#【 LIFT YOUR HEAD && LOOK OUT THE WINDOW | WHITACRE ( LIKES ). 】

[valiantsouls]

FILE ;  DORENE L. WHITACRE 

          ms.  dorene l. whitacre.  no longer married,  but so repetitively referred to that way by the one  &&  only head engineer,  in spite of  frequent  reminders that she was not to be addressed that way.  her persistant appearance seems unsuspicious to all,  no matter how or why she appeared.  she is sweet,  fond of baking treats for the crew meant to be responsible for bringing herself  &&  the colonists to a new planet.

                her name is often referenced in different spellings.  dorine?  whitacare?  she must have known far more than she let on,  yes?  she knew quicker than anyone else did, after all.  but how could she?  she was just a  colonist,  after all.  right?

verse  one ;    ‘ stay this way for the rest of the day  ’   (  SHOWTIME  )           you are trapped in the wormhole,  but fear not!  ms.  whitacre is here to help you  &&  mark,  after all.  you’re not sure  why  she keeps showing up instead of the proper crewmembers you were trying to wake,  or why with each passing attempt to fix what was wrong that she said more  &&  more cryptic things.  but,  hey,  she makes a wicked good cookie,  huh?

verse  two ;    ‘ watch the time go ’     (  ...  )           where did she go?   ...   perhaps you should click through to the blog?

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

My Love Awaits

Summary: A bittersweet tale of what Loki might find once he finally walks through death’s door.

Rating: PG-13 for death and brief mentions of blood.

Taglist (open): @yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic

A/N: I believe I got this idea from a prompt I saw on here, but I can’t for the life of me find it. If this concept sounds like something you’d put into prompt form, please let me know so I can credit you properly!

Here is the song that I listened to while writing this fic: Sleep by Eric Whitacre

He knew the day would come.

The day when his cunning would fail him, when his speed and strength wouldn’t be enough, and he would fall to the blade of his opponent.

For all of his bravado, his ferocity and strength, he was tired.

He had been fighting for so long, working to protect his long lost love’s precious Midgard, warring alongside several iterations of your beloved Avengers in your honor and nothing else. You had pleaded with him, as you took your own dying breaths upon the battlefield, that he would protect your friends, your family, your people.

And the stubborn fool that he was had granted that dying wish.

The other? That he attempt to move on with his life, seek happiness with another, remain open to love? That was a vow that he could not uphold.

He hadn’t closed himself off to the idea, but no real effort had been put forth to see it through. How could any other woman, mortal or otherwise, hold his attention when the contours of your likeness had etched itself onto his mind’s eye? What was he to find in another when he knew the depths of your love? What could compare to the sound of his name on your lips, the softness of your skin beneath his calloused fingertips, the warmth and light in your eyes when you looked at him like he was the most wonderful being in the nine realms?

Every other had seemed dull in comparison, so he simply lived to fulfill his duty to you.

And, as he lay gasping for air as the warmth of his blood coated his rapidly chilling skin, he could only hope that he would not see you in the Hel that he was surely destined for as his emerald eyes lost their luster and stared unseeing up into the overcast heavens.

It was as simple as falling asleep, sinking into the darkness that beckoned him, and when he regained awareness of his surroundings, he saw not the forests that would lead him to his justified end, but a building of grand proportions. The roof was thatched with golden shields that glimmered in the yellow sunlight, shining brilliantly. Fields of grass waving in the breeze stretched into the horizon, the faint rustling of their movements a soothing symphony to accompany raucous laughter from within the expansive structure before him.

His awestruck eyes took in the familiar face he hadn’t seen in many years, taken by battle as she would have wanted. Dressed in her gray well-fitted armor befitting her station, the Valkyrie closest to his blundering, but well-meaning brother regarded him with an unreadable expression: Brunhilde.

She appeared in her prime, dark skin glowing and body fit for battle. While she had grated on his nerves, treating him and his brother with far less respect than was warranted, he had to admire her fighting prowess and fierce determination. Brunhilde was not one to be trifled with, and that knowledge was bestowed upon anyone dull enough to spar with her.

