgasm arrived unexpectedly. His growl became a scream, and he finally wrestled his hands from yours.

Grabbing your hips, he bounced you up and down on his cock with all his strength, your body almost unable to stay upright, only his massive cock holding you in place. You felt him come inside you, and as he slowed his movements, you found your release too. You were finally closing your eyes. Savoring. You both lay still, perhaps shocked at the perfection that just occurred.

Dawn soon flooded the room, and the rising sun dwarfed the candlelight. Loki was on the verge of falling asleep. His naked, well rode body was strewn akimbo on the floor. Swaths of light colored his alabaster skin a light citrine. He was magnificent.

“It’s morning, Loki. You must go,” you said after the tiniest inner debate on the merits of exchanging phone numbers or whatever you did in 1986. One thousand years ago, things were a little more severe. Queen, wife-something permanent. Something forever. Not so today.

“You’re kicking me out?” Loki opened his eyes and turned his body to face yours, hands running up and down your body as you attempted to cover it with a blanket.

“I thought maybe we could stay in touch?” Loki said awkwardly.

“Or have breakfast? This seems incredibly too short of an encounter,” he lingered on your neck, peppering kisses again.

“Really?” you said, keeping your cool.

“What about that big party you and your brother are throwing? I am sure there will be many women there once you return their glances. Even when I was rejecting you, don’t think I didn’t see them all staring at you,” you admitted.

Loki sat up. He was confused. Even after passionately fucking this woman, he was still not willing to divulge who he was, and he could tell she was also not readily going to confess anything further.

“The party was a dumb idea,” Loki now felt sheepish.

“When my brother and I get together and cause trouble sometimes I like to make it worse.”

“The old gasoline on the fire thing, huh?” you replied.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Is that what this was to you Loki? More trouble?”

Loki paused. Now even more unsure.

“No, it wasn’t. It was real. I wanted to spend the night with you. I didn’t want to bring you back to our chalet, to the party,” Loki mused. Pressure building in his chest. Nerves or something else.

He had said too much to you already.

He jumped up, dressing quickly not looking further at you. You were also hurriedly putting something on, just enough to see him to the door where you hoped he was heading. As much as this might be something, for all the pain being in love with one god caused, being in love with another was an equally bad prospect. You knew this. You were sticking to your guns. No more gods.

Realizing there was a long walk ahead for him and he was still woefully underdressed he sighed in defeat. Maybe he could just stay for coffee?

Then suddenly something happened. In the blink of an eye, Loki was wearing the jacket he left at the tavern. Your jaw dropped open.

“What,” you yelled, walking towards him feeling his chest, pulling at the fur-lined hood in disbelief.

“How?” you rubbed your eyes and blinked again, yes he was in fact wearing his coat now.

“Oh no,” Loki looked at you with embarrassment and with some nascent excitement.

“I think you owe me an explanation! How did you just make your coat appear?”

Knowing he was a god was one thing, but you honestly didn’t expect him to reveal himself in such a pedestrian kind of way. Where was the big fanfare? Weren’t Loki and Thor warriors with powers beyond the comprehension of mere mortals?

“I, I..well, I didn’t have this um ability earlier,” he quixotically spoke.

You were now in a bad spot. Was he going to say more? Would you have to now confess everything just because he magicked his coat from the pub?

It occurred to Loki at about the same time, that his seiðr had come back, he had obviously solved his father’s riddle. Loki stared at you.

You.

You were the riddle.

Your heart was frozen. He had melted it. How could Odin have known? He felt his own heart beating in his chest, if there had also been ice on it, it was a soggy mess. What had he done?

He needed to get back to Thor. No doubt the Bifrost would be pummeling from the sky at any minute. They needed to go home.

Knowing full well this lame magic was possible because he was a god you tried to put him at ease without revealing anything further.

“I’ll just chalk that up to me being still a little drunk Loki,” you laughed, trying to make him feel relieved. He smiled and a knowing look graced his face.

“Thank you for understanding, and not asking too many questions.”

“I could say the same thing about you mister,” you tried to be casual.

“Well then thank you for the beautiful evening,” Loki leaned down and kissed your forehead.

Feeling confused yet again, he was thankful to you for so many things.

“Wait Loki, I want you to have something,” you ran over to your own coat hanging on your wooden rocking chair. You carefully unpinned the broach. Holding it in your clasped hand, you fought back tears of a thousand years held in your heart. You couldn’t stop them. They cascaded down your face as you handed Loki the broach. Immediately Loki backed away from you.

“I can’t take this y/n. Obviously, this must mean something to you. Why would you give this to me?” Loki held your shoulders as you held your hand out to him. He was full of questions. He knew this broach was his mother’s. He still didn’t know why this woman he just made love to had it. It occurred to him that she was some Asgardian exile. Maybe she was a friend of his mother’s from long ago? He could not take it from her, he knew that much. He refused.

“You must take it Loki,” you raised your voice slightly.

“It was never mine to keep, none of this was.”

“What do you mean? None of this?”

You took his large hand in yours and placed the broach, folding his long fingers around it.

“Go.”

Stupefied, Loki did as you asked.

“I do hope our paths cross again my lady, there are so many things left unsaid,” he bowed slightly and hesitantly left. As the door closed you fell in a heap against it.

With his seiðr restored Loki immediately returned to the chalet to find his friends packed and ready to leave. Obviously, they had their powers back as well. Thor stood unceremoniously in his blue jeans, hands on his hips.

“I see that you were in no hurry to return to us Loki, we’ve been waiting since near dawn.”

Loki scoffed, “I see you are unthankful, for it was me that solved father’s riddle.”

Thor narrowed his eyes. “Brother, do tell us how you did it.”

“A woman.”

“If that is not the most unoriginal thing I have ever heard!” Thor was really laughing now.

“Let me guess your gracious powers as a lover solved the riddle.”

“Something like that,” Loki offered, fiddling with the broach in his pocket.

“Here. You should give this back to mother,” Loki pulled the diamond broach out of his pocket all the way and placed it in Thor’s shocked hand.

He inspected it, his face growing pale. It couldn’t be. You.

Loki could swear he heard the faint crackle of thunder in the air.

With his voice raised at least ten octaves, Thor yelled at Loki.

“Brother where in all the nine realms did you GET THIS!”

#winter warmers collection #loki x reader #loki collab #writers supporting writers #loki fandom #loki laufeyson #loki fluff and smut #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki odinson #tom hiddleston #loki #mcu #thor #loki fanfic

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fakefrench10 · 3 months

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Fine minds

Berliners, they will dance on anything. They will clap on anything. They will jump on anything. They like hugs. I love.

