#I may draw something and write about it eventually

[bcmbiquinn]

Boyfriend!Eddie Munson Headcanons

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’d always make mixtapes/playlists for you for any occasion, “songs that remind me of us” “we should make out to this rhythm” type of thing.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’d drag you to every underground metal concert he can find but he would also go to any concert you want.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Following the above, he would do anything to get you tickets for your favourite artist, like anything! Camping the night before to be early in line -modern Eddie would have a laptop, 3 phones and a tablet to get you tickets-

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Late night drives with your boy, yup! Blasting music, windows down and taking random turns until you end up in a secluded spot and make out for hours. (Maybe more)

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Eddie is definitely a total romantic, he would write you cheesy love notes on scraps of paper, make poems for you, showing up late at night outside your window with a flower he stole from your neighbour yard.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He would try on making breakfast for you, but it’s mostly just burnt toast and half cooked scrambled eggs, he tried tho!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Touchy touchy, this man can’t take his hands off of you, pinching your cheeks, hand on your lower back, on your knees, caressing your arm, kisses on your forehead and neck and so on.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Eddie definitely needs a lot of reassurance, deep inside he always feels like people would eventually leave him, he desperately wants you to reassure him but struggles to ask for it, but once you do it and tell him there’s no one else you’d rather be, he melts instantly!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’s really into matching tattoos and would love to get one with you but if you’re hesitant about, he’d just draw one on you with a sharpie.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ ridiculously overprotective, you stub your toe, he’s like “Who did this to you?” Then proceeds to flip of the chair or hit the couch with his foot and ends up hurting himself too!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He’s sooo dramatic when he gets a cold, acts like he’s dying, all tucked acting like he’s on his deathbed holding your hand dramatically “my love…i don’t think I’d make it this time”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He can’t lie and definitely can’t keep secrets from you, if he has planned a surprise for you, he’s going to mess up immediately “Okay but when we get to the… I mean the totally normal thing we're doing! Forget what i said that!”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He would stole your snacks and leftovers, his logic? “What’s yours is mine, love. That’s how love works”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He takes fake offence to everything, if you say you don’t like a band he loves he would act as if you just stabbed him.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’s genuinely protective of you, if someone upset you he goes full beast mode, “do I need to kick someone’s ass?” He doesn’t play about you or your safety.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ if he’s ever mad at you, he would never be mean, he may cross his arms and grumble but the moment you give him puppy eyes he melts “you’re so lucky I love you, you little gremlin”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Our boy is a crybaby but he never had someone to rely on until he found you, he would try to hold his tears but the moment you hug him and whisper “I got you, Eds” it’s over, he buries his face on your shoulder shaking as he sobs.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He loves making gifts for you, he thinks it’s way more romantic, he would spent hours making the perfect necklace, ring for you, love letters, a scrapbook with all the memories you’ve made together, concert tickets, Polaroids.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He totally loves your quirks, if you’re into collecting rocks, you better believe he would get you the prettiest rocks!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He would give you one of his rings and if it doesn’t fit on your finger because it’s too big he would turn it into a necklace.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧he would give the most out of place birthday cards “congratulations on your promotion” “yaaaaaaaaay”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He gives you his stuff to you for no reason, his jacket? Take it, his favourite band pin? Take it. If you ever mention liking something he has, straight right into your hands “No, really take it, I don’t even need it” he probably does need it.

We’re close to valetine’s day baddies!

Divider: @adornedwithlight

[cxrsed-angel]

epistolae|marcus x fem!reader

summary: After two months of not hearing back from your husband while he's fighting a war, you worry about him and fear that he he may not be coming back to you alive, you re-read his previous letters as an attempt to calm your anxieties.

w.c: 3k

warning: angst, allusion to oral (f!receiving), brief mentions of pregnancy/postpartum, badly translated latin forgive me I stayed up so late using 4 different translators lol

a/n: this is my first time writing for acacius/ non Joel fic and this is also for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge, my prompt was: A times capsule of letters written at different stages of life, predicting or confronting the future. I hope I did it justice and it makes sense also I made canva letter graphics for fun but I know they're difficult to read the letters are also included in the fic like normally I just wanted to something different and fun. <3

It’s going on two months since you last received a letter from your husband. Weeks of trying your best not to think of the worst, but it gets harder as each day without a letter passes. He usually responds to your letters sooner. It had been almost a month since he'd been away fighting for more land yet again. You wrote to him a few days ago but still haven’t heard anything back, which worries you. For the two years you had been husband and wife, he wrote back consistently, never going more than a few days without a response. The longest it had been was three weeks at most, but now it's going on to next month, and still nothing. Two months have passed since he had left you, and your concern grows that he is injured…or worse. That this may be the time that he does not come back home to you. 

You remember the first time he had to leave after you married. It was only a week after the emperors sent him away to fight and conquer more land for them. You leave your bed and go to the desk in your room, where you write your letters to your husband and store the ones he writes to you. You open the drawer, flipping through them to find the first one he sent. At the bottom of the stack, you open the envelope, re-reading it like you've done what seems like hundreds of times. You hold the paper, reading it yet again. 

“My carissima uxor, my carissima amor, 

I know this will be our first time being separated from each other since we’ve married. I know it must be harder for you. I am used to being away, but I can only imagine how empty our room and our bed must feel for you. But I do not want you to be alone, isolated in my leave, missing me. You should perhaps read new books, maybe garden, or speak with the other ladies. It will be more bearable if you occupy your time by keeping busy. I know it is hard. I will not say that it gets easier, for it does not, but it can be tolerable. I miss you terribly, but I will return home to you shortly. I love you.”

 ~ M

You hold the letter, remembering how alone you had felt those first few days he had left. You were not from Rome and did not have any family here, and you only spoke to Marcus primarily after your wedding, so when he left, you had no one to talk to. The first day, you did wallow away in bed, isolating yourself. The emperor's palace you resided in felt massive and empty without Acacius walking the halls with you and helping you around. But once you received his letter and took his suggestion, it did help. You started drawing, attending different activities and plays to distract yourself, and it did help some. But you still missed him deeply, especially at night. You miss laying in his arms, feeling his hands caressing you, rubbing your back as you fall asleep. You miss the rare times you would wake up before him and could admire his sleeping form, admire how gorgeous and peaceful he looked while he rested, but he was right that it eventually became more bearable.

You flip through the other letters you had received from him, reminiscing, thinking about him. You open another and see the date.  It was a little after a year since you've married Acacius. At this point you had gotten more comfortable with your husband being away. You still missed him greatly but had found ways to make it more manageable, and receiving his letter such as this one helped you feel connected and close to him while he was miles away. You remember he had sent the letter was when he had been sent to speak to the general of Galli to prevent sending his men to another war, but he hated it when he was forced to play politician. He sent you countless letters during the duration of this trip. It felt nice to get them more often. It was a little after a year since you've married Acacius. At this point you had gotten more comfortable with your husband being away. You still missed him greatly but had found ways to make it more manageable, and receiving his letter such as this one helped you feel connected and close to him while he was miles away.  It eased your mind knowing that he may be miserable, but he was safe and had the luxuries of a bed and a bath provided to him by his accommodations. You pick one envelope from the pile opening it to read.

“Carissima, 

I am most miserable here, my accommodations are pleasant but it is not our bed or our room, it lacks your presence. I miss sleeping next to you, having breakfast with you, and seeing your new drawings or paintings of the courtyard. I am forced to play with politics, which is not my strong suit. I have attended meetings during the day, parties at night, and talked with numerous people. I am tired deliciae. But if it prevents another senseless war, then it is worth it. I enjoyed your letters, and reading about your days, and the small drawing of our garden you sent of me was beautiful, a pleasant reminder of home. Your drawing is improving much. I wish you were here with me, little dove, you'd make it much more manageable, fun even. I leave for Rome the day after next and should be home with you soon. Te amor.”

~M

You smile, remembering when he returned from his trip and brought you many gifts from Galli. Necklaces, bracelets, and rings, fragrances, and paintings. You've told him numerous times that he didn't need to bring back so much, but of course, he never listens. You fold the letter inside its envelope and return it to the others. It's late, nearing midnight, and you aren't tired but have nothing else to do to preoccupy yourself, so you decide to lie in bed. You close the desk drawers with the letters in it, then prepare for bed. Changing into a tinner tunic dress to sleep you.  

You lay in your bed, the gold silk covering your body as you rest your head against the comfortable pillow filled with soft feathers and covered in white silk, trying to fall asleep. Instead, you toss and turn, looking at the empty side of the bed. You reach out gently, rubbing the empty linens, feeling the absence of your husband. It was, as always, the most challenging at night, lying in the room’s silence and feeling how empty and alone your bed was without him. You close your eyes, praying to the gods that he’ll return soon, healthily, and safely back to you.  

The next day, you're cleaning yours and Marcus's chambers, stress cleaning if you’re being honest. You knew that you’re not supposed to clean that you were supposed to let the miad and the help do it, but you couldnt. You didnt want to go out there with the ladies of the court, you could handle their gossping or fake a smile at the insipid conversations about dress colors or who they fucked that week. Cleaning was at least a doable distraction. Scrubbing the floors provides a way of preoccupying your mind. After washing the floors, you move onto your books and Marcus’s papers around the desk. Deciding to organize your books, large piles of books surround you as you sit on the floor, legs crossed, putting the books into groups. 

  You’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You know it can't be your beloved returning because he would be greeted with a warm and loud welcome back to Rome, along with a party hosted by the emperors which he would have preferred to spead the evening alone with you. Because you knew it wasnt him you couldn’t bother looking up from the books when responding. 

“Yes? Come in.” One of the housemaids enters your room while you organize your book selection. 

“Mrs. Acacius, you have received a letter from the military.” The second you hear the word military come out of her mouth, you’re standing, stepping over the piles of books, nearly tripping over the pile of books on the floor as you rush to her looking at the letter. 

“Yes, um I’ll take it. Thank you very much.” You give her a small smile as she leaves, and you close the door behind her before looking down at the envelope and seeing the familiar Roman Empire seal on it. You slowly rub it, feeling your heart beat out of your chest. You couldn’t wait to see what your husband had written without bothering with a letter opener. Excited at the though that he had finally responded to you. Eagerly you tear the paper with your finger, tossing the envelope onto the floor. 

 As you open it, unfolding the letter expecting to see the comforting penmanship of your love, but you don't. Instead, you’re greeted with unfamiliar penmanship, its very obviously not Marcus’ handwriting, and your heart sinks, dropping to the pit of your stomach as you grip the paper tighter. You anxiously glaze over the letter, looking at the unknown penmanship, confused. Immediately, you start thinking of what could've happened to him, where he couldn’t write to you himself. Your hand feels clamming and sweating, but you try to calm your breath as best you can, which wasn't much considering it was still rapid. After a few seconds of analyzing the handwriting, you finally read it. Seeing the top of the letter is greeted with your name instead of one of the nicknames Marcus has given you. The sight of your name feels cold, a heartless greeting, unlike the warmth you were used to when receiving Marcus's letter. You feel your stomach starting to twist, but you start reading. 

“Ad uxorem Acacius, 

This is Tiberius. I am writing to you because your husband wished for me to inform you of his condition. General Acacius fell ill shortly after claiming the land we sought. He has been resting and unable to write at the time. The general also endured a slight wound in battle but is healing well. We leave to return to Rome tomorrow. 

General Acacius was too tired, and weak to write, told me to write, that he apologizes for the lack of letters and that he will be home shortly. 

Tiberius.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you felt a tear drop onto the letter. You re-read it for what feels like a hundred times wishing there was more. Your hands are still shaky as you set the letter on the desk. You take a deep breath before going to your bed to sit. You try to calm your mind and reassure yourself that your worst fears haven’t come true. He was just ill and slightly wounded, but he was still coming home to you. You knew Tiberius was his second in command, and if something had gone seriously wrong, you would’ve been notified. Yet thet didnt ease your worries. You hope he hadn’t pushed himself too far to the point that he had gotten sick. Damn, those emperors and their incessant greed for land to control yet could not retrieve themselves. They can’t even manage the land they have already claimed. Unrest and turmoil fill the streets of Rome and have only worsened since you arrived. 

You crumple the paper, tossing it onto the floor before  lying back on the bed. You can't help but let the tears fall. A mixture of frustration and worry fills your brain, and you can't hold it in anymore. You stare up at the painted ceiling, wishing he could just appear in bed next to you, wishing you could be there for him, wishing you could see the state he was in. Wishing you could nurse your husband back to health yourself. The letter was vague and undescriptive, and it gave you no details about him at all. How ill was he? How injured was he? How bad was it that he couldn’t have written you himself? What kind of injury was it? A million questions flood your mind as you cry. All you wanted was your husband back in your arms. You missed him so much, and the month worth of emotions you’ve held in had reached the point had finally overfilled and you couldnt hold it in any longer. You turn in the empty bed that suddenly feels to big, and cry into the linens. You let yourself cry for as long as you feel like. It feels like hours of crying holding onto his pillow taking in the faint smell of your husband that lingered on the pillow.