She approached him from where she had been leaning against a broad golden tree that stretched farther than should be possible, a swagger in her step that spoke of her rejuvenated body. He glanced down at his own form, slender and strong beneath his simple black tunic and pants. The vitality of his youth thrummed in his blood, as strong as the magic that he felt deep in his core.

“She was right,” the Valkyrie called, bluntly pulling him from his self-inspection.

He lifted his head to her, cocking a brow. “She?”

Brunhilde stopped just feet away from him, settling her weight on one hip and crossing her arms over her stomach. “She swore to us all that you would return to her here, but there were some who doubted her. It seems many owe her a debt.”

His heart leapt into his throat at the implications of her words, but he tamped down that hope just as quickly as it resurfaced. She couldn’t be talking about you, surely not. You were mortal. Were mortals allowed here? If they were, you would be found among those walls.

If anyone was worthy of such an honor, it was his beloved.

He moved passed the troublesome Valkyrie without further comment, intent upon sorting out her riddle in the most straightforward method possible. After a moment’s hesitation just outside of the wooden doors, he shoved them aside, striding into the room with a keen eye already searching the faces of those within.

Jubilant faces stretched as far as the eye could see, grinning from ear to ear and roaring with laughter. The smell of mead, thick and sweet, hung low in the air, filling the tankards across the many tables of fallen soldiers before him. Among the din, faint song could be heard, the youthful voice clear and bright as it told tales of the battles that had brought so many souls to fill the benches and bring life to the hall of the fallen warriors.

And there, standing in the midst of it all, you were, your own watery smile gracing your angelic face.

His long limbs ate up the distance between you in no time at all, and he took you into his arms, holding you so tightly to his chest that you weren’t sure where you ended and he began.

“Welcome to Valhalla, Loki,” you said quietly, words muffled by his neck where your head had found its natural resting place. Your voice was a bird’s song, the sweetest music to his weary ears.

His eyes closed to fully immerse himself in the moment, memorizing the feel of your soft curves against the hard planes of his body. You felt just as you had the last time he had held you, pulled from his iron grip too soon. You smelled not of copper and sweat, but of the natural scent of your skin, fresh and clean and so very you that he could breathe it in for the rest of his days and never have his fill. His whole being sighed in sweet relief that he hadn’t known for as long as he could remember.

“It is you,” he whispered, pulling back enough to cradle your face in his deft-fingered hands, stroking your cheeks reverently as he drank you in like a man dying of thirst.

And he had been. Thousands of years he had waited for this moment, hoping against his better judgment that he would have the honor and pleasure of staring upon your exquisite face again. His heart, once broken and cold, pounded in his chest, swelling against his ribs and threatening to burst with happiness and relief he could barely contain.

You were here. You were whole and lovely and a balm for the wounds that had cut deep into his soul ages ago.

He curled his body around yours, claiming your mouth for his in a thorough kiss into which he poured all of his love and passion for you, uncaring who saw the very public display of his affections. He would shout it from the gilded rooftops, willingly swear fealty to your glory, if it meant that the world knew you belonged to one another.

You were both breathless by the time he pulled away, ending the kiss only so his eyes could open and take you in as he rested his forehead against yours. He had been granted the most wondrous gift, to be reunited with you, and nothing could surpass this moment.

It didn’t matter that tears of the purest joy glistened in his eyes, or that he was smiling like the most lovestruck fool. He had never known bliss and safety as all-encompassing. It settled over his soul like a comforting blanket, granting him peace unlike any he had ever known.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his tunic, holding him to you as you beamed up at him, radiant and glowing like the sunlight that streamed in through the large windows set high into the walls.

“It’s me, sweetheart. And now you can rest, knowing that you have earned your place in this hallowed hall.”

He anchored his lips to your forehead, bringing you back into the safety of his arms as he looked over your head at the kind figure of his late mother, Frigga, illuminated against the flames of a roaring fire that danced at the end of the hall. She dipped her chin to him in a slow nod of salutation, and even from such a distance, he could easily read the pride that reflected in her winsome features.

“Rest does sound most welcome.”