They do their best to look their best. Mustache. Sunglasses inside. Rolling cigarettes. Hat on the side. Hat over a headband. All black. Classic. Self bleached hair. Self holled t-shirts. One stand of hair blond. Chess print shirt. Never take a coat off. Red pants. Never do your hair. Only one sock. Long hair. Show whites. Adidas pants. No pants. Summer dress with a winter scarf.

At Panke in Wedding, we talked about pickles. How they are made with vinegar in Switzerland and how they are made with salt water in Germany. Ulysses preferred german ones. Funny how the same morning I saw a video of how someone made a purse from glass and was carrying pickles on a subway.

A carpet on a floor in a club. Cello on it with a band like a present, with a lot of sex toys laying around. That’s the noise scene. A girl playing on a cello with all those toys. Sitting on the carpet. Her. I think amazingly beautiful hands. Bear feet. Wearing her grandmas nightgown. Five sizes too big. One shoulder free. Watching.

She would pick the toys in sequence she rehearsed and make sounds with them. A thirty centimeter plug made the best sound. Looked like a giant necklace. One guy was sitting with his eyes closed. One next to me looking very curiously. He smelled of wood and eucalyptus and lime. I didn’t want to move. „Her hair grows an inch every two days. I also noticed your hair. Just like silk on a translucent glowing egg“. This is the only thing I remembered from „poor things „ I watched an hour ago.

On the ride home, the radio says „ Jam FM. Deine Nummer eins für neue Muzik“ -Your number one for new music. Then Nelly by Kelly plays. Back in for a surprise.

#berlin #music #noise #alternatve #art #diary #memories #city

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savysing · 1 year

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we-love-imagines · 3 years

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Christmas Countdown Day Four: Frosty

During a very rough Holiday season, Giorno makes your first snowfall special.

Warning: Part 5 Spoilers, very canon divergent, some angst before the fluff!

Ao3 Link

Where you come from, snow was a rarity at best. The air would grow cold during the winter, and the wind would blow a bit harder- but ultimately, snow never came. This always soured the holiday season for you, seeing the TV specials with Rudolph and Santa just made you feel bad. You’ve always wanted a white Christmas, but sometimes, the world wasn’t fair.

Until you met Giorno.

The mafioso himself didn’t have a good history with the holidays, either; his family life was rough, and that really stung during this time of year. It wasn’t until he joined the gang until he’d gotten a proper Christmas present. He’d never admit it to you, but he shed a few happy tears that night alone in his room. Bruno knew most of the members of his gang didn’t have a family to return to during the holidays, so he made sure everyone got a gift and a nice, warm breakfast on Christmas morning.

When Giorno joined, you’d already been apart of the gang for two years, you being one of the earlier members. You always looked forward to Christmas with Bruno, and when the newer members came along, you insisted on helping him get gifts. That escalated into essentially being co-party planner; you helped make breakfast, put up decorations, and with everything else that needed doing.

Last Christmas was a lot of fun, you remember. You and Bruno outdid yourselves, the villa you were all sharing full of bring lights and tasty food. You couldn’t believe your eyes, but Abbachio was caught smiling on multiple occasions, and Narancia looked so happy when you got him the newest Tupac album he wanted so badly.

That was their last Christmas.

After everything that happened with the boss, your happy little family was now three members short. As everyone grieved, you and Giorno found comfort with each other, eventually connecting enough to start going steady, but by no means were you okay. The remaining team members, now including Trish, were planning on spending Christmas morning at the villa- but when you arrived there a few days before to start decorating, you realized you weren’t ready to go back yet.

Using his immense wealth as the new Don of the mafia, Giorno decided everyone involved in the Boss’ fiasco needed a well-deserved break, and payed for everyone to stay at a secure cabin in Switzerland for a few days. Everyone was excited, and when you arrived, everyone took some much needed time to unwind. There was a bit of a divide-and-conquer mentality among the cabin’s patrons, each person retreating to a different corner of the structure so they could get some much needed peace and quiet. However, you and Giorno tended to stay together, taking the time to enjoy each other’s company before work started up again.

After a day or two, you began to feel a little blue. It was nice to live with Mista and Fugo again, but you missed them so much. They would have loved this. Narancia would have loved to go skating in town, and Abbachio would’ve wanted to taste the local cuisine. You could practically picture Bruno right now, all swaddled up in his tacky holiday sweater setting up his little nativity scene in the kitchen. He was always kitschy like that.

“Amore, are you alright?” Giorno asked you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You were completely phased out, taking in the surroundings you forgot you were in. Giorno had his arm wrapped around you as you both watched the TV, a fluffy blanket lazily draped over you as the chilly air in the living room surrounded you.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, swallowing the sad feeling in your gut, “I’m just- thinking about them.”

He nodded at your words, his brows knitting as he slightly held you a little tighter.

“...Bruno always loved this time of year, huh?” he spoke gently, selecting his words thoughtfully as not to upset you. Knowing how volatile you could be whenever they were mentioned, he always tried his best to speak with you calmly rather than get apologetic.

“Christmas was our thing,” you smile slightly, thinking back to your beloved leader, “I’ll never forget your face when we gave you that present. It took forever to wrap.”

“Y’know, I kept the bow,” he grins at you as you get a warm feeling in your chest, “It was too nice to be tossed away. I could tell you worked really hard on it.”

“You’re so cheesy sometimes, Giogio!” you lightly tease, a small laugh escaping your lips before your mind sank back to your fallen friends.

“Did I ever tell you about my first Christmas with Passione?” you asked him with a sigh, Giorno taking your hand as he shook his head.

“It was just me, Bruno, and Fugo back then,” you began, remembering the quiet night the three of you shared, “Me and Fugo were just clueless kids Bruno picked up off the street, we wouldn’t even meet Leone for another month or so. It was a nice evening, we all ate dinner together and watched Frosty the Snowman.”

You couldn’t hide the smile on your face as you continued, “At some point during the movie, Fugo started complaining on how it never snowed in Naples. Apparently his family had a private ski lodge somewhere, and he missed the heavy snow. When I told the two of them I had never seen snow before, Fugo called me ignorant.”

“You haven’t?” he mused, a little smile creeping in his face, “Haven’t seen snow, I mean?”

“Not even once,” you shrugged, “But Bruno promised me he’d make a snowman with me. He’d always keep a spare scarf and hat by the door just in case.”

Finally meeting Giorno’s gaze again, your sad eyes met his mischievous ones. You wanted to be mad at him- you were clearly upset, while his face seemed pleased- but when you turned around to see what he was looking at, you nearly screamed.