After a few hours, when it felt like you have cried all the tears your body could make you get out of bed. You stand up quietly, deciding to put the books on the floor away, trying your best to do different activities the rest of the day to distract yourself, but you can not. Marcus’ state and health remain on your mind constantly. 

Later at night, you quietly look out the window staring as your mind wander, you decided to eat dinner alone tonight instead of joining most of the court in the dining hall, you could’nt stand being near the emperors hearing them cheer, laugh, drink, ignorant and careless to the effects their greed for control and land has. If you were in the dining hall you fear you would have hurled a knife at one of them which would get you killed, so your room was the best option. 

After finishing your dinner you, decide to draw yourself a bath, you grab some oils your husband had been gifted over the time of being General. Pouring olive oil, lavender oil, rose oil into the tub before getting into the hot water. The candles lit around the bathroom calmed your as you lean back against the tub closing your eyes. Once again thinking of Marcus, missing him, wishing he was in the tub with you. Your back resting against his his chest, sitting between his legs as he massages you. You open your eyes as if he would appear in front of you in the bath, when they opened. Of course though he doesnt. After your bath you dry yourself off with a towel and blowing out the candles in your bathroom and bedroom, getting to go to bed. You knew it would be hard to fall asleep as it as been for months. You lay in bed in one of your night gowns, sleeping just in your panties felt more comfortable. You close your eyes.

“Please. Please come home, safe, alive. Please Marcus.” You pray a similar prayer you had prayed everynight since he hadnt replied to your letters.  

You're deep asleep, clinging onto the pillow, imagining it was your beloved sleeping next to you.  The creaking of the big door to your bedroom opens slowly, causing you to stir awake. The noise startled You sit up confused, seeing someone walk in but unable to make them out in the darkness, which scared you. No one ever enters without asking or after you had asked so you were greatly confused. You thought this was it, they had woken you up to tell you that you husband had passed, died out in war. You sigh taking a breath before grabbing your robe that laid on a nearby chaise putting it on as you stand up. 

“Hello?” you call out, but immediately, once you see the figure in the shadow, you see a tall, board-framed frame his curls messily above his head, that you know who it is immediately. You can not mistake who it is. 

“Carissima…sorry to wake you.” Marcus’s deep raspy voice instantly responds, gaining your attention. You go over to your nightstand stand, lighting a candle. When you turn around, your husband's face is illuminated, his brown eyes evident with exhaustion. You look at him, and he looks sick and weak. You've never seen him look this tired. You go up to him as he grabs your hands, holding them in his larger hands, as tears start to slip down your face, you couldn’t believe he was home but you were also worried about his state and how bad his injuries were. 

“They…they told me you were sick? And injured? And I didn’t hear from you for weeks…I-I was so worried. What….what happened? Where are you injured?” you ask, assessing him, trying to find evidence of wounds, bruises, broken limbs, anything. He looks at you, softly kissing your forehead before pulling you against his chest and wrapping his arms around you in a warm, comforting embrace. Your cheek presses against the linens that wears under his armor, taking in his consolingpresence. His arms instantly provide a sense of home and peace you haven't felt since he left.

 “I am fine, Carmissisa. It was a simple cold, and my bad knees… it was a small pain, both of them combined did not provide optimal traveling conditions, my love.” He wipes the tears away with his thumb, holding your face softly. 

“I missed you, Marcus. When you didn’t write back, I-I thought I lost you.” The tears continue to fall, and he shakes his head before kissing the top of your head and looks at you warmly, reassuring you that he is here and safe. 

“I said I’d always return home to you. I promised you and intend to keep that promise dulicissima. I am sorry to have worried you, my love. ” He rubs your waist softly before his hand reaches your chin, pulling your lips onto his. Your eyes close, melting against him. His arms move closer to his chest as his arms move down to your waist. Your heart slows, finally feeling at ease and peace, feeling the familiar sensation of his lips. You lightly flick his bottom lips with your tongue, asking for more, and he obliges, deepening the kiss you press against him wanting to be closer to him, as close as you can be after months of being away from him. You notice him pulling away first, panting slightly, breathing heavily. He gently guiding you backward towards the bed until you feel it on the back of your legs. You get on the bed, laying back, watching Marcus kiss up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your tunic up around your hips. 

His hands move up your thighs as he lays in between your legs. His noses presses against your legs as he kisses up your legs, to your thighs, up your hips. 

 His kisses move up towards your inner thigh, his thumbs ghosting around the fabric of your panties before slowly taking them off his nose presses against your pussy as he presses his lips against it, giving it a kiss as his thumb rubs your inner thigh, drawing a whine out of you. 

 “Let me show you…how much I missed my wife.”

A Few Years Later…

You’re with your baby girl, Aelia, in the courtyard, playing with her as she lays on her back, wrapped in the linens you had sewn for after her arrival. You see your husband’s beautiful big brown eye in her as she looks up at you. She’s only a few months old, laying on a beautiful purple blanket Marcus had made for her when she was born, giggling and smiling at you as you shake a toy that made a noise she seems to enjoy greatly. You’re interrupted when you notice a guard bringing you a letter. Your name is written in the familiar penmanship of your husband. You pick up your daughter along with the letter and return inside the palace, going back to your room. You set Aelia down in her bassinet before grabbing the letter opener from the desk and opening the letter from your husband who has been away for a few days, eager to hear from him.

“My dulicissima,”

“I am returning to my accommodations after buying the home we saw earlier this year. I know you wish to accompany me, but it is a far journey from Rome, and you should be at home resting with Aelia, recovering postpartum, and relaxing. The meeting with the home’s previous owner went well, and we can move in at the end of the month. I am excited to move into our own home, away from my job, my previous job, I mean. I am not used to being retired, but I am grateful that there will no longer be any more long journeys away from you, fighting pointless wars. When I return, we can start preparing and packing to leave the Emperor’s place and enter a home of our own. I leave for Rome in the morning and look forward to being with you. Kiss Aelia for me, my love. See you both soon.”

~M.

tags: @baronessvonglitter 🖤

[otomiyaa]

Two Travelers & Their Discoveries

Aether x Albedo

A/N: Ehhh I guess writing Aether just activated this little something in my head that hissed: more more moooore. Alrighty then. Also remember my 2-part fics? This is gonna be one of them. Readers decide how it continues :3

Summary: Aether is on a trip with Albedo. It's their first time being alone together for so long. When Aether discovers something he didn't know about, their relationship might change forever.

Aether knew it was going to be great. Heck, it was quite the journey, but being out here in Natlan, exploring its beautiful nature and wildlife with Albedo by his side was just the best thing ever.

Seeing the look on his face whenever he discovered something. The way he was holding his sketchbook 24/7 just to make drawings of everything he admired. His little hums when he found something interesting, whether it was a plant, a bug, or specific minerals. Aether enjoyed all of these moments so much.

"It's amazing. Thank you, Traveler," Albedo said, and it wasn't the first time he thanked him.

Aether grinned and patted him on the back. Albedo kept thanking him as if he hadn't been able to come here on his own. True, it was Aether who practically convinced him and dragged him all the way here, knowing how much he would enjoy it. But to give him this much credit...

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Aether said. He stepped closer to him and admired the scenery sketch Albedo had been working on just now.

"Can I see?" Aether asked. Albedo nodded and handed his sketchbook to him. Aether browsed through the recent sketches of the cutest Capybaras, Flowfire Birds and Saurians. He had seen Albedo at work, and although the drawings had all been quick, they looked like impressive pieces of artwork. He really was so talented.

Albedo actually wasn't the only one who was invited to join him to Natlan. Of course Aether had tried to bring some other friends from Mondstadt as well, inviting them for a well-deserved vacation they would never forget, but with the long distance and estimated time of the travel and all of their duties in the City of Freedom, no one else agreed to join.

Even Albedo almost refused. He couldn't leave Klee behind, nor give others like Jean, Lisa, Sucrose and Amber extra work of looking after her during the hours when he would usually do it, even when they kindly offered to help despite their busy schedules.

It was unexpected when it worked though; Aether proposed to leave Paimon behind to keep Klee company while they were away. Like, she wasn't Albedo, but she could definitely entertain Klee?

Salty and butthurt to be abandoned at first, Paimon had protested and whined about the suggestion, but when Klee overheard and already appeared very excited that Paimon was going to be in Mondstadt for a while, she eventually submitted.

They both agreed after all: Albedo deserved a holiday, and besides! - as Paimon had chirped: she had seen more than enough of Natlan anyway! Heh, well she may have, but Aether hadn't.

So this resulted in the most special quality time for Aether and Albedo, and even though Aether had already seen most of the places they visited, for him it also felt like a completely new experience now that Albedo was by his side. Thanks to him, he saw Natlan from a different perspective.

During their trip, Aether didn't just discover new things about the nation, but also many things about the creative alchemist. His cute little habit of doodling in his sketchbook before they went to sleep. The way his eyes would sparkle when he gazed into their campfires.

How shy he could be when Aether introduced him to his friends in Natlan and when they had dinner together. His fearlessness when trying out foreign food, but at the same time he had a rather small appetite and ate less than what Paimon would consume for example.

Also his curiosity with everything new he could discover. The way he could ramble on and on about the things he found interesting as soon as they were alone again.

Aether felt like their friendship was not going to be the same after this trip.

"What do you say? Camp or Teapot?"

There was nothing like freedom camping in Natlan's nature, but during some nights it was also more comfortable to retreat into Aether's Serenitea Pot Realm where they had all the space and luxury, and the most comfortable beds to sleep in.

"Camp."

Aether smiled when he heard Albedo's answer. "Good."

Camping also meant they would sleep closer to each other, making it cozier. In his Serenitea Mansions there were plenty of rooms and beds, not giving them a good reason to snuggle in bed together. Aether blushed. Not that he wanted to snuggle or something, but...

He stared at Albedo who was already setting up their tent.

"Aren't you going to help?" he asked kindly. Aether shook his head to cancel the flustering thoughts that flooded his mind and quickly joined.

"Y-yes!"

Another thing he learned about Albedo was that he was a professional camper. Who would've thought. But during their conversations, he learned all about Albedo's earlier journeys through Sumeru, and of course also the time he spent in Dragonspine, the woods in Mondstadt, and various parts of Liyue. The chief alchemist was quite the Traveler himself.

They ate the last of the leftovers from the meals they had received for their trip when they visited Mualani and the People of the Springs, and relaxed and chatted under the starry night sky.

Then they went into their tent and as usual, Albedo scribbled something in his sketchbook while Aether resumed his adventure in Xingqiu's newest novel. But this time, tired from the long walks and hikes and the many impressions, Albedo fell asleep mid-drawing before Aether could even finish one chapter.

"Heh, Albedo..." Aether said fondly. He reached out and gently stroked some of Albedo's hair from his face, before blushing and realizing that was not really a platonic thing to do.

He then gazed at Albedo's sketchbook and noticed two things. It seemed like it was a different sketchbook from the one Aether had seen earlier in the day. It was a little smaller, and also... was that...?

Very carefully, Aether reached out to grab the sketchbook and quietly took it away. Albedo didn't notice and continued to sleep. Holding his breath, Aether studied the drawing Albedo had been working on. This was unmistakably a person, not an animal or any scenery. To be more specific, it looked a lot like...

"Me?" Aether whispered. But not just him. He was... smiling? No, more like laughing. A huge laugh, as if he had heard the funniest joke or something.

Albedo hadn't finished the drawing yet so it was merely Aether's laughing face, but then he looked through the sketchbook at some of the older sketches and he gasped. What....

They were all him. Aether, Aether, and more Aether, and in a very specific situation. He was laughing, sometimes with his arms spread and fingers on his body, other times curling up while fingers seemed to poke his side and tummy - was he getting tickled?

Once he realized this, it was obvious actually, but just so hard to believe. They were all drawings of Aether getting tickled in different positions. Like not even in a lewd way, the Aether in the sketches was properly dressed and just laughing a lot, although one drawing did have his limbs trapped by vines while a pair of anonymous hands tickled him...

He felt his cheeks burn as he studied drawing after drawing. Why was Albedo drawing all this? Was it like a fantasy? Did he just choose this subject randomly and went with it? Hmm. Surely Aether couldn't deny he had some thoughts about Albedo as well, especially now that they were this much alone together.