Through the living room window, you could see little snowflakes gently falling toward the ground, which had quickly blanketed into a thick sheet of snow. Jumping off the couch like a child, you scampered over to the window, pressing your hands up against the window. Unable to stop yourself, you reach for the door, letting in a crisp breeze as you fling the door open. Giorno calls out to you from the couch, but you couldn’t hear him.

Running down the steps of the porch, your nose already turning red, you shakily reach a hand out as you let the little snowflakes land into your palm. You’re surprised at how quiet it is; the pitter-patter you expected was absent, only the sound of your breathing and footsteps behind you.

“You forgot your coat, (y/n)!” Giorno laughed, sliding a thick, wooly jacket over your shoulders. You don’t turn around to look at him, but you hear a happy sigh escape his lips as you adjust the garment around you.

When he clears his throat, you finally turn to face him, your eyes lighting up as you see a familiar hat and scarf in hands. You gasped, bringing your hands up to your face as you tried to fight back little tears.

“I remember Bruno telling me about his little promise last Christmas,” he admitted, letting you take the old, raggedy scarf in your hands, “Seeing as this is Switzerland, I got a feeling you’d need them.”

You practically leapt at him, holding him close as the snow swirled around you. In retrospect, you should have thanked him in that moment, but no words were exchanged; you didn’t have to say anything, because he knew this meant more to you than anything else.

You loosened your grip on your lover before giving him the brightest smile he’d seen since last Christmas.

“Shall we?”

You two made a simple, yet charming little snowman in the yard that day, thinking on how they would have loved this. Watching over the two of you, they certainly did.

#jjba x reader #jjba #giorno x reader #giorno #giorno giovanna #inbox is open #angst #fluff #part 5 spoilers #DO YOU WANNA BUILD A SNOWMAN-

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septembriseur · 3 years

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Snippet of Zemo fic I’m working on as a change of scenery.

The Pashtuns have a story they tell, dating back to the nineteenth century— to the time of the Second Anglo-Afghan War. A girl walks onto a battlefield: not just any battlefield, but a small pass in the mountains. It is distinguished by no notable history, this pass, and with no notable history yet to come. Amidst this breach in the wall of individually-named mountains— Tabal Koh, Torah Shah, and Shah Maksud— two armies mingle. On one side, the turban-hatted tribesmen, barefoot perhaps in their shalwar kameez; and on the other, the empire in their red coats and khaki.

(He has always enjoyed the way that the English say khaki, inventing an implicit r and in the process rendering it less a color than a state of being. In the Persian it was a color; to be khak-e was to be earth-genitive, dirt-affiliated. But the British: oh, they are so very much feeling khaki.)

The battle, as you might expect, is not exactly even-sided. The turban-wearers are being massacred. And yet onto the field this girl comes— this girl called Malala, this water-bearer, daughter of shepherds, and when she sees that the flag has fallen, she takes the scarf from about her head and waves it to her countrymen as a battle standard. In her own language, she sings a poem of war, a landay, saying: I will take the blood from my lover, who has died for our homeland, and I will wear it upon my forehead as a beauty-mark.

And, as you might then expect, the Pashtuns won the battle.

Today the story is told with different morals, which we need not delve too deep into: the strength of women, the glory of Afghanistan. Ask a Pashtun, however, and he may tell you that you have misunderstood the story entirely. Only in Pashtu could Malala have made such a cry, and it was by the secret power of this language that she rallied the people of Maiwand. That power remains within the words now, though quiescent. You can feel it with each pronunciation, in the bones of your teeth. Try.

***

These days, Zemo speaks English, although he reads in French and German— sometimes Russian, if he’s feeling particularly full of vim. When James Barnes visited him in the prison, it had been four hundred and eighty-five days since he spoke the Sokovian language. He was surprised, following his escape from the prison, by how naturally it came to his lips, and then disturbed to find it recurring without his permission. He would search for a Russian word, and find the Sokovian word there instead. Phrases disarticulated themselves and reassembled in podge-hodge chunks of polyglottism. Dayte mi le knigu. Hast du li videl’ mokh ami?

He feels out of control, no longer practiced at wrangling the storm of undercurrents that run seething, awaiting the moment to reassert themselves again.

***

It’s easier reassuming the role of baron. And when Zemo welcomes his new companions into his automotive collection, his personal jet, the Avenger (Wilson) looks at him with intermingled disgust and envy. Zemo wonders what Wilson knows about growing up in a place synonymous with war zone, a place that can be, with such indifference, wiped from the map. Perhaps: a bit. Perhaps he knows the precarity of the rat that strains against the limits of its rat-world; the alacrity with which it will climb atop the backs of other rats. Perhaps he knows enough to have some measure of admiration for the nimble and swift acrobatics involved in becoming the king rat.

His family’s title has been meaningless since 1939. His grandparents and great-grandparents were shiftless and malcontent exiles before that, drifting about the upscale resorts of Europe, racking up some truly aristocratic bills on credit and mysteriously vanishing as part of their exotic-Ottoman act. Only after they’d been stripped of their status did they settle down to make some money: who better to sell you some exceptionally dodgy artifacts than an exceptionally dodgy artifact? He wonders sometimes how many of Sokovia’s Thracian tombs and medieval churches had their treasures pried loose at his grandfather’s hand.

Better, perhaps, that the art survived, he supposes. Given—

See, a man can justify anything. This is his great skill. Imagine the elaborate artifices, or perhaps edifices is the word he intended to have chosen, the high structures he constructs for himself to pretend that he has escaped the land of rats at last.

***

He likes Barnes, and not just with the noblesse oblige that his family, fantastically gifted at speaking in one way and acting in another, took care to drill into him. He likes Barnes because it’s instructive to observe his struggle: here is a man who was a men among men, and now he is not a man any longer, and he thinks this means he can no longer live in the land of men. You can see it on his face, a haunted look, as though the world has invented a new kind of pain just for him.

Zemo knows him better, perhaps, than anyone has ever known him. Better than he perhaps knows himself. Every video, where video footage exists: Zemo has seen it. Every audio recording of a sound that the Winter Soldier made.

(What Zemo would confess to an interviewer, if one asked: in all honesty, it becomes rather boring, consuming repeated acts of violence. One person dying looks much like another, and any honest soldier will say so. After a time, you find yourself skipping past the screams and gurgling. You are irritated with how long it takes them to die. With torture, the same: how many times can Barnes’s face achieve the same contortions? Must they use the electricity over and over? Haven’t they a creative bone between them? Zemo knows, of course, that the monotony itself is an aspect of the torture. And, too, it’s useful for the torturers: past a certain point, not only habit but an exhaustion of the empathy sets in. Still, something in him rebels, perhaps his last moral instinct. Yes, it’s true, his boredom is moral! He would like to believe so. Do what you’re going to do, he thinks, but for fuck’s sake don’t make it commonplace.)

He’s even watched the tapes of Barnes’s earliest therapy sessions— not his deprogramming, in Wakanda, where Zemo had failed, to his frustration, to find an in from his prison, but the psychotherapy that followed his return to the United States. The sessions made for quite compelling viewing; in his earliest days of isolation, they obsessed him. Barnes was a ragged, still-feral creature in them. He was prone to prolonged and uncomfortable bouts of silence. It took him a long time to find language. When asked to reflect on this, he sat for a long time without speaking. Zemo can picture him now: oddly soft-edged where he hunched in the oversized armchair, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his fingers. He had lost a dramatic amount of weight, and his face looked haunted, but he had not yet cut his hair.

“Maybe there are words for what I want to say,” Barnes said, “but don’t know ’em. I don’t know how you would learn ’em. So everything has to be translated. You know? Or— not even translated. It’s like I’m the first person who’s ever had to say it. I’ve got to find the right shape cookie cutter to show you. The right…sharpness.” His metal fingers twitched. Zemo liked to think that he was looking for a knife.

A knife was a cookie cutter that was always the right shape cookie cutter.

In that moment, watching, Zemo had wished too for a knife. Not because he did not know the borders or form of his response, his reminiscence, but out of outrage at the very authenticity of Barnes’s speechlessness. How, Zemo thought, do you not know the words?

He had thought that everyone possessed this secret language, though you did not reveal your fluency in it, at least not in polite company. No wonder Barnes is so unmade. He has passed the age when one acquires such skill through sudden immersion.

(He himself experienced, perhaps, the opposite form of immersion. His childhood between the wars was sheltered by privilege, he knew only that any persons could vanish without warning, and that you would hear, later, hushed whispers when their bodies were found: exegesis of the marks from a which a saga of pain could be inferred. Then came age nine, and the daring, unprecedented separatist attack on his prestigious lycée. The wet red flesh of a classmate; the smeared trajectory of a body sketched out where a child had collapsed against a wall. His parents said, This Is No Place For a Child. In a month’s time he was living comfortably in Switzerland, Hong Kong, Madripoor, places that were For a Child. He spoke French, German, and English. In time, he came to associate the Sokovian language with that other language of his childhood: fear and grief. He thought less of his classmates because they were ignorant of these languages, acquired a kind of hauteur about it— at the same time as he understood, on some childish level that resisted penetration, how his expertise was the source of a morbid, drenching shame. )

Perhaps there is a kinship that comes between two men who speak the same language. In Madripoor, he feels it, as he caresses Barnes’s body and detects no flinch. An almost sexual pull there, maybe. Dangerous; electric.

Does Barnes know that Zemo plans to kill him at the conclusion of this escapade?

Difficult to guess.

#tfatws #my fic

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pumpkinnubbin · 3 years

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I don’t normally post about politics but Switzerland has just voted yes to making covering your face illegal. Nevermind the fact that this has been voted for in the middle of a fucking pandemic (yes, wearing a mask is now illegal, except it’s also mandatory so ????) Also illegal is wearing a scarf to cover your face when it’s cold outside. I do wonder how that’s gonna work when up in the mountains for winter sports.

More importantly, this now means that wearing a burka is illegal.

Congratulations, Switzerland, you just voted to take people’s rights away. But what else is new in this backwards, racist and discriminating country. I am utterly disgusted and upset.

#politics #switzerland #racism #disrcimination #i fucking hate this country #if anyone sees more posts about this please DM me them

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virginiablossoms · 7 months

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d-naggeluide · 4 years

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In which All Might is definitely not a pizza man

Or, the unofficial epilogue of In Which Dabi is Definitely Not a Todoroki, inspired by a review from Fwgaltx.

"Pizza's here, can you get the door, Toga-chan?" asked Jin. "No, I'll do it, what if it's All Might again?"

Toga rolled her eyes and pouted, but headed for the door anyway. All Might showed up once, and they all had pizza-related trauma from it, go figure. Way to ruin one of her favorite things; there was nothing better than a messy red sauce.

Besides. It was definitely not All Might. "We live in Switzerland!" she sing-songed to Jin as a reassurance. They'd managed to sneak out of Japan in the wake of Endeavor's death, using a poorly-disguised excellent disguise born of Shouto's blood sample to get the right people looking the wrong way while they did so. "All Might's in Japan!"

Her job with the local Red Cross might keep her busy enough, but she still liked to keep up with international news. Unlike some people.

Atsuhiro and Shuuichi nodded at her from the couch as she waltzed past them; Shuuichi took a moment to wonder: "Isn't it too early for pizza?" which only earned a snort from the rest of them.

The doorbell rang again, and Toga pulled it open with a toothy grin.

"Hi," said Todoroki Shouto, stepping inside, a wave indicating the two people behind him. "I brought friends."

"I'm not your friend, bastard!" yelled Bakugou, but stomped through anyway, followed closely by Midoriya.

Toga looked over Izuku with interest, liking what she saw -- he'd gained a bit of height and lots of new muscle over the past few years, and was working the tiny cap sleeves while looking surprisingly okay in purple, though red would have been better. She sighed, almost wishing Shouto had brought Ochako instead.

"What are they doing here?!" yelped Shuuichi, who'd come over to protest the cold winter draft coming through the door.

"It's Tuesday," said Shouto bluntly.

"How are you wearing crop tops in winter?" howled Jin, before adding: "Work those abs!"

"At last, the stage is set!" crowed Atsuhiro.

"I'm so glad you could come!" announced Toga, although she was skillfully denied in her attempts to gather fresh samples for the blood bank.

"It's about time we had a holiday," droned Shouto.

"What do you mean, holiday?" hissed Bakugou.

"Don't start, please don't start here," muttered Midoriya. "I can't take this anymore. And I can't believe you two petty idiots would destroy the training gym and not only risk but also earn suspension because you can't agree on who gets Momo as a best man, when I'm right here, and have always been and will always be right here."

Toga watched Shouto and Bakugou subtly turn out of Midoriya's line of sight to hide matching grins. On second thought, this was disgusting, and not in the good and bloody kind of way.

"Cut it out before I do," she announced, twirling a knife.

"The opening curtain waits for no one! Today, we celebrate a best-selling manga series whose fans have a penchant for filling up the comments section on certain music videos and striking dramatic poses…"

"And there's lots of blood!" added Toga happily, shrugging on the last bits of her costume.

"The fuck are we here, Icyhot, I thought we were going to tear up some ski slopes, not some poor fucker's canon--"

"'The only cannons I respect are Yaoyorozu's,'" mimicked Midoriya in a monotone, clearly still salty.