But these were very specific. To think Albedo had been working on these right under his nose, how bold.

Still completely flustered, Aether checked every drawing while his heart skipped a beat.

[wirtsauce4020]

I hate this guy, but he's so good at being scary

[10-59]

opened the vs tag and immediately received psychic damage

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

These are a couple doodles from yesterday, Gideon as a younger teen, before the growth spurt, maybe 14? He's discovered he's a vampire, and has a lot of recovery to do, since he's severely blood deficient.

I'm gonna let myself explode about my vampire gideon ideas, under construction, under the cut: (I don't write fanfiction, I just throw up my ideas on a tumblr post, apparently :'D)

This is what I love about tumblr - it's a place where I can throw the doodles (something that isn't finished *artwork*), and let myself be really delusional about fictional characters. So I'm gonna take a moment to ramble about the ideas I have for Gideon as a vampire.

If you're a fellow Gideon Head, HI THERE... anyway, here's my thought process on a potential vampire-gideon backstory???

I've always liked the idea of gideon being a vampire, and also becoming a much better person when he's older. And that got me thinking, maybe those two things are linked. Maybe the vampire thing is somehow tied into his reformation.

But I tend to lean towards building my ideas off canon (as opposed to making an AU). And if gideon was a vampire, and knew this during the events of the show, it would have come to light at some point. So, either he doesn't know he's a vampire, or he becomes one later. Becoming one later works narratively, but he's already so vampiric, with the white hair, pale skin, sunscreen, evil, etc. So I'm like, let's go with that.

So, gideon has gone his whole life without knowing he's a vampire, and without drinking blood. I'm thinking that being a vampire in this case (my gravity falls fan version of what a vampire would be) wouldn't adhere to typical vampire conventions. You don't NEED to drink blood to survive.

Here's the idea I got yesterday: after the events of weirdmageddon, gideons experience motivated him to become a better person. It was the awakening, basically. But in the subsequent years, he's still a little shit. Maybe he's in juvenile detention, or prison again. But now, he has the self awareness to know that what he's doing is wrong. This is where my ideas get a little fuzzy, so bear with me. Bud has his suspicions, and as a last resort, puts gideon on some sort of mission trip type of cross country trip, when he's in his teens. And along the way, maybe at the end, there's this secret group of vampires that open gideons eyes to what he really is.

Basically??? Without blood, gideon is very evil. He's an evil little shit. This may not be how it is for every vampire. Maybe some grow very sickly without blood, just get hungry, etc. The effects of blood deficiency vary from vampire to vampire. But Gideon becomes very unhinged. And he'd essentially been Blood Hangry for his whole life. That being said, some of it was just his personality that he needed to work through, but drinking some blood helped a LOT. Blood isn't food for him, it's more like his medication.

Once he has that discovery, he spends a long while, I'm thinking maybe even a year, just recovering from the deficiency. He's almost always drinking blood to keep up his levels, and he's very rarely seen in public to keep the vampire thing a secret. That's what these drawings were supposed to be, him in his pseudo bedridden state. This period in his life would be one big blur; mostly spent binge watching soap operas and being all cozy. In contrast to his usual suit + tie, he's dressing for max comfort: sweatpants, sweatshirt, a knit hat over his ridiculously big hair, and always wrapped in a blanket. Not sure if somehow he feels cold when drinking blood?? But for some reason, I feel like he'd always be wearing like 10 layers and laying under a heated blanket or something.

Eventually, he'd only need to drink blood about once a month for maintenance.

Character development wise - even as an adult, Gideon isn't sure if he's truly a good person. Is the blood deficient version of himself the true gideon? Or is this well adjusted man who he truly is? And there's an issue of the chicken and the egg, too. Gideon was born a vampire. Did these genes activate because he was predisposed to being evil? Or did the vampire thing happen by coincidence? Does being a vampire make him evil, or is it the other way around? He doesn't know, and he never will.

The one thing I'm not sure I like about this idea: i'm worried that I'd be writing off his villainous personality as an illness that can be cured with a thing. Obviously, it would be better if he faced that head on, and figured out how to be better. So I'm still grappling with that. But for now, this is an idea I'm entertaining. Of course, I think it would be interesting if there was a plot point where his usual source of ethically sourced human blood was compromised for a time, and he had to grapple with his personality going topsy turvy.

It's actually embarrassing how much I just wrote???? If you've made it this far, wow, I applaud you. I guess this was just my idea of having a good sunday night, writing down my silly thoughts on gideon gosh darn gleeful. Let me know your thoughts too!!!! I'd love to know if you have any ideas, or questions, or ways to strengthen this potential backstory.

[moonstruckme]

hi i have an unhealthy attachment to your doctor!remus content…could i request a fic where reader is hiding some type of health problem from him or maybe ignoring it, and when something bad happens he finds out and is all stern with her and his usual worried self? i <3 this man, thank you truly for sharing your writing and doing it so well!!

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: description of vertigo, mention of nausea

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re sick of being miserable. You had a cold, which had turned out to be the flu, which had turned into a sinus infection, and your poor, sweet boyfriend had weathered it all with you. Remus had made you soup. He’d warmed damp towels for your sinuses. He’d stayed home from work a couple of days, and rubbed your back, and your chest, and your temples when they ached, and supplied you with name-brand medicines. He’d been so, so patient when you were whiny and awful to be around. So now, when your sinus infection has turned into this heinous ear pain, you’ve decided you’re done with it. 

You won’t entertain your body with its miseries any more. You certainly won’t be making it Remus’ problem. 

It’s easy not to feel miserable when you wake up before him on a slow Saturday morning. There’s a line of sunlight reaching across the room from the crack in your curtains, Remus’ face lovely even in shadow. He could use a haircut, you think fondly. It’s starting to cover the tops of his ears, which you think is a rather endearing look on him even if you have to agree when he says it’s not very professional. 

Eventually his eyes blink open. He smiles when he finds you watching him, the stretch of his lips sleepy and content. You draw a finger lightly down the bridge of his nose. 

“I think,” you say, “that we should stay here all day long.” 

Remus’ smile widens, and it takes half a second after his mouth begins moving for you to realize you can’t hear him properly. You pick your good ear up off the pillow as subtly as you can, propping your chin on your hand. You ignore the wave of dizziness that follows. 

“...what you really want? You’ve been home nearly all week,” says Remus. “What if we went on a walk today? We could go to that park you like, the one with the lake.” 

You shove down the dread that rises in your chest. This is what you want. You want to get over being poorly and get back to your life. 

“You’re right,” you say brightly. “That sounds great.” 

Remus peers over you to check the time. “Oh. God, we slept in, didn’t we? We may have to go soon if we want it to still be nice out.” 

“That’s alright,” you say easily. “I’ll be right after you, I just have to pick out what I’m going to wear.” 

Remus leans forward to peck you on the forehead, getting out of bed with a sleepy groan. He stretches his neck this way and that, movements sluggish as he goes toward the bathroom. 

Your movements are sluggish for different reasons. You sit up slowly, fighting through the vertigo that sloshes the room about you in protest. It wasn’t this bad yesterday. 

You discover a series of new miseries as you get dressed with cautious, snail-like movements. Your ear hurts something awful. More than that, the pain has spread to most of your head. The constant dizziness quickly results in a low nausea. You’re genuinely uncertain whether the ringing in your ears is a symptom of your ear infection or a warning bell of your impending insanity. 

Putting on your trousers is an ordeal. By the time you sit down on the bed to pull on socks, your resolve has spiderweb cracks spreading and threatening to unleash a meltdown. 

But you’re stubborn. You can do this, you think. If you’re only walking on even ground in the park, and Remus’ hand is in yours, you’re sure you can manage. The internet said your symptoms wouldn’t last long anyway—maybe they’ll clear up as the day goes on. 

“...ove? Dove?” 

You look up as Remus comes to stand in front of you, swallowing when the world spins. In the center of the swirl, you think he’s smiling. His hand cups your face. 

“You seemed off in your own world there,” he says fondly. 

You smile and hum, keeping your head perfectly still so that the spinning slows. Remus’ eyebrows twitch towards each other. 

“You alright?” 

“Mhm, yeah.” You cup your hand over his, holding onto it as you stand. “Let’s go.” 

“You’re ready?” he asks while you pull him towards the door. You sway a bit in your effort to walk at a normal pace, reaching for the doorframe. 

The hallway in front of you looks like a funhouse horror. You put one foot in front of the other as surely as you can. “Yeah,” you say. “Aren’t you?”

Remus’ hand tightens on yours. You don’t understand why for a moment, but then you’re falling sideways, his hands catching you around the waist. 

“Dove.” His stern voice is slightly alarmed and largely disembodied, your eyes unable to find his face in the whirling mass in front of you. “What’s going on?” 

Like an overinflated balloon popping, you burst into tears. 

Remus collects you to his chest, holding your head securely against him as he half carries you back to the bed. It doesn’t prevent your dizziness entirely, but it helps. 

“What’s happening?” he asks more gently as you sniff and whimper. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know.” 

“I think it’s an ear infection,” you say in a small voice. “It hurts, and my head hurts, and I’m so—” You take in a short breath. “—so dizzy I feel sick.” 

“Okay. Okay, it’s alright.” Remus pets the back of your head, shushing you until you calm some. 

“Sorry,” you whimper. 

“What are you sorry for, love? For crying?” 

Your sniffly silence is answer enough. 

Remus sighs. “Why did you try to act like nothing was wrong?” 

“Because,” you say thinly, “I’m tired of things being wrong. I just want—” You pause, pressing your lips together to avoid crying again. “I want to feel normal.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Your boyfriend’s mix of disappointment and sympathy only brings you closer to tears. “You can’t will it, my love. And you can’t pretend this away. These are the sorts of things I need to know about.” 

You blink away the blur of tears, grateful that your world has finally straightened out. You press your head closer to Remus’ chest. “I wanted to give you a break, too,” you admit. “The internet said it would go away in a couple of days, so I figured I’d just ride it out.” 

“Mm, a middle ear infection would.” 

You stiffen. “What does that mean?” 

The kiss Remus drops to your head is heavy with compassion. “Vertigo like this comes with an inner ear infection, dove. They take longer to go away, sometimes weeks, but the process can be sped up with antibiotics.” 

He pauses while you process this. 

“You know, the sort prescribed by a doctor.” 

“Oh.” 

He chuckles fondly, kissing your head again. “This is why you tell me things. Understand?” 

“Yeah.” You wrap your arms around his middle, clinging pathetically. “I’m sorry. Help me.” 

“I will, sweetheart. Think you can lay down and be still while I nip to work and the pharmacy?” 

You don’t think you’ll have any problems there.

[fieldofdaisiies]

A Bargain

paring: Azriel x Reader | type: angst | words: 2,2k | warnings: this story explores a little darker themes like the loss of eyesight due to fire. thank you so much for beta reading @moonlightazriel me helping me get back into x reader writing💛

Fire. Nothing but unbearable heat and blinding light, like icy spikes piercing your skin. The brightness was overwhelming until everything went dark. Blank. Plain. No colour. No shape. No figure. Only darkness. And deafening silence.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Your fingers start to tremble around the book the moment a soft breeze brushes your legs and tells you that somewhere in the Library a door was opened. Your senses, touch, hearing and scent, have sharpened once you‘ve lost your eyesight and you are immediately alerted that someone is here. In your personal space, in your sanctuary, at this time. During the night!

You draw in a deep inhale, move your feet apart so you stand in stance. Your fingers curl into a fist  and then–

“Who is there?” you find yourself asking despite the unease brewing inside of you. You know that no one who could cause harm could technically enter this place, but still you always want to know who is close. Who is coming, so you can prepare yourself. Brace yourself.

Fear is rising within you because whoever is nearing you has loud footsteps — it is a male most definitely and if there is one thing in this world you almost fear as much as fire it is men. You try to steady yourself, listening closer, trying to make out if the steps sound familiar (if they belong to the general of the Illyrian armies) but they don’t. He walks slower, and his boots have a different sound when they pad over the library floor. It must be someone else and you—

Someone nears you and the words to ask again who it is die in your throat that suddenly seems so dry. You turn your front to the shelf, hoping to maybe go unnoticed, but the Mother doesn’t hear your prayers. A person halts next to you and you flinch, sucking in a sharp breath of air. Your body is trembling as you press against the shelf, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw starts to ache.

Your throat works on a swallow and some more silent prayers leave you that whoever is close just walks by and—

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” a gentle male voice says, interrupting the tense silence. The air whooshes out of your lungs, your blood chilling because you know there is no escaping now that he has seen you. But somehow, all worry and fear seems to dissipate when he speaks up again. He has no brutal voice, there is nothing harsh or hard in it – it sounds melodic. Almost like the voice of a singer. “I apologise, I really didn’t mean to scare you. I had no idea someone was still around at this time.”