"--there's no need to drag it out if the story is done. Over. Finito, as they say here."

"Only in Ticino," sniffed Shuuichi, layering on another scarf. "It's so cold here. Why don't we live in Ticino?"

His protest was, as usual, ignored.

"Have you never heard of fan fiction?" wondered Toga, pausing her preparations momentarily. "How else do you get a happy ending?"

"Asshole, I make my own happy endings --"

"I'm fairly certain I help most of the time," supplied Shouto.

Midoriya screamed.

"Are you sure that's not fan fiction?" Toga needled once more, then cartwheeled out of the way of an explosion.

"Oh, that's going to get a noise complaint for sure," mourned Jin, before snarling: "Just let that nosy old neighbor call it in one more time, I'll make them wish they'd never been born!"

Toga threw a few knives at various fruits to add to the general feeling of chaos (she'd learned not to use the walls once she'd seen how large their rental deposit was), watching Atsuhiro wave scripts around while Midoriya crawled into Shuuichi's therapeutic blanket pile and Shouto and Bakugou had a surprisingly coherent yet dichotomic argument with Jin.

It might not be the end of the story, but it was happy enough for her.

#Todoroki Shouto and the League of Villains #featuring Bakugou and Midoriya #bordering on self-aware #quoting my own fics #crop tops in Switzerland #yes it's a JoJo reference #if you appreciate that #be on the lookout for my next BNHA fic #Die to Find Out #in which Dabi is definitely not a Todoroki #epilogue #die naggeluide van my sleutelbord

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polar-stars · 3 years

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EtsuNe (and Eirin..may be👉🏻👈🏻) and winter activities, if you have time for one more

EtsuNe

Throughout her life, Nene never took much notice of Christmas. Her family did not acknowledge it and so she didn’t either, simple. Until it’s her first year of dating Etsuya and Christmas comes along. Etsuya actually bought her a gift, which he hands to her when they meet up for a Christmas date. It’s a really pretty necklace which she can’t help but love but at the same time of course she instantly feels guilty for not getting him anything. He insists that it’s fine, but Nene still ends up at his door a week later with a hand knit scarf. Basically, ever since then..she’s more aware of Christmas & once she has kids who she can gift, she does grow to really like it.

Nene loves to visit Hot Springs when it’s winter and so they tend to have at least one Ryokan-Trip each and every winter.

Another thing that she loves is ice-skating. Etsuya has multiple pictures of her ice-skating, because she’s always so adorably happy when she does it.

Nene cooks a lot of Udon or Ramen throughout the cold days, to warm herself and her loved ones up. Udon actually became her middle son’s comfort food.

Etsuya once got her a ski-vacation, only to find out that Nene doesn’t know how to ski. She ended up learning it though, because she’s Nene and she like learning new things.

EiRin

Rindou preferably spends most of winter at home, since she hates the cold. Her favorite activity would be to cuddle with Eishi in front of a fireplace.

Rindou cooks a lot of soup throughout the cold days, while Eishi tries his hand on baking a lot. Winter is the time where he gets most experimental.

Eishi once took her on a sleigh ride. He held Rindou tightly throughout and had her tucked into a blanket as well, so she wouldn’t get cold while watching the winter scenery throughout them. They go sleigh-riding again once they have kids.

Ever since they live in Switzerland they visit the closest Christmas market every year (Christmas markets are a very classic Christmas tradition within the German-speaking area in Europe). Rindou buys all sorts of knick-knacks but also a lot of decoration for their house. And of course she and the kids, got to try all the food that’s served there.

Eishi goes snowboarding with Shouhei. Tsubame joins as well, but she prefers skiing. Meanwhile Rindou and Yuu stay at home to prepare dinner and also hot chocolate and mulled wine for when the others come back.

#Gofer answering to stuffz #EtsuNe #EiRin

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dylanobrienisbatman · 4 years

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I know we’ve talked about all of these but tell us more about the S6 Vampire Diaries AU & the Anastasia AU!!!

I did the TVD one here :)

As for my Anastasia AU, this is a super old idea that i had ages ago that i just never really worked on... but refuse to get rid of. I actually did a little writing on it back in the day (1280 words!!!!), and i still have dreams of finishing it... So...

My Becho Anastasia AU!

- Echo as Anastasia, the lost princess

- Bellamy as Dimitri

- Murphy as Vlad (and Emori as Sophie!)

- Harper as the Dowager Empress, but tweaked so instead she’s the sister not the grandma

- Other characters TBD honestly...

Here’s a little snippet!

The snow around her ankles was seeping through the thick wool of her socks that showed between her shoes and the too-short hem of her trousers. She turned around, staring up at the high gate of the fence that wrapped all the way around the girls boarding school she had grown up in, smoke rising from the chimney the only sign of any life. Kitty. That was her name. The one she had been given. She couldn’t remember a time before being dropped off at the school, only fragments, that she wasn’t positive weren’t just dreams or made up stories. She had been young, barely 9, and had been called Kitten by one of the nuns who ran the school, because she had followed her around for a little while after she first arrived. It sort of seemed endearing at first, like a nickname for the nameless girl, but she soon realised that was far from the truth. It was venom they spit at her. A little girl, no home, no family, left on their doorstep to be cared for on their dime. No money to give, no memory, a little girl who had to be rebuilt from the foundations. The little feral stray, bothersome and underfoot. They called her Kitty because they could not be bothered to name her.

She scrubbed chimney shoots and floors, she made fires and washed bathrooms, she ate in the kitchen, with the cook, the only kind person in the whole place, a man named Nyko. He always snuck her extra portions, and made sure she got warm soup broth at night when it was particularly cold. She would miss him, but no one else.

The wind nipped at her through her sweater, so she pulled her coat closed around her, buttoning it all the way to her neck, wrapping her scarf around her nose and mouth, and pulling the knit beanie down over her ears, and started walking.

She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she was 20, best as they could assume, and that meant they didn’t have to keep her anymore. She left with proof of her degree, a small bag of food, and the little money Nyko could spare her, in a backpack, and the clothes on her back.

She had walked for maybe half an hour, down a relatively deserted road, when she came to a fork. The sign said that left would take her to Glasgow, and right would take her to some town she had never heard of. She stood a minute in the middle of the road, staring at the sign. Both were paths untaken, both were places unseen. But something in her, something deep and long buried, drew her left. So she followed her instinct.

Little did she know what it would bring her.

-------

Bellamy and Murphy were half asleep. They had already seen 16 girls, but it was pointless.

There had been a reward announced, by Princess Harper, the last living member of the McIntyre family, an old royal Scottish family, for any information regarding her missing sister. The McIntyre Family had been killed off, brutally, almost 13 years before, but the Princess Harper had been away, studying in secret at an elite private school in Switzerland, and when her security was informed of the massacre of her family, she was whisked away to Paris to be kept safe. She had recently sent out an announcement of a handsome sum for anyone who found her sister, Princess Echo, alive or dead, or any information of her whereabouts.

So they were auditioning Princesses.

“Isn’t this like… just a little bit sleezy of us?�� Bellamy sighed, rubbing his face with his hands before picking up the next girl from the pile. Zoe Monroe, wealthy family who lost their money. She didn’t even look the part. He tossed it into the no pile.

“Nah man. The princess wants her family back, but how would she even know. Besides, she’s most likely dead anyway.” Murphy muttered, not looking up from a sheet describing a girl named Roma. He tossed her into the “maybe” pile.

“Tall, brunette, she could do it.”

“I’m done for tonight man. This is too much. Can we just go, we still have to-”

“Yeah, I know our evening plans.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, and called the last auditioning girl in. She introduced herself and talked a little, too much, with a thick german accent and her red hair was so bright it almost burned his eyes.

“Thanks, but no.” He called out over the stage. She huffed and stomped off. “I need dinner before we do it.”

“Yeah sure.”

Murphy gathered all the applications, and stuffed them into his book bag, and they both yanked on their coats and stepped out into the brisk winter air.

honestly re-reading this i really wanna jump back in... so if anyone is interested lemme know because i could actually give this a go!

#becho #echo x bellamy #wip game

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savysing · 1 year

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Buy summer beach caftan for Belgium

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Lets Discuss Seasons and caftan dress Dress -

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At the point when we put a wool scarf on the blog content schedule last month, we had absolutely no chance of understanding what amazing luck this specific blog would turn out to be! With this snow, and just freezing temperatures not too far off, it couldn't be a superior chance to discuss our #1 wool scarf.

warm scarf is one of the most adaptable extras for the cold weather months. With each outfit, a warm scarf takes on an alternate character and style. You probably won't consider a scarf a staple piece in your closet…. Yet, you ought to!

WINTER STYLING TIPS of winter scarf for Ireland

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ncardaesthetics · 4 years

Text

Y.G. International Trivia

All info is pulled directly from the Y.G. idols side stories, home screen dialogue, etc. Not really trivia but more of a collection of little fun facts, hopefully it’ll be helpful to anyone who wants to write fanfiction or make art of the Y.G. idols!

Sorted alphabetically by first name (as many Y.G. students have no canon last name), things related to relationships between the idols are at the end!

Emma Verde

Emma is a foreign exchange student from Switzerland

Emma loves quilting, nature, and mountains. She also really enjoys hot springs, as they remind her of home

Emma mentions an event where they have a tennis match with idols from other schools, and says she has very good stamina from running around the mountains of her home

Emma mentions receiving some xiaolongbao from Ranpha and seems to very much enjoy Chinese food

She seems to have a close relationship with her grandparents

Isabella

Isabella is often practicing acting more like an idol, mostly with trying out cutesy dialogue, but she’s usually unsatisfied with it and gets embarrassed

She speaks a little more formally than most people do, but naturally responds to bumping into people with a casual “my bad”

She’s very determined to be the best school idol she can be

She enjoys Japanese food a lot, and tries to make her own rice balls

She also enjoys crepes

She puts a big emphasis on training and spirit

Jennifer

Jennifer’s favorite Japanese word is “seigi”, meaning justice

Jennifer became an idol because she wanted to break down the barrier between her and other foreign students

Jennifer puts a lot of emphasis on “justice”, so much so that she bought a t-shirt with that word printed on it

She likes playing catch/baseball

She puts an emphasis on communication in relationships

Leo

Leo initially lived in the forest, but left because she was lonely. It is unknown if she lived on her own or not, but that seems to be the implication.

Family is very important to Leo, and considers all her friends to be family

Leo loves the ocean, and thinks the crabs are cute

Leo mentions that people give her things often because they’re worried about her

Leo seems to love animals, especially cats

Leo likes looking at the stars

Leo seems unfamiliar with cars, telling the player she’ll “defeat it” if they come across one. She’s also unfamiliar with boxed lunches, glasses, and trains.

Maria

Maria said she was planning on starting a flamenco club before Jennifer convinced her to become a school idol

Maria’s home town was a port city, where they’d have a festival every day in the summer

Maria seems to be very interested in fashion, stating that balance is important in fashion

Maria hates being treated like a child

Maria loves olive oil, and puts a lot of it on her bread

Rakshata

One of Rakshata’s hobbies is stated to be yoga

Rakshata is from India, and says she wants to make it in Japan all on her own

She states that she loves Japan’s sweet curry, as it reminds her of her mother

She also collects the stickers from the boxes the sweet curry comes in, she puts them all over her room and calls them her treasures

She seems to get very sentimental and sort of nervous at the thought of getting married

One of her dreams in Japan was to go flower viewing

She’s tried to make her own sweet curry at home, but can’t quite seem to get the flavor right

Ranpha

Ranpha makes money by delivering food

She really enjoys meat buns, specifically the kind with bamboo shoots

She says her dancing is improving, but her Japanese isn’t

She’s stated that she eats mooncakes after practice to re-energize

She also seems to really enjoy ramen

Her main way of showing appreciation for her friends is cooking for them

Rebecca

It’s stated that one of Rebecca’s hobbies is visiting temples

She has an interest in studying Japanese culture, as well as various religions, such as Buddhism

She insists people call her Becky

Her favorite Japanese dessert is dango

She seems to believe that most everything in Japan has some kind of meaning behind it, even the leaf on top of her mochi

She was able to become a shrine maiden over winter break, since club activities were also on break

She’s also very interested in zen

She sees Japan as being flawless

She’s made friends with some elderly people due to a common interest in Japanese Culture

She likes wearing short skirts, as they’re easier to move in

She learned how to meditate properly

Yukari Saotome

Yukari states that the language barrier between her and other students is really tough, and she often ends up hurting feelings on accident

She seems to get very sentimental at times, notably around New Years

She seems to love clothes shopping, and says she likes outfits that remind her of the ones in picture books

She’s wanted to be an idol since she was a kid, and used to play pretend that she was one

She’s trying her best to learn all her friends native languages

Yukari gets overwhelmed from kind gestures from fans, such as being given a cute nickname

She goes out for solo karaoke sometimes

She knows how to sew, having made some of the stage outfits herself

She says she wants to prioritize being unique

She states she wants to go camping with everyone in the summer

Relationships

The Y.G. idols took a trip to the zoo together

Emma and Rakshata often practice barefoot

Emma describes Isabella as being “the epitome of cool beauty”