You hesitate before you turn around or give the stranger an answer, but something soft, almost like a feather, brushes your lower arm. It is nothing more than a breath, like a cloud, it may be—

A shadow. And it is soothing and gives you a feeling of comfort. You have felt it before, shadows, like a cat's tail brushing your legs.

“You are the Shadowsinger, right?” Slowly, you turn to him, remembering Gwyn’s stories about the male with the dancing shadows around him who is training her now and who has sometimes come down here to collect books. You should have remembered his footsteps!

“I am a shadowsinger, yes,” the male says, “but you can call me—” His voice cuts off momentarily. And you know what he has realised. His eyes have probably landed on yours and he realised that you can‘t see. That you are blind. And that since the fateful day almost a decade ago.

“Azriel,” he eventually finishes, finally having found his words to continue.

You inhale a deep breath, and say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azriel. I am Y/N.” A smile appears on your lips. “How can I help you?”

"I am here to pick up some books Gwyn suggested to me." The shadowsinger keeps his polite distance, you can feel that, his stance broad but not intimidating and you are thankful for that. Despite his kind aura, he is still a male, a stranger, and you always have to be careful. You can’t ever risk anything again. Never again.

“Gwyn said I would find them somewhere around here, but I truly have no idea where I should start to look.”

A grin tugs at the corners of your lips at the mention of her name. Gwyn is your closest friend down here and you love her like a little sister. "She is very fond of you, Shadowsinger,” you say, voice tinged with admiration.

You can’t see the smile appearing on Azriel’s face but you can feel it, how his heart is filled with relief and joy at your revelation.

"She is quite talented," Azriel comments.

"And beautiful…" Your voice almost gains a dreamy touch, and you place the book you have been holding the entire time back on the shelf. Azriel doesn’t say anything, and you know where his thoughts have gone to.

"My eyes may no longer be able to see, Shadowsinger, but my heart can. And that’s how I know that the priestess is beautiful - she has a soul of pure gold."

"I think she isn’t the only one down here who this applies to." This time he takes a small step forward, only a little, while trying to calm his vividly swirling shadows. You can feel them brush against you and his scent fills your nostrils - cedar and night-chilled mist.

They try to stretch out while he tries as hard as he can to hold them close.

"Are you talking about Merrill?" A little mischievous giggle leaves you right after you say her name and it even draws a chuckle from Azriel. The sound is wonderful, rich and deep, beautiful.

"I think you know exactly who I am talking about." 

You feel how a blush warms your cheeks and quickly avert your gaze. "Which books do you need?"

He tells you which ones he is looking for, speaking slowly, and in his wonderful, deep voice. You know immediately where to find them all, having memorised every small detail of the Library,

“Follow me.” You set out with a smile, waving at him to come and follow you. You have ventured through the corridors filled with hundreds of bookshelves and thousands of books many times and know exactly where and when you have to turn.

You can’t see it but you feel his curiosity, his slight astonishment about you and it makes you giggle. You walk swiftly, your robes swishing over the floor when you turn one corner after the other and finally arrive at your first destination. Your fingers trail over the backs of the books, touching and feeling the binding until you grab two books and hand them to him.

The next ones are on a lower floor and the last one even lower. 

“Why are you here at this time of the day?” you find yourself asking him, walking down a narrow corridor. You have come to like narrower space because they make you feel more secure than wide, open spaces. “Or rather night, Shadowsinger.” 

“I could ask you the same - why are you awake at this time?” You can hear the amusement in his voice about your little bantering, and a smile appears on your face, but fades when you start to answer. “It is calmer at night - no rustling pages, no shuffling feet, no hushed conversation. I can focus easier during this time of the day.”

“That’s understandable,” Azriel hums, “that’s partly why I prefer night over day. No rushing, loud people, no bright lights, no— I am so sorry. I didn‘t mean to—”

“Don’t apologise. You can see and you are allowed to be affected by light. It can be too much, I know this, I used to be able to see it once too.”

“I still should be more careful with my words.”

“I don’t want you to be. I want you to be yourself. You are a polite male and I am not made of glass. I don’t break so easily, so please, speak your mind.” You hand him a book from a shelf, after letting your fingers trail over the spine to make sure it is the right one. “I have always preferred night over day. The people are more relaxed, nothing is rushing them and they are not so loud.”

“I understand. I prefer it when it is calm too.”

“Unless there is music. Have you heard Gwyn sing?”

“I have,” he says with fondness.

“And do you sing too? You are a shadowsinger.”

There is a pause and you worry he won’t answer at all, but—

“I do. Sometimes. Only when I am alone.”

You hum in answer, not wanting to push him to sing for you although you are dying to hear it. It must be wonderful with his deep tenor and his velvety voice.

“Is there a chance one can hear one day?” Your lips quirk into a bright grin.

“No, but maybe one day in the far far future.” He blows out a long breath. “Now I have a question for you.” 

You brace yourself, lifting your chin to face his face, making out nothing but blurry surroundings. You would love to reach out to trace his face, his shoulders, to feel what he looks like and try to picture him in your mind.

“Would you like to join the other priestesses, Cassian and me for training one day?”

Your heart slams to a halt, pondering. Somehow you would love it — leave this pöace for once, but training? You hesitate, the word yes burning on your tongue, but you swallow it down. It would be useless. There would be nothing you could do and you would only make a fool out of you. So instead of agreeing, you curtly shake your head and take a step back. “A kind offer, but I must decline.”

“Because of—”

“Yes, Azriel. Because of my eyes. I can’t see, which means I can’t train.”

“That’s not true. Yes, you can’t see, but for training you don’t only need your eyes. Let me put together some exercises and in return you join us for the next training. I can prove to you that you are just as capable at training and fighting as the others are.”

“Is this a promise?”

“We can make a bargain if you like.” There is a hint of amusement in his voice that makes a silly, little grin appear on your lips and erase the former worry etched upon your features. You reach out your hand. 

“A bargain it is - I‘ll join you for training, and in return you will sing for me.”

There is a pause and for a moment you worry that he won’t agree. That it was a silly idea and he will be offended and just leave it. You don’t want whatever has started between you here not to end already. You want to—

“I accept.” Azriel also extends his hand and the moment your palms touch, lightning zips between your hands. It runs throughout your entire body, but it is not the only thing you can feel. There are scars. Scars that adorn his palms, most definitely his whole hands and your heart cracks. What has been down to him? How did he get them?

Your thoughts are swiftly cut off when lightning zips between your palms and then you feel it, like a warm and thin strap something curls around your upper arm and you know it, the legends are true — when you make a bargain you‘ll receive a tattoo as a testament of it.

Azriel has fallen silent the moment your hands part and you wonder if he is examining the tattoo. You wish you could see it, know what it looks like, and admire it.

“Let me describe it to you,” Azriel starts, and then you feel how he gently takes your arm, lifting it slightly. “It‘s a thin silver band around your upper arm, almost invisible, and where the two ends meet there are three small stars. The first is slightly larger than the second and the third one is the biggest.” He strokes his thumb over your arm, a natural action he probably doesn’t even notice but your hair starts to stand on end.

“Mine is almost identical to yours. It is in the same place. Only that the band looks slightly broader.”

“I think I would love it if I could see it.”

“I am sure you would.” You can hear the smile in his voice and return the gesture. “I love it.”

So can hear him shift, moving a step away from you. “I think we should both sleep now, Y/N, but I‘ll see you tomorrow for training. I‘m sure Gwyn can lend you something to wear if you only have your robes.”

“I will ask her.” You pull your lower lip between your teeth when nervousness about the following day starts to trickle in.

“Perfect, until tomorrow then.” He hums. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Shadowsinger.”

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @cadiawrites @bookishbroadwaybish @tele86 @fuckingsimp4azriel @berryzxx

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 23/12✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@boonalina ha chiesto: Question: Why does Wukong's biblically accurate form have two faces? Also, was there some inspiration for you that made you want to design him like that? (Since I know he doesn't have any canonical Kaiju form in LMK) Also also, DAMN that Kaiju fight was so freaking pretty!! The colors were so well done!

thank you!! He has 3 actually, but in the panels you can see 2 bc the third is facing away from the camera aha.

Anonimo ha chiesto: would you make a Shadowpeach bio parents au zine?

yes I would. But it requires an enormeous amount of organization, plus you need multiple people to organize a zine, from contacting, to marketing, to production, to logistic etc… I don’t have the time right now as I’m already working.

@stro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Head canon that Red Son uses/used to use the ‘rubber duck’ method while working. The rubber duck method is: when making something by yourself you may get stuck/stressed out because you can’t find a solution to a problem. Have a rubber duck on your desk just so you can verbally explain your problem, which could help you solve it by actually hearing it out loud. But a side effect of this is now Red Son will talk to himself while he works, even if it does help it still freaks his parents out hearing him mumbling to himself when they pass his room. Just something I learned recently when watching a video about writing a characters backstory 👍 I thought you might like this too! Bye <3

i know need Red Son just talking about project to a cute rubber duck and MK finding it adorable.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will LBD come back ? Even if it is just in a dream ?

maybe

Anonimo ha chiesto: how old is MK ? Like 18-21 ???

almost 22.

@haru7110 ha chiesto: IS MEI IMMORTAL LIKE MK AND REDSON IN THE SHADOWPEACH AU??? I NEED TO KNOW!! Fornoreasonwhatsoeverobviouslyhahahahaha (angst purposes)

no Mei is not immortal, but I would guess she has a lifespan slightly longer than average bc of her family.

@cutvdo ha chiesto: When you first draw Red Son in his human form he looked small, but later he looks bigger (probably from you getting more comfortable drawing him). I like to think he changed his human form a bit because he found out MK likes big man

this is the best conclusion ever. He would fr fr

Anonimo ha chiesto: Guess you could say MK got his own personal monkey tree

omfg-

@aizieweex ha chiesto: Hey Kyri!!! I LOVE your art, aaaand thanks for the recent repost of my animatic (or animatik?...I honestly don't know which is more correct, I'm not a native speaker at all), I literally screamed, lol (And still screaming). I wanted to ask, how many parts of the comic are you counting on? Do you already have a certain planned number of chapters? Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello! How long will the shadow peach bio parents au be?

there will be 9 parts in total. I don’t know the exact number of chapters left but I can assume around 30.

@copyrightedbystarkindustries ha chiesto: Love your art!!! Are you planning on putting shadowpeach au stuff on your redbubble in the future?

Yes I do! But first I need to finish my job which will be more or less on the 20th of January.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Does MK use a glamour to hide some scars or something his parents aren’t supposed to find out about ?

yes

@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: When you said during the livestream that MK will have a new outfit when he is magical girl, What do you mean by that ?

that he will eventually own a new outfit as “official outfit” let’s say. That isn’t his temporary fighting outfit he has now.

@magician-kitty ha chiesto: You think Mac will get more flustered now that Wukong’s more muscular thanks to all that weight lifting from the previous chapters?

a little bit yes.

@whotookfinn ha chiesto: Hey!! I’m absolutely in love with your art, it’s so beautiful and wonderful and IM OBSESSED. Anyway, I’m not sure if you’ve been asked this before, but who’s your favorite lmk character to draw?

macaque and Mk, they fluffy.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I HAVE A QUESTION! after your shadowpeach AU will be finished will you do other lmk Au????

nope.

@cjtuy ha chiesto: My question is about tang and pigsy are they married I've always wondered this

no they are not married, but it’s something they have been thought for a little bit. They known each other for years and got together for one. They know they work very well as a couple, and marriage would only be a more “official” way to show their union. It’s on their mind, maybe they will plan it in the near future

Anonimo ha chiesto: Have you seen that Brandon Roger's clip where he loses his kid? I can just imagine macaque going through that right now with mk being kidnapped. "Mothers adrenaline is kicking in!!" "have you seen my son, he's about this tall, clearly gay but we haven't had the talk" https://youtu.be/dJJUFrENZ_o?si=lbacsYlJr8XpaDQQ (this is the sound just in case)

LMAO I know that video by heart yes absolutely those would be the parents.

Anonimo ha chiesto: In the Bioparents AU, is Redson actually going to be able to court so Mk in the end after the whole celestial situation?

they will have time to do their stuff after the heaven shenanigans.

@ashmeertheimp ha chiesto: I hope you are having a lovely day/night and are healthy and well AND TYSM FOR THAT SPICYNOODLES KISS I LOVED IT AND MY HEART WAS ABOUT TO BURST! Anyway I was wondering if mk and Redson parents are gonna have quality time with there Nephew in spirt/potential son in law?

mm yes. Post heaven shenanigans but yes.

@cpazy ha chiesto: About that,

It means that Mac and MK's powers have to do with the moon cycle, like on a full moon they get stronger or something like that? And if there is an eclipse where the moon turns red, their powers would go out of control?

Yes, but the opposite. On a full moon they are weaker, while on a new moon they are stronger.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello! Not a question but I just love and ADORE your shadowpeach bio parents au! ❤️ Recently you had posted about LMK fic recommendations, I wanted to recommend "The Constellations Within Us" and it's sequel "Epilogue: Axis" (ongoing) by cloud_somersault on AO3. It's one of my favorite LMK/Shadowpeach fics! The writing and world building are stellar and it includes similar themes as the ones in your comic, like the themes of reconciliation, shadowpeach angst and repairing their friendship and their joint custod- I mean- mentorship of MK! It's a really good fic and I highly recommend giving it a read! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48308065 And again, love your comic so much! Have a great day! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

aaahhhh I will definetely check them out!

@astro-nomaly ha chiesto: Per ur Bio Parents AU, what happens when a courtnapping occurs, but the person getting napped isn’t actually into the courtnapper, and doesn’t want to be napped? Does courtnapping have a “leave whenever you want” clause or..? (I love ur au akshhenwb)

they are allowed to refuse anytime. If the kidnapper doesn’t allow the he’s a dick

@thecardboardbutterfly ha chiesto: Since everyone is starting to fear for tomorrow, I decided to share my convoluted thought I got yesterday night at like, 3AM to lighten the mood a bit (.3.)~* So Technically, given that Lmk is very much based on Journey to the West, maybe it's not that much of a stretch to call Lmk fan content of JTTW, like some kind of future AU or something. Which means your AU is fan content of Lmk. See where I'm getting at? Because your comic is so popular in the fandom, there is fan content of your AU out there, which is already fan content. Which means we reached a point where we have fan content (fanarts and various inspirations of the bio parents AU) of fan content (said bio parents AU) of fan content (Lmk) of a piece of content (JTTW). The chain is GETTING LONGER BOYS. I personally think it's funny. My apologies for everyone who lost their brain/ last remaining braincell reading this x)

omg. It’s a fan-inception!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will Red Son and MK ever have a bad date?

I like to believe EVERY date will have would be comically bad. But I think that’s because they still need to understand that they don’t fall under the “typical demon date” or “amatonormativity” umbrella. The best date they could have is just them training and having lunch later, or them playing videogames or netflix and chill.

@sollythesalt ha chiesto: Dumb question but do you remember the scene in lmk where Wukong said he has stage fright? I wonder if you're gonna do something with that knowledge…. Ps: Keep doing your magic queen we love you and your art✌️💅

oh u bet I did

[stave-writes]

hello!! may i request mitrun and thistle(separately) x artist!reader who is very interested in their appearance, but hides it very well. most of the time they did not notice the reader's interest in their appearance(and they don't really notice the reader either lol), but one day, approaching the reader from behind to discuss something, they make some very high-quality sketches with them?? I hope this is not a very long request and don't forget to drink water!! :)

Mithrun & Thistle (Seperately) x Artist!GN!Reader

Word Count: 555

So sorry about how long this took to come out! Been fighting writer's block but the power of Mithrun debut (!!!!!) is forcing me to make sure I'm up to date with requests ^^

Also in terms of writing Thistle, I view them as mentally still underage so this will be platonic for them, sorry to disappoint at all ^^'

Mithrun could never understand why you look at him like you do, with a gaze full of curiosity and hiding behind your sketchbook when he catches you. Was there something in his hair? Did he do something to upset you? He tended not to pay you any mind, after all, he didn't care about much anymore. So, when asked by a mutual friend to go talk to you, he wasn't exactly against it.

He'd chosen to approach you from behind, simply to see how you'd react. It was funny seeing people jump or flinch when he teleported behind them, even if he didn't have a desire to play around like a child. So, he'd appeared behind you, face leaning right over your shoulder and opening his mouth to speak before he saw it. A...sketch of him?

It made more sense now, that you'd been watching him so often, that you were always face first in your sketchbook when he was around. You'd been drawing him, and he wasn't against it. In fact, the amount of detail was impressive, even if the visible bags under his eyes and the gauntness of his face did make him recoil just a bit.

"Good job." Was his quiet mutter, turning to look you in the face while you were visibly dying with a mix of surprise and embarrassment that you'd been caught by the very man who filled pages and pages of your sketchbook. A smile couldn't help but rise on his face, chuckling softly as he moved away from your personal space. It seemed he mulled his words for a second before shrugging, speaking plainly, "Someone sent me to come get you, said they have a message for you."

And with that deadpan speech, he was gone. Although, anyone who ran into the Captain that day did seem to think he was a little...sunnier than usual. Odd.

Thistle on the other hand is used to posing for portraits with his family, sitting politely still for the painters or being urged to smile brightly to not distract from Delgal or Yaad. He quite enjoyed not being the focus of the paintings, especially with his ears not paid much attention to.

So it was a little confusing when, as he draped himself to look over your shoulder, he saw a sketch of him. With his white hair tied up into the bun, it'd been in for the last 1000 years, and his ears were floppy slightly with youth but still pointed due to his elf heritage. It was a little flattering, being the subject of someone's art!

Smiling brighter than he had for a while, Thistle leant his head on your shoulder, peering up at you with those curious purple eyes and waiting for your reaction. It was a little confusing when you seemed almost upset he'd found your work. Was...he not supposed to see it?

"It looks good! Why didn't you show me it?" Thistle queried, leaning his elbows on your shoulder with a head tipped to the side, as if tilting his head would just knock understanding right into place. Even when you explained they were just personal sketches, Thistle let out a huff. "I like them. Can you make me one to have?" Eventually, you agreed with a sigh. He was lucky he was so damn cute.

[angelremnants]

A Christmas to Cherish, A Yule to Remember l L. Laufeyson

summary : When tasked with organizing a holiday cultural exchange between Midgard and New Asgard, you face clashing traditions and unexpected connections. To foster goodwill, you plan a hybrid celebration that blends Christmas with Yule, inviting world leaders and dignitaries to experience Asgard's unique customs. However, hosting off-worlders, especially a skeptical Loki, proves challenging. His sarcasm only more adds tension as sparks begin to fly between you, testing your growing connection. As Yule and Christmas traditions collide, an unexpected kiss under the mistletoe might just be the season's most surprising twist.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, cultural clashes, emotional vulnerability, sarcastic banter, mild angst with eventual heartwarming fluff, some hurt/comfort, teasing, suggestive flirtation, references to holiday traditions, references to norse lore and traditions.

word count : 18.3k

author's notes : Ho ho ho! You didn’t think I would pass up the chance to write an Asgardian Christmas story, did you? I admit, I may have gone a bit overboard with this fic. What can I say? Santa’s spirit inspired me greatly. Well, this and jschlatt's christmas album.

Like my first ever Loki fic, this is loosely connected to the A Tales Of series (though in an AU way?) but can definitely be read as a stand-alone. This narrative is somewhat like a Hallmark movie, but let’s be honest: who would turn down a feel-good story, especially featuring our dear god of mischief?

As Gossip Girl once said, have a holly jolly Christmas, xoxo.

(ao3 version)

The snow-dusted village of New Asgard glimmered under the pale light of a crisp winter morning. Nestled along the rugged Norwegian coast, the settlement was a patchwork of old-world Asgardian charm and Midgardian practicality. Wooden houses stood sturdily against the biting wind, their roofs lined with faint traces of frost. Small boats bobbed gently in the harbor, and the faint hum of activity filled the air as Asgardians went about their lives. For you, this place was no stranger—it felt like stepping into a world both ancient and familiar, a realm that had become something of a second home.

Your arrival this time lacked the fanfare of your first visit. You stepped out of the rumbling helicopter onto the cobblestone square, the crunch of your boots against the frosty ground drawing a few curious glances from passersby. You adjusted the scarf around your neck, the chill of the air biting your cheeks as you scanned the familiar faces awaiting you. Your attire was both practical and stylish: a dark wool coat cinched at the waist accompanied by equally dark thigh stockings and combat boots, a deep burgundy scarf, and black gloves to ward off the cold.

Ever the picture of poise and authority, Brunnhilde stood at the forefront, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She wore a sleek leather jacket lined with fur, a modern touch to her otherwise warrior-like appearance. Beside her was Thor, his golden locks catching the sunlight as he waved enthusiastically, clad in a thick knit sweater that somehow managed to look regal, and slightly behind them, Loki, who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Dressed in a dark green cloak over his tailored Asgardian tunic, his expression was one of perpetual exasperation.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite Midgardian diplomat,” Brunnhilde called out, her voice carrying easily over the chatter of the square. “Welcome back, sweet cheeks.”

“Favorite? Or just the one who causes the most trouble?” Loki quipped, his tone dry as he adjusted his green-and-gold cloak. His sharp eyes lingered on you momentarily, taking in your wind-flushed cheeks and bright smile.

“Missed you too, Mischief,” you shot back with a grin, brushing past him to greet Brunnhilde with a brief hug.

Thor clapped a hand on your shoulder, nearly knocking you off balance with his exuberance. “It’s good to see you again, Lady [Y/N]! Come, you must be freezing. We’ve prepared a feast worthy of a returning friend.”

“I’m sure it’s as subtle as ever, big guy,” you teased, raising a brow. As you followed them towards the grand longhouse, you turned to Thor, a hint of curiosity in your eyes. “I thought you’d be off-world with the Guardians of the Galaxy. What brings you here?”

Thor shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Even the god of thunder needs a break, and what better place to rest than home? Besides, someone has to make sure these two don’t kill each other.”

“That’s reassuring,” you said dryly, earning a chuckle from Brunnhilde. “But I’m not here just for feasts. There’s a little diplomacy to be done too, remember?”

The newly appointed Allfather led the group toward the longhouse that served as New Asgard’s central hub. “We wouldn’t dream of letting you forget your duties. Though, knowing Thor, he might try to bribe you with ale and roasted boar.”

“Would it work?” Thor asked, grinning as he held open the door.

Inside, the longhouse was warm and inviting, its timber walls adorned with carvings that told stories of Asgardian history. Intricate designs of Asgardian history and the nine realms stretched across the beams, illuminated by the flicker of firelight. A large hearth roared at the center of the hall, its heat radiating outward and mingling with the smell of spiced mead and freshly baked bread. You let the warmth seep into your bones, feeling a sense of comfort you rarely found elsewhere.

You took a seat at the long wooden table, its surface polished to a high shine, the grain of the wood still bearing marks of its Asgardian craftsmanship. As you settled around the long wooden table, the conversation shifted naturally, the camaraderie among them making you feel like part of the family.

“We’re honored you could join us again,” Brunnhilde said, pouring you a cup of mead. “Especially so close to your Midgardian holiday—what is it called again? Christmas?”

“That’s the one,” you confirmed, taking a sip of the sweet drink. “It’s a huge, worldwide deal here. Lights, trees, gifts, food—basically everything Thor loves, but with more glitter.”

Thor laughed heartily. “Glitter sounds like a fine addition to any celebration!”

“Hardly,” Loki muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. “Leave it to Midgardians to turn a perfectly good winter solstice into a gaudy spectacle.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, leaning forward with a playful smirk. “You’re telling me Asgardians don’t have their own version of an over-the-top winter celebration?”

Loki exchanged a look with Thor, who chuckled sheepishly. “We do,” the blonde admitted. “It’s called Yule. But it’s not quite as… excessive as your Christmas. It’s more about tradition—feasting, storytelling, honoring the turning of the seasons. We celebrate every five years, given our longer lifespans.”

“Every five years?” you repeated, your brows lifting in surprise. “That’s… really long and sad to hear.” You mulled over the information before your eyes lit up as you sat straighter, as if struck by lightning. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. The United Nations and New Asgard have been strengthening ties through mutual aid, cultural exchange programs, and even security. But diplomacy shouldn’t just be treaties and meetings—it needs moments of connection. What better way than inviting emissaries from Midgard to experience Yule with you?”

Thor beamed, slapping the table. “Now that’s an idea worthy of Asgard!”

Loki’s scoff was almost immediate. “Ah yes, because what we need is another excuse for Thor to hang glittering baubles everywhere.”

“Don’t tempt me, brother,” Thor replied, his grin widening.