Isabella says that Rebecca often scolds her for not acting like an idol

Yukari is the one who prepared Isabella her “spy” outfit, as Yukari thought that was more fitting for her than a miniskirt

Jennifer mentions Rakshata using chocolate in her curry for Valentine’s

Jennifer notices that Emma and Leo often seem homesick

Jennifer and Rakshata went flower viewing together

Jennifer mentions that she feels really relaxed when with Rakshata

The Y.G. idols go to Yukari’s after concerts for mochi

Leo seems particularly close to Yukari

Leo says that Yukari knows everything

Leo and Emma went to the mountains together for lunch

Maria mentions wanting to do karaoke with Yukari

Maria goes clothes shopping with Rebecca

Y.G. has made some of their costumes all on their own

Rakshata says she often looks at her old textbooks from India with Rebecca

Rebecca states that she wants to ask Rakshata about temples in India

Rebecca gives Leo a scarf, worried that she might catch a cold

Yukari is worried about how Rakshata and Leo will deal in the cold

Isabella is helping Yukari learn things in German

A fan sent in a letter to the idols, including a drawing of all of them. Their favorite seems to be “cute Yukarin” though

Yukari made one of Isabella’s stage outfits

Yukari says Leo would look cute in frilly, cutesy clothes

#emma verde #llsif isabella #llsif jennifer #llsif leo #llsif maria #rakshata llsif #llsif ranpha #llsif rebecca #Yukari Saotome #yg international #n girls #n card girls #llsif normals #llsif #love live #mod coco #requested

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omnivorousshipper · 5 years

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12 Days of Shobbs: Day Two- Scarves

Summary: This is a serious of prompts following the relationship between Luke Hobbs and Deckard Shaw through the twelve days of Christmas.

Day 1 Day 3

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…

“Reminder to self: never visit Canada in the winter ever again,” Luke mumbled to himself as he got out of his truck and landed in almost a foot of snow. Sighing, he trudged through the unblemished snow towards the other vehicles sitting in the clearing. There were three other large trucks and SUVs, with several DSS agents milling around them, setting up equipment.

Heading towards them, Luke tugged his hat further over his ears and tried to ignore the strong wind trying to knock him off his feet. Reaching some of the techies, he could see that they were struggling to keep the equipment snow free.

“Hey!” He called out to the agents. “Who’s in charge here?” “I suppose that’s me,” a woman stepped forward. She was about a head shorter than Luke and wearing at least four layers of clothing. She didn’t bother to offer her hand to shake, instead keeping it in her pocket while she introduced herself. “I’m Agent Mou. Nice to meet you Agent Hobbs.”

“Same to you, ma’am. So what’s the game plan?”

“I don’t want to start the brief until your partner arrives.”

“Partner? What partner? I was told I would be doing this solo,” Luke asked, staring at the smaller woman, eyebrows furrowed.

“We thought so too, but your superior, Mr. Nobody, contacted us and said he was sending another agent,” Mou shrugged. She was shifting from one foot to the other, no doubt trying to stay warm.

“Of course he called,” Luke muttered to himself. Turning back to Mou, he asked, “Anything you want me to do right now?”

“Unless you know how to hack closed camera systems from five miles away, no Agent Hobbs, I don’t need you to do anything right now,” Mou said irritatedly. “We’ll brief you and supply you with the equipment you’ll need when your partner arrives.”

With that, Mou stormed off, having to lift her feet all the way off the ground just to walk through the high snow. Sighing, Luke couldn’t fault the woman’s irritability; she was running an operation while it was below freezing, enough snow to make an army of snowmen, and now she was forced to add yet another agent to the equation, without knowing if she could trust either Hobbs or his mysterious partner. Deciding to try to stay on the woman’s good side, Luke stood close enough to the trucks to be shielded from the harsh wind, but far enough away so as not to be in the way.

After ten minutes of Luke practically feeling his fingers lose feeling, he finally saw another vehicle pull up. It was military grade, and looked as if it could drive through four feet of snow with how tall the wheels were. Luke watched the car park close to them and the driver step out.

Well, the person looked more like a marshmallow on legs with a large, white coat on. Squinting, Luke could also see a grey scarf the size of a blanket wrapped around the person’s neck, obscuring their face further. As the person came closer, Luke could see that their black beanie had small cat ears on the top and a cat nose and whiskers on the front of the hat. Luke just stared at them until they were close enough for Luke to hear them.

“Nobody said you’d need help,” Deckard Shaw grunted. “Didn’t mention we’d be doing the job in Jack Frost’s arsehole.”

“Frankly, I don’t know why the hell he called you in,” Luke said, still a bit dazed at seeing Deckard. “But it makes sense that he would send an elf to the north pole.”

“Get bent, you tosser,” the smaller man grumbled, and seemed to burrow further into the giant scarf that hid most of his face.

Before Luke could say something in kind, he heard snow crunching and turned his head to see Agent Mou heading towards him and Deckard. The cold didn’t seem to be agreeing with her by the pissed off look on her face.

“About time you showed up. We’re almost half an hour late. If we’re supposed to get this done before sunset, then I suggest you two stop the little tea party you’re having, and get your asses over here,” she snapped at the two men.

“Sorry, miss. Took longer than I thought to get out here,” Deckard apologized politely.

“I don’t care why, just follow me. I need to brief both of you,” Mou angrily told them. Deckard and Luke shared a look with each other before falling in step behind Mou as she led them to a tent that had been set up. The inside just barely fit the three and another agent, who was rapidly putting items into two packs.

“Ok, you two, here’s the deal. Your target is this,” Mou showed them an image on her tablet. It was a small missile, one that could fit perfectly in Luke’s hand. “This was developed by an American weaponsmith for the U.S. army, but only a handful were actually made. It was made to destroy up to a 200 mile radius, destroying everything around, even underground bunkers. A small terrorist cell was able to get their hands on one. We need you two go in and retrieve it.”

“Simple enough,” Luke commented.

“Glad you think that, Hobbs,” Mou responded dryly. Quickly, she brought up the blueprints of a large storage building. “We were able to get the rough layout of their hideout, but we don’t know much else. Nothing about how many guys there are, or what kind of weapons they have. I’ve had my boys prepare you enough ammunition to take down any stronghold, along with a device to block any electrical signals from being sent out.”

“Like Hobbs said, this shouldn’t be too much trouble,” Deckard said.

“Never thought I’d ever hear you agreeing with me,” Luke said, an eyebrow raised at Deckard, who was glaring back at him.

“Since you two seem to know what you’re doing,” Mou interrupted, “Then I encourage you two to leave. Now.”