Ignoring Loki’s grumbling, you pressed on. “I’m serious. Think of it: world leaders, ambassadors, and cultural experts all coming together to witness your traditions while sharing ours. It’s symbolic—a reminder that Earth is now your home too. It’ll also facilitate recognition of your country’s borders from the neighboring countries, and God knows how much you need it for the UN to get off your asses.”

Brunnhilde nodded thoughtfully. “It would certainly help foster goodwill. But it’s not without its challenges. Hosting off-worlders isn’t exactly simple. Though organizing something like this would take effort. And volunteers.”

“I’ll handle the logistics,” you offered. “We’ll make it a hybrid celebration—Christmas and Yule, blending the best of both worlds. Think of it as creating a new tradition for New Asgard. We have three weeks at most for this, I’m sure we’ll manage to come up with something nice.”

Loki let out a soft, sarcastic laugh. “How charming. Perhaps we can also write jingles to serenade these dignitaries.”

Thor, however, seemed genuinely excited. “Brother, you must admit—this could be grand event. We can show Midgard our hospitality while learning from them in return. You should participate with us, especially considering your probation status.” He said brightly, clapping his brother on the back.

Loki’s expression darkened immediately. “I will do no such thing.”

“Oh, don't be such a wet blanket,” you teased. “Think of it as a way to get back into everyone’s good graces. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing?”

His sharp gaze met yours, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. “If I agree to this farce,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate, “it will not be because you’ve managed to guilt me into it.”

“Of course not,” you replied sweetly. “It’ll be because you secretly enjoy a good challenge.”

Brunnhilde leaned back in her chair, smirking as she watched the exchange. “Well, it’s settled then. [Y/N], you’re officially in charge of Christmas diplomacy. But don’t expect Loki to be helpful.”

Loki sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This will end in disaster.”

“Only if you let it,” you said, your tone light but your eyes sparkling with determination. “Besides, a little festivities never hurt anyone.”

“You’re delusional if you think this will go smoothly,” he retorted, earning a laugh from Thor and a pointed look from Brunnhilde.

As the conversation wound down, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement bubbling inside you. This was going to be a holiday unlike any other—a melding of traditions, cultures, and worlds.

⠀

The royal library of New Asgard was a marvel of timeless craftsmanship and quiet grandeur. Its towering, vaulted ceilings bore intricate carvings of Asgardian myths, the golden threads in their design shimmering faintly under the glow of enchanted lamps. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, brimming with ancient tomes and fragile scrolls, stretched upward as if reaching for the heavens. The air carried the faint scent of aged parchment and polished wood, a comforting reminder of centuries of preserved knowledge. Warm light illuminated the dark, ornately carved furniture, casting soft shadows that danced with a gentle flicker. It was a sanctuary of wisdom and serenity—and, at present, an arena of subtle conflict.

You sat at a large, circular table, its surface strewn with papers, notes, and an assortment of books ranging from Midgardian holiday traditions to Asgardian histories. You tapped your pen against the notebook in front of you, glancing across the table at Loki, who looked entirely unamused. He lounged in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, absently flipping through a book as if he couldn’t be less interested.

“This is supposed to be a brainstorming session,” you said, breaking the silence. “Not a sulking session.”

Loki didn’t look up, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “I assure you, I’m doing neither. I’m merely tolerating this… exercise in futility.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “You mean the logistics for what could be one of the most culturally significant events New Asgard has hosted since its founding?”

“Culturally significant?” Loki echoed, finally looking up. His emerald eyes glimmered with amusement, though his tone remained dry. “You’re combining gaudy, Midgardian frivolities with centuries-old Asgardian tradition. Forgive me if I fail to see the ‘significance’ in that.”

“Excuse me—gaudy?” you repeated, mock-offended. “You say that as if Asgardians don’t have a penchant for drama and grandeur themselves. I’ve never seen more divas than you guys, actually.”

Loki smirked but said nothing, instead closing the book he had been flipping through with an exaggerated snap. He gestured to the pile of materials on the table. “Very well, enlighten me. Which Midgardian traditions are we meant to subject ourselves to this time? Ugly sweaters? Marshmallows floating in heated milk?”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “First of all, ugly sweaters are iconic. Secondly, you can’t tell me that enchanted ale or Thor’s thunderous feast presentations aren’t Asgard’s version of over-the-top. It’s practically the same thing.”

“That’s debatable,” Loki tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I’ll concede that Thor’s idea of revelry is... boisterous. But at least our celebrations have history, tradition, and dignity—unlike your chaotic, candy-cane-laden spectacles.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Oh, sure. Because nothing says ‘dignity’ like smashing a barrel of mead over someone’s head when you’ve had too much.”

He couldn’t suppress a chuckle, the rich sound echoing in the quiet library. “Touché. Still, I doubt you’ll find a single Midgardian festivity that rivals the elegance of an Asgardian Yule feast.”

“Well, then,” you said, leaning forward with a teasing glint in your eye. “Let’s make sure this one does. What do you say we blend the two? Grand Asgardian feast meets Midgardian charm.”

Loki tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as if studying you. “If we are to make this ‘blend’ of yours work, it will require proper execution. I refuse to let Midgardian cuisine overshadow Asgardian delicacies.”

You smirked, folding your arms across your chest. “Who said anything about overshadowing? I’m just saying the two can complement each other—if you don’t insist on being so stubborn about it.”

“I am simply being practical,” he countered, feigning offense at the remark. “Your realm’s fascination with things like marshmallow-topped casseroles is... baffling.”

“Okay, first of all, not every dish is like that,” you retorted with a laugh. “Secondly, maybe you just haven’t had the right Midgardian food. Let me handle it, and you’ll see.”

Loki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Very well. If you’re so confident in your culinary abilities, I’ll leave the Midgardian fare to you. But don’t expect me to lift a finger if it turns into a disaster.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” you teased, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “I’ll manage the Midgardian menu and decorations—after all, I’ve got experience with this sort of thing. And you can handle the Asgardian side of things. Deal?”

He regarded you for a moment, his emerald eyes gleaming with intrigue. “Deal. Though I expect nothing less than perfection on your part. Our reputation depends on it.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same to you,” you shot back with a grin.

Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s settled. I’ll curate a feast that embodies the grandeur and tradition of Asgard. You... can figure out how to make your chaotic cuisine somewhat palatable.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your laughter. “Whatever. We need to make this event big enough to fund itself. That means inviting not just the locals but foreign envoys, dignitaries, and even some of the press.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of disapproval crossing his features. “Ah, commercializing a solstice celebration. How very... Midgardian of you.”

You shrugged. “Well, we don’t have unlimited resources. Unless you’d like me to request funds from the treasury—and deal with Val’s budget lectures?”

“Perish the thought,” Loki muttered.

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “So, we’ll sell tickets for the main events and some of the smaller ones leading up to the big day. Maybe even have booths with crafts and snacks. People love that kind of thing. You’d be surprised how much they’ll pay for something with a story behind it.”

“Fascinating,” he said dryly. “You’ve turned a festival of tradition into a marketplace.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you teased. “It’s just good planning. Besides, someone has to oversee the sales and ensure we don’t turn this into complete chaos.”

Loki arched a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “And naturally, you’ve decided that someone is you?”

“Of course,” you replied with mock seriousness. “I happen to be very good at multitasking. I’ll handle the ticket sales, the booths, and the Midgardian side of things while you can focus on maintaining Asgardian traditions. A win-win.”

“Convenient,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair. “You delegate the tedious work to me while you run your little market empire.”

You grinned. “It’s called playing to our strengths, Loki. And besides, don’t pretend you’re not secretly thrilled to have complete creative control over the Asgardian portion.”

Loki chuckled softly, his gaze sharpening with intrigue. “Very well, but if I’m to oversee Asgardian traditions, you’ll have to prepare yourself for customs far richer—and far more theatrical—than your quaint Midgardian charm.”

“Like what?” you challenged, leaning forward.

“For instance,” he began, his voice slipping into a storytelling tone, “the Wild Hunt. A tradition led by Odin himself, where ghostly riders swept across the skies in search of lost souls. It’s a spectacle of power, mysticism, and awe. Imagine recreating it, with shadowed steeds and ethereal warriors galloping through the night.”

You blinked, your expression shifting between amusement and concern. “You mean you want to reenact something that, if I recall correctly, terrified Midgardians for centuries? Sounds... subtle.”

His smirk widened. “Subtlety is overrated. The Hunt would remind everyone of Asgard’s grandeur, a symbol of tradition and strength. Besides, it’s far more engaging than watching mortals sing around a fireplace.”

“Oh, speaking of fireplaces,” you interjected quickly, “what about the Yule log? That’s one tradition I can get behind. A cozy fire, some mulled ale—it’s charming.”

Loki rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “The Yule log is passable at best, but it pales in comparison to the Wild Hunt’s grandeur. Imagine thunder rolling in the heavens, spectral figures cutting through the sky, and Odin’s name whispered in awe.”

“Yeah, because holiday cheer is guaranteed by scaring the wits out of everyone,” you replied, crossing your arms. “How about this—we tone it down? Maybe we could turn the Hunt into something interactive, like a quest. A game for everyone, where they follow clues and complete challenges to ‘join’ Odin’s riders or uncover their secrets. It keeps the mystique but makes it fun rather than terrifying.”

Loki tilted his head, considering your suggestion. “An interactive quest... intriguing. It could preserve the spirit of the Hunt while appealing to the masses. But I insist on weaving in Asgardian lore—stories of valor, wit, and cunning—so it isn’t entirely watered down.”

“Fine by me,” you said with a grin. “And while you’re at it, I’ll make sure the Yule log has its rightful place. Even if it’s not as ‘grand’ as the Hunt, some traditions are worth keeping simple. Maybe the quest could end with everyone gathering around the fire to share stories and rewards.”

Loki gave you a sidelong glance, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If we must. But I reserve the right to oversee every detail of this quest. If it fails, it’ll be because of your Midgardian ‘simplicity.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Speaking of Midgardian traditions, what about something for the children? Maybe they could write letters about their wishes for the new year. It’d be a way to honor the spirit of giving—and maybe a subtle nod to Odin. After all, he was considered a Santa-like figure back in the day.”

Loki’s expression darkened slightly, his teasing smirk fading. “A ‘Santa-like figure’? Is that how you choose to remember the All-Father? As some mortal caricature who doles out trinkets?”

You softened your tone. “It’s not about reducing him to that. It’s about creating a memorial that’s accessible to everyone—something heartfelt for the people, especially the children.”

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the table. “Children don’t need to write frivolous letters when they already have the tradition of storytelling. It was one of the few times we, as a people, passed down something meaningful. Stories that carried wisdom, courage, and strength.”

You noticed the melancholic edge to his voice, the faraway look in his eyes. “You miss it, don’t you? The way things used to be.”

Loki didn’t respond immediately, his fingers tracing the edge of a page in one of the books. “Asgard was flawed, but it was home. These traditions... they’re all fragments of a life we can never fully restore.”

You reached across the table, your hand brushing his. “Then let’s make sure those fragments shine as brightly as they can. We might not be able to bring back everything, but we can honor what mattered—and maybe even create something new along the way.”

His gaze lifted to yours, a flicker of gratitude softening his features. “You’re unbearably persistent, you know that?”

“And you’re unreasonably dramatic,” you replied with a teasing grin, leaning back in your chair. “Now, about those stories...”

You went on like this for nearly the entire evening, your playful banter echoing through the quiet halls. One idea led to another, each suggestion sparking either spirited debate or begrudging agreement, until most of the tasks were neatly divided between you. Somewhere along the way, it turned into a friendly competition—Midgardian ingenuity versus Asgardian grandeur. Loki, ever the perfectionist, declared that his half of the event would be a masterpiece of tradition and elegance, while you, with a teasing grin, promised to bring charm and creativity to yours. By the end of it, your rivalry was set, and the stakes were clear: whoever’s contributions won the most admiration during the celebration would earn the undeniable right to gloat.

Three days after the council meeting, New Asgard had been buzzing with excitement. Word of the upcoming celebration spread like wildfire, and the entire realm was invested in the planning. Everyone—from the youngest child to the oldest elder—had some part to play in bringing the festivities to life. The atmosphere was electric, filled with anticipation for the grand feast, the traditions, and the merging of Midgardian charm with Asgardian grandeur. The excitement was contagious, and for a brief moment, the people of New Asgard felt united in their mission to make this event unforgettable.

With only two and a half weeks left to pull everything together, things seemed to be running smoothly. The decorations were coming along, the entertainment had been secured, and the Midgardian food vendors had been booked. However, the first hiccup came when you checked in with the cooking team about the feast’s food supplies.