Taking the hint, Deckard and Luke took the packs from the other agent and made their way outside.

“We’re taking my car,” Deckard announced, not bothering to look at Luke.

“Fine. But I’m driving.”

“When hell freezes over, jackass.”

Climbing into the passenger side of Deckard’s car, Luke couldn’t help but stare at the other man. It had been only a week ago that the other man had placed a kiss on Luke. And Luke still wasn’t sure what to feel about it. The entire time during that mission, Luke couldn’t get the kiss out of his mind, and it seemed like this mission was going to be about the same.

“Got something to say, Hobbs?” Deckard snapped, after a few minutes of silence, and a couple dozen of side glances from Luke.

“Just wondering what in the living hell you’re wearing, is all,” Luke shrugged.

“Owen and a few of his mates went to Switzerland for a ski trip, and he took a lot of my snow gear. The little arsehole,” Deckard mumbled the last part mostly to himself.

“And you just happened to own a hat with a cat face?”

“Present from my mum. She thought it looked cute,” Deckard rolled his eyes.

“It sure is,” Luke snorted. “It fits well with the stuck up princess look you have going.”

“I know it must be hard for your walnut-sized brain to understand this, but I could easily leave your arse out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you try,” Luke challenged.

“Just keep pushing, sunshine.”

Luke chuckled at the threat. They were quiet for a time, with Luke staring out at the snowy landscape, and Deckard navigating the car through it. Unfortunately, Luke couldn’t enjoy the view, instead his mind going back to the kiss.

“I swear I can see the smoke coming out of your ears right now,” Deckard chuckled. “You’re going to hurt yourself thinking that hard.”

“Very funny, asshole,” Luke rolled his eyes. Looking over at the smaller man, he decided to take a leap of faith. “I was just wondering. Why did you kiss me back at the base?”

He saw Deckard’s hands tighten on the wheel and his mouth pull down into a frown. “We were under the mistletoe. Don’t read into it.”

“I told you, you didn’t have to. But you still did. So, why did-”

“Look, just drop it,” Deckard snapped, interrupting Luke. “We’re at the drop point. We need to walk from here.”

Which meant that they would be walking in the strong wind, making it impossible for them to hold a conversation. Sighing, Luke followed the other man.

The plan was for them to park a short distance away from the facility, walk the rest of the way, and sneak in. From there, they would split up and each look for the missile on their own. All they needed to do was not to alert the guards, so it should have been an easy job.

Unfortunately, alert the guards was the only thing Luke seemed to do. When Mou had said that they had no idea how many guards there were, she hadn’t been joking. Every corner Luke went around had at least five guys, each armed to the teeth. It was inevitable that he would alert one of them.

That’s how he found himself in a massive gun fight, hiding behind a random pile of boxes in one of the main rooms of the facility. Bullets were flying past where he was hiding, slowly chipping away at his cover. Luke knew that his shelter was either going to be demolished or he was going to run out of ammunition. And he was sure that the former of the two was going to happen soon, because he only had one more clip left.

Cursing his luck, Luke put the final clip in his gun, and quickly popped out from his cover. He was able to hit three assailants, but as soon as one went down, two more took their place. Out of options, Luke desperately looked around, trying to find an escape route, but found nothing. Before despair could overwhelm him, Luke heard a yell over the gunfire.

“Hobbs!” Came a distinct voice shouted. “Down!”

And it was almost predictable what happened next. While Luke wasn’t exactly expecting it, he wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of a small grenade go off in the middle of the guards shooting at him. In the confusion of the blast, the bullets stopped, allowing Luke to duck out from his cover. Spotting Deckard on the other side of the room fighting three guards, Luke started heading towards him, trying to find a gun for himself on the way.

Having no luck finding a gun, Luke was forced to fight off the guys that came between him and Deckard. After taking down ten of them, Luke finally reached Deckard, who was missing his large coat, but still had his hat and scarf. Other than the missing coat, Deckard was only slightly panting, almost as if he hadn’t taken down twenty trained men in the last ten minutes, and had only gone for a short jog in the park.

“Did you get the missile?” Luke hurriedly asked.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I got it,”Deckard huffed and showed Luke a small case, presumably carrying the missile.

“Good. We need to get out,” Luke looked around them, spotting a side door, that was being guarded by thirty or so men. “You got any extra guns on you?”

“Yeah. Here,” Deckard responded. Reaching into his scarf, he pulled out a pair of silver revolvers from the folds of his scarf. “They’re already loaded.”

“How the hell?” Luke whispered to himself, but took the guns nonetheless. Shaking his head, Luke chalked it up to Deckard being an ex-MI6 agent. “Come on, there’s an exit over there.”

Together, they slowly made their way towards the exit, back to back, and taking shots at anyone that came at them. Even though Luke couldn’t see it, he could hear Deckard take down several men that tried to rush them. Trusting Deckard’s abilities, Luke focused on the men coming his way.

After what felt like hours, they finally broke through the wall of men, and outside. It was only a short jog to Deckard’s car, and they were speeding away. Looking out the side mirror, Luke was surprised not to see any vehicles chasing them.

“Where are they?” Luke asked aloud.

“I might’ve blown up all their snowmobiles,” Deckard laughed, giving Luke a toothy grin.

“You fucking pyromaniac!” Luke laughed.

Soon enough, they were back at the base camp, handing the missile over to Mou. Who gave them a few choice words over their fairly explosive retrieval of it. After a short reprimand and praise for getting the missile out successfully, she sent them on their way.

“Hey. Thanks for the guns,” Luke said, as he and Deckard walked through the flurry of agents dismantling equipment. Holding the guns out to the smaller man, Luke was surprised when Deckard instead pushed Luke’s hand away.

“Keep ‘em. ,” Deckard shrugged.

“You sure?” Luke asked, not a small amount of confusion in his voice.

“I know you like Chiappa Rhino guns. So just keep them.”

“Thanks, man,” Luke said graciously. They were standing in front of Deckard’s car, as Luke took in the other man. Deckard’s face was flushed red from the cold, and he had a small smile on his face.

“Don’t mention it. You need all the help you can get, twinkletoes,” Deckard said, his smile growing. Luke help but smile back before something popped back into his head.

“Hey. You never answered my question.”

“What?”

“Why��d you kiss me?”

“Just drop it, Hobbs,” Deckard sighed. Swiftly, he was in his car and slamming the door in Luke’s face.

“Oh come on! Just answer me!” Luke shouted after Deckard’s speeding car.

… Two loaded guns

And a punch to the face!

#shobbs #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #hobbs and shaw #fanfic #christmas fics #scarves #fluff #12 days of christmas

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