You walked into the grand kitchen, where the chatter of the chefs and cooks filled the air, the scent of spices and roasting meats already beginning to mingle in the warm atmosphere. You neared a table where several of the Asgardian head chefs were organizing inventory, noting down large quantities of food on a parchment. You could already smell the fragrant aromas of roasting meats and simmering stews. You had heard murmurs of excitement as they prepared the grand feast. However, when you glanced over the inventory list, your stomach dropped.

“Ah, my lady, good to see you,” said Thorvald, the head of the Asgardian cooking team, a stocky, broad-shouldered man with a booming laugh and a fondness for rustic dishes. “We’ve made sure we have plenty of meat, and the roasts are looking excellent for the feast. Odin Allfather, bless his soul, would’ve approved of this spread!”

You scanned the numbers on the parchment and furrowed your brow. “This is... a lot of food, Thorvald. Too much, in fact. The quantities are well over the planned budget.”

“Ah, you worry too much, my friend!” Thorvald chuckled. “We want to give the people of New Asgard a true taste of our heritage, yes? We shall not scrimp on food—especially not when it’s for such an occasion!”

“That’s the problem, Thorvald,” you sighed. “We don’t have the funds to support all of this. I was told that the Asgardian part of the menu has far exceeded the budget we allocated for food. It’s going to require cuts—somewhere. And we can’t afford to cut corners with Midgardian elements just because the Asgardian offerings are more expensive.”

Thorvald blinked in surprise. “Cut some of our dishes? That is... not an easy thing to ask of me, my lady. I’ve spent weeks perfecting these recipes for the feast. These dishes are the soul of Asgardian culture!”

“I’m aware of that,” you replied, your tone strained. “But we have to balance the budget. You can’t expect the Midgardian side to be neglected. I’m going to have to speak to Loki about this.”

You left the kitchen with a heavy heart, your mind racing as you made your way to the main hall. As you passed through the stone corridors, you wondered who had approved such a large quantity of food. You assumed it had to be Thor—he had always been more enthusiastic about showcasing Asgardian culture, after all. But when you entered the hall, you spotted Loki deep in conversation with a few council members—Thrain and Freya. That’s when it hit you.

Of course. Loki.

Your steps slowed as you approached the trio. Loki glanced up as you neared, his usual sly smile spreading across his face. “Ah, darling, what a pleasant surprise. How are the preparations coming along?”

“Mischief,” you said, keeping your voice steady, “I just checked the food inventory. You’re over budget. The Asgardian portion alone is far too much. We’re going to need to cut back on something.”

Loki’s grin widened, though there was a glint of something almost mischievous in his eyes. “And what exactly is the problem?”

“You’re blowing the budget,” you said bluntly. “The quantities are ridiculous. You’ve put us in a bind, Loki. I can’t go back to the Midgardian vendors and explain that their share of the food is being cut so we can accommodate your... extravagance.”

Loki’s smile never faltered, and he leaned in slightly, as if savoring the moment. “Everything is permitted when it comes to Asgardian feasts, don’t you think? I had to make sure our food was sumptuous. If we’re going to impress our guests, we must do it right.”

You blinked, incredulous. “You did this? I thought it was Thor who went overboard with the food. But you—you—decided this was appropriate?”

“Indeed,” Loki replied, his tone light, yet his eyes sharp. “Thor is far too busy with other matters. He’s off delivering invitations to the world leaders. Someone had to make sure the Asgardian side was flawless.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “Loki, I don’t think you understand the issue. This isn’t just about impressing people. We have to balance both sides. If the Asgardian dishes are more expensive, we’ll have to trim something else to stay within budget.”

Loki’s expression hardened slightly, though he kept his composure. “I already told you—everything is permitted. The Asgardian food will be nothing short of magnificent. If that means cutting a corner somewhere else, so be it.”

“This isn’t a game, Loki!” you snapped, your patience thinning. “We agreed on a budget, and I won’t let you push the Midgardian side aside for your grandiose plans.”

Loki’s lips curled into a small smirk. “Very well, then. We’ll trim a few corners where it pleases you. But I’m telling you, it won’t be the same. Asgardian feasts are a tradition. And traditions don’t come cheap.”

“Maybe next time you’ll think before you make decisions like this,” you warned, your tone firm. “This is your best chance at redemption, Loki. Either we figure this out, or the entire celebration could be in jeopardy. I won’t let you sabotage everything.”

Loki held your gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he gave a barely perceptible nod. “Fine. I’ll speak with Thorvald and see where we can adjust things. But don’t think this is over, [Y/N]. You’re too concerned with rules and budgets for your own good.”

“Rules and budgets keep everything in line,” you countered. “Without them, chaos follows. Just remember that when you try to pull off another stunt like this.”

With one last look, you turned on your heel and stormed off, leaving Loki standing with a sly smile, no doubt enjoying the brief conflict. As you left the hall, you knew the next few days would be even more challenging. But one thing was certain—you wouldn’t let him derail the celebration, no matter how much he tried to push his agenda.

⠀

It had been a few days since the food fiasco, and you had hoped the worst was behind you. Yet, when it came to the holiday festivities, a new challenge emerged. You had been put in charge of the decorations, a task you had anticipated would bring joy, but you hadn’t expected the clash of cultures to be so pronounced.

The Asgardians, with their love of grandiose displays, had created decorations featuring intricate carvings, golden accents, and shimmering lights. The Midgardians, on the other hand, had opted for a more homey approach: a mix of soft pastels, tinsel, and small handcrafted ornaments. It was a cacophony of styles that left the hall looking more like a battlefield than a festive wonderland.

You stood in the center of it all, rubbing your temples in frustration. There were a few standout pieces—like the Runestone Ornaments, which you had suggested to add a touch of Asgardian culture. The beautifully carved runes for good luck and blessings were meant to bring harmony, but they were far too overpowering against the gentle hues of the Midgardian decorations. Some of the Asgardians had even insisted on sun-shaped ornaments to bring a sense of warmth and light, while others had complained that they clashed with the more subdued Christmas tree lights.

But the real problem didn’t come until you began unpacking a box of mistletoe. You had seen the tradition in Midgardian homes and thought it would add a charming touch to the festivities. After all, kissing under the mistletoe was a beloved tradition for good fortune, something light-hearted to bring the Asgardians and Midgardians together.

You hung the first mistletoe up near the doorframe, stepping back to admire your handiwork. That’s when it happened.

Asgardians walking by froze in their tracks, staring wide-eyed at the sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently overhead. A few of them stiffened, exchanging uncomfortable glances. The tall Asgardian warrior and member of the council, Thrain, quickly turned and muttered something under his breath, visibly distressed.

“What’s going on?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“You... My lady, you’re hanging that?” Thrain asked in a low voice, his expression grim. “You do know what it means, don’t you?”

You blinked. “The mistletoe? Yeah, it’s a tradition where I come from. You kiss under it for good luck and good cheer during the holidays.”

Thrain’s face turned pale, and a few of the others stepped back cautiously.

“Bad luck, Lady [Y/N],” Thrain said with a sigh. “That’s not just a decoration. It’s a symbol of misfortune in Asgard.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Misfortune? How can a sprig of mistletoe be a symbol of misfortune?”

Thrain glanced around as if to make sure no one else could overhear. After a moment, he leaned in closer to you, his voice lowering. “It’s a long story... but the mistletoe reminds us of an event that happened many centuries ago. It all goes back to a farce Prince Loki pulled on one of our greatest commanders, Balder the Brave.”

You furrowed your brow. “What happened?”

Thrain glanced around again and then began telling the story. “Oh, he’s quite the trickster. This one wasn’t as bad as some of his other schemes, but it certainly caused a ruckus. It happened during a festival many years ago.”

You frowned. “I don’t doubt this behavior coming from him, but I still fail to see how a simple prank would create a ruckus over some plant.”

“One evening, during the midwinter festival,” Thrain continued, “Balder, one of our finest commanders at the time, had just returned victorious from a long campaign. Everyone was celebrating in the Great Hall. Prince Loki, as always, couldn’t resist a chance for a little mischief.”

You frowned. “What did he do?”

“He enchanted a sprig of mistletoe, knowing that Balder, proud as he was, would never let anyone get the better of him. He tricked him into standing under the mistletoe, and as the tradition goes, whoever is beneath it must perform a challenge or take on a task.”

You tilted your head. “A challenge?”

Thrain nodded. “Yes. The challenge was a bit harmless—nothing like what you’d expect. But Loki, ever the trickster, made sure it was something unexpected. He enchanted the mistletoe so that whoever stood under it would be compelled to challenge the nearest person to a game of strength, wit, or skill.”

You laughed. “That sounds fun, not dangerous.”

Thrain smiled but his eyes darkened a little. “It was comical... until it got out of hand. Balder, in his pride, ended up challenging Hodr, his brother, to a contest of wit. But because of Loki’s enchantment, neither of them could back down. The game grew more and more intense—what started as a harmless wager soon escalated into a full-on competition, with the entire hall watching them argue over the silliest things. The game became a battle of pride and ego, and by the end, it nearly caused a rift and a blood battle between the two brothers.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A game of pride? Over mistletoe?”

“Exactly,” Thrain said, sighing. “It became a symbol of misplaced warfare rather than cheer. And since then, the mistletoe has been associated with that... heated contest. It’s seen as a bad omen for anyone who might fall into the trap of too much pride or too much competition.”

You frowned, considering the tale. “I didn’t know it had such a backstory. But I still think it’s a nice tradition. It’s about bringing people together, not creating rivalries.”

Thrain shook his head with a smile. “I suppose it’s not all bad. But many of us are cautious when it comes to mistletoe, considering its history.”

You smiled warmly, standing your ground. “I understand, but I’d like to carry on with the tradition. Maybe this time, it won’t be such a surprise. After all, it’s all in good fun. And, it’s a way to bring the Midgardian and Asgardian sides together.”

Before Thrain could say anything more, Loki casually strolled by, his ever-present grin spreading across his face as he overheard the conversation. He looked at you standing beneath the mistletoe, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, well,” Loki drawled, “looks like someone is trying to bring some of Midgard's cheer to Asgard, hmm?”

Thrain narrowed his eyes at Loki. “You’re the one to blame for this mess. You do remember what happened with the mistletoe and Balder, don’t you?”

You looked from Loki to Thrain. “So you don’t mind? I mean, you’re the one who started it.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping across his face. “I never said I minded. You’re more than welcome to give it a try, darling [Y/N]. I’ll just be here to watch the chaos unfold.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the grin from spreading. “Don’t act so smug, Loki. I’m just trying to bring some cheer around here.”

Loki leaned in a bit closer, his voice low and playful. “Oh, I’m sure it’s all in good fun. But if you’re going to hang mistletoe, you must be prepared for the consequences. After all, I did start this tradition with a bit of mischief. Who’s to say what might happen next?”

You gave him a pointed look, not backing down. “I’m not scared of a little mischief, Loki. And if anyone’s at risk of causing chaos around here, it’s you, not me.”

Loki’s grin widened, and he took a step closer, leaning in just enough for his voice to drop further. “Ah, but you’re the one daring enough to carry on the tradition, aren’t you? I’m just here to watch... and perhaps enjoy the show.”

Thrain raised an eyebrow at the playful exchange, clearly amused but also a bit wary of what would happen next.

You shot Loki a playful smile. “Well, I hope you found a good spot because everything is going to go as smoothly as a baby’s bottom. Just wait and see.”

Loki chuckled, stepping back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll be watching, indeed. But don’t be too disappointed if things don’t go exactly as planned.”

You didn’t back down. “We’ll see about that. And just so you know... I do like a bit of trickery in my holiday traditions.”

As Loki walked away, still laughing softly to himself, Thrain shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I see now... you’re not just abiding by mere traditions. You’re leading to misconduct.”

You grinned and hung the mistletoe with a flourish. “Maybe. But it’ll be fun. Besides, what’s a Christmas holiday without a little bit of naughtiness?”

With that, you carried on with your task, hanging the mistletoe, while Loki strolled off, still grinning as he watched from a distance.

⠀

As you walked briskly down the hall with a bundle of fairy lights in hand, you tried to shake off the growing frustration gnawing at you. It had been a long day filled with last-minute details, and the pressure was starting to mount. The grand hall was coming together with decorations now adorning every corner, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. When you passed by the table where Loki was supposed to be organizing the gifts for the prestigious guests, you nearly stumbled.

The sight before you made you stop dead in your tracks.

On the table laid haphazardly a collection of... unusual objects. You blinked, certain you had misread the situation.

The gifts were mismatched and meager, hardly fitting for the prestigious guests who would be attending the feast. They were strange—vastly different from anything you could imagine giving at such an important event.

There were intricately carved wooden figures, but they weren’t graceful or beautiful. One was a grotesque hybrid of a raven and a wolf, its features stretched and contorted as if trying too hard to be intimidating. Another was a stone, awkwardly shaped, with jagged edges and no real discernible design. You couldn’t tell if it was meant to represent a mountain, a fortress, or just... a rock.

Then, there were the vials—delicate glass tubes filled with what appeared to be tiny, glittering shards. There was a strange metallic sheen to them, as though they were meant to be potions. But it wasn’t something you could imagine anyone actually using. Certainly not the dignitaries they were expecting.

Your irritation bubbled up to the surface. You couldn’t imagine how these would be seen as a suitable gift, especially not for the dignitaries of Midgard.

“Loki?” you called, your voice a little sharper than you intended as you approached the table.

Loki glanced up from the strange wooden carving he was inspecting. His eyes lit up with that ever-present mischievous gleam, but his smile faltered when he saw the look on your face.

“Darling. I see you’ve found the gifts,” he said smoothly, clearly pleased with his work.

“Yes,” you said, your voice tight. “I have. And I’m... not sure what to make of them.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What’s wrong with them?”

Your jaw tightened as you glanced from the wolf-raven hybrid to the glass vials, each one looking more out of place than the last. “Loki, these—these are not what I imagined. They’re... off-putting.” You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself but failing. “These are not appropriate for the guests we’re inviting. These are—” you pointed at the grotesque wooden figures “—bizarre.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting from playful to defensive. “I don’t understand,” he said, his tone cold now. “What’s wrong with them? They’re authentic Asgardian craftsmanship. I thought the Midgardians would appreciate such unique offerings.”

“Unique?” you snapped, your frustration spilling over. “These aren’t unique, Loki. They’re strange. Midgardians have a different taste in gifts, and you’re not exactly showing the best of Asgard here. Look at this! This is not something you give a king or queen!”

You gestured toward the awkwardly shaped stone again. “A rock? Really? And these vials—” you picked one up, nearly dropping it when the tiny shards inside shimmered in the light “—what even is this?”

Loki’s expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Well, perhaps you Midgardians are more accustomed to giving mundane things like jewels or soft fabrics. But these gifts are symbolic of our realm’s might and history.”

You let out an exasperated breath, rubbing your temples as your stress levels rose. “Loki, gifts are about more than just showing off. It’s about connecting with the person you’re giving it to, about meaning. You can’t just throw a bunch of random objects together and call it a gift. They need to reflect the people you're giving them to—something personal, something that makes them feel seen. Not just... intimidating displays of power!”

Loki’s lips curled into a smirk. “Are you telling me these aren’t worthy of Asgardian guests?” His voice was laced with mockery, but there was a hint of genuine confusion beneath it.

“Not worthy—appropriate,” you shot back, your patience wearing thin. “They need to fit the occasion! We need to think about the people we're giving them to, not just impress them with how ‘mighty’ Asgard is!”

Loki was silent for a moment, staring at the table of strange objects. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it doubt? No, it couldn’t be. But something about your words made him pause.

Finally, he exhaled slowly and raised an eyebrow. “So, what do you suggest I do? I am not accustomed to the delicate, personal gifts you Midgardians are so fond of.” He made air quotes around the word ‘personal’, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You stood your ground, your voice tight. “For starters? Hand-carved wooden jewelry boxes, a set of hand-blown glass ornaments, fine, elegant cloaks, scrolls with inscriptions of peace and goodwill, or something more symbolic. Something that shows you’ve thought about the person receiving it, not just what’s flashy and ‘impressive’.”

Loki leaned against the table, crossing his arms, his gaze unreadable. “Hm. So, you want me to take all these—” He motioned toward the array of oddities. “And turn them into something bland and safe?”

“I want you to make something thoughtful,” you retorted, your voice sharp. “I’m not asking for ‘bland’. I’m asking you to take a moment and actually think about the people who’ll receive these gifts. Just because they’re from Asgard doesn’t mean they’ll automatically be appreciated.” You were starting to feel more and more on edge, but you didn’t back down.

Loki studied you for a long moment, his lips curling into that familiar, teasing smile. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said with a sigh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I shall reconsider my gift choices. But I must say, I do find your attitude a bit... aggressive for something as simple as gift-giving.”

You didn’t smile. You glared at him, your chest tight with both frustration and exhaustion. “Maybe it’s the pressure of this entire event that’s making me a little on edge, Loki,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm. “You know, considering I’ve got a million things to handle, and your weird-ass gifts are not helping.”

Loki tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ah, so you admit you’re a little... stressed?” he teased, his voice dropping an octave.

You forced a smile, your tone sharp but controlled. “Stressed? No, irritated, and you’re the reason why.”

Loki laughed softly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Well, I shall do my best to improve the situation. As you so kindly suggested.”

You shot him a final glare before turning on your heel, muttering under your breath. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Loki, still grinning, watched you walk away, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’m sure you will, darling. You’ll see.”

⠀

The days were growing shorter, and the pressure was mounting. You had barely slept in the past few days, and you were starting to feel the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders. As you stood in the hall, supervising the lights and sound systems for the grand celebration, you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming anticipation in the air. The event was drawing closer, and there were still so many things to check off your list.

You were adjusting a speaker, ensuring it was positioned properly, when you couldn’t resist. The temptation to hear the music was too much, so you quickly branched the speaker and connected your device. A soft click and then—Christmas carols filled the air. You smiled, satisfied with the sound quality, as the cheerful tunes resonated through the room. But your satisfaction was short-lived.

The room grew suddenly quieter, and a few Asgardians who had been nearby shot you disapproving looks. One of them, a stern-faced woman, crossed her arms and approached with a disapproving glare.

"You... put this on?" she asked, her tone tight. "This is not how we celebrate our Yule. This... commercialized nonsense. What is this Midgardian tradition you’ve chosen to impose upon us?"

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean? It’s just Christmas carols... The song is about goodwill and joy. It’s part of the festivities."

The woman shook her head sharply, clearly upset. “Yule is a sacred time for Asgardians. We do not need the influence of Midgard’s festivals to ruin it.” She turned on her heel, walking away, muttering something about traditions being lost.

The sound of footsteps behind you caught your attention, and soon you were surrounded by a small crowd of disapproving Asgardians. Your stomach sank as their frowns deepened. The more they gathered, the more agitated they became, and soon voices were rising in frustration.

“This is not the way we do things here!” one of them exclaimed. “You can’t just commercialize our holiday!”

“I never agreed to this,” another voice chimed in. “This is a travesty to our sacred traditions!”

Your pulse quickened, and your mind raced, but the words felt like they were getting jumbled in your head. You tried to speak, but the frustration in the room was suffocating. The weight of their disapproval settled heavily on your chest, and you felt the first stirrings of panic. You had tried to make everything perfect, to blend the two worlds, but it seemed you had miscalculated, and now you were drowning in the pressure. You took a deep breath, but it felt shallow, and your hands trembled slightly. This was going wrong. Everything was going wrong. You were failing—again. You opened your mouth, but before you could say anything, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Enough."

Brunnhilde, with her ever-present calm and authority, stepped forward, her eyes scanning the crowd with quiet dominance. The Asgardians fell silent, and though they clearly weren’t pleased, they respected the king's presence. She turned to you, offering a small, sympathetic smile before addressing the group.

“We are guests in Midgard’s customs, and we are also here to celebrate Yule,” the Valkyrie said, her voice firm. “You are welcome to honor your traditions, but we must also respect the customs of the land we are in. Lady [Y/N] meant no disrespect, but there are many ways to celebrate, and it’s important to find balance.” She glanced over her shoulder. “If you have concerns, I am happy to discuss them with you. But for now, let us all move forward in the spirit of the festivities. There is no need to argue further.”

The Asgardians grumbled but eventually nodded, dispersing with a few sideways glares. Brunnhilde turned back to you, her expression softening.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” she said quietly, once the crowd had broken up. “And I know it’s not easy. But you can’t let every little mishap break you down. You’re doing the best you can.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything crash down on you again. “I just... I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Everything’s falling apart, Val. I thought this was going to go well, but—” You paused, your voice catching. “It feels like everything I try only makes things worse.”

The Valkyrie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not perfect, sweet cheeks. Of course you’re going to make mistakes. And you’re in charge of something that’s never been done before—of course, things will get complicated. But you can’t let it get to you like this. You have less than a week to go, and you need to pull yourself together. You can’t keep running to me for help every time something goes wrong. You’re more than capable of handling this.”

You gave her a strained smile, trying to hold back the frustration and exhaustion threatening to spill over. “I’ll do my best,” you said, though your voice was tired, worn. “I just want it to go well. For everyone.”

The Valkyrie's expression softened further, a knowing look in her eyes. “I know you do. You’ve put so much of yourself into this, and it won’t go unnoticed. But if you don’t take a moment to breathe and trust in your abilities, you’re going to burn out. So please, just... take a step back when you need to.”

You nodded, feeling the sincerity in her words, even if you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll... I’ll try. Thank you, Val’.”

She gave you a warm smile, her eyes full of understanding. “That’s all anyone can ask for. You’re doing great, even if you don’t feel it. Just don’t forget to keep breathing.”

With a final pat on the shoulder, she turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, a little more grounded. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You had a week left—you could do this. You had to.

It was supposed to be the highlight of the festivities. The Christmas tree. Everyone had been looking forward to it—the centerpiece of the entire celebration. You had spent weeks planning for it. You had found the perfect tree—a towering Asgardian pine, with thick branches that would hold the glowing lights and ornaments just right. It was going to be the perfect way to end all the planning, a moment of beauty and unity.

But when you arrived at the hall that morning, ready to supervise the decorating, you froze in horror. The spot where the tree had once stood was now empty.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you rushed through the room, looking everywhere, even behind the columns, but the tree was nowhere to be found. You moved faster, your panic growing.

“Where is it?” you muttered to yourself, voice rising with panic.

You turned the corner and saw a scene that made your stomach drop. The tree was... in pieces. Cut into sections, dragged across the floor, and stacked near the Yule log, ready to be burned. Your breath caught in your throat. The beautiful tree that had taken so long to pick, to care for, was now destined to be turned into kindling.

You stood frozen for a moment, staring at the pile of branches and needles.

You began to ask around, stopping the first Asgardian you saw. “What happened to the tree?” you demanded.

The person looked confused for a moment before answering, their voice careful. “Oh, the orders came down this morning. The tree was to be cut down and used for the Yule log. It’s been taken to be prepared for the fire tonight.”

Your blood ran cold. “What? No, that was the Christmas tree!” you said, your voice rising in disbelief. “Not for the Yule log. That was for decorating—”

Before you could finish, another Asgardian approached quickly, clearly out of breath. “The treasure hunt,” they said urgently. “It’s gone. It’s disappeared.”

The words hit you like a wave crashing over you. You couldn’t breathe. Your stomach twisted in horror, and your vision blurred as panic surged in your chest. You turned back toward the pile of cut branches and needles, but this time, you couldn’t stop the overwhelming flood of emotions.

“No! No, no, no…” you whispered, almost choking on the words. You couldn’t do this anymore. Your hands shook as you looked from the missing tree to the empty space where the treasure hunt should have been. You had worked so hard on every detail, every tradition. And now it was all falling apart.

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized just how much was slipping through your fingers. The pressure, the endless demands, the mistakes you couldn’t control. Everything you had worked for—everything you had poured your energy into—was unraveling before your eyes.

Without thinking, you screamed in frustration, the sound of it echoing in the empty hall.

“This is insane!” you shouted, your voice breaking. Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you fought to keep yourself from completely losing it.

As your outburst rang through the room, you realized a small crowd had gathered. They were watching you, exchanging glances. You could see the looks of confusion, even pity, but it was too much. Too much to bear.

You spun toward Loki, who had appeared in the doorway, clearly having heard the commotion. The sight of him was the last straw.

“You!” you yelled, your eyes blazing with fury. “This is your fault, isn’t it? You’re the one who gave the order to cut down the tree, aren't you?”

Loki didn’t flinch, his expression calm as ever, though his eyes narrowed slightly at your tone. “How kind of you to assume it originates from me,” he answered smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s a tree. It wasn’t going to last anyway.”

“No!” you snapped, your voice cracking. “It was supposed to be the Christmas tree! This was supposed to be the centerpiece of the entire festival, and now it’s—gone! Everything is falling apart!”

Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused by your outburst. “I’m not sure what you’re upset about, darling. It’s just a tree. We have plenty of others.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “And as for the treasure hunt... perhaps it’s just better you move on.”

The words felt like a slap to your already fragile state. You were barely holding yourself together. “You don’t get it! Do you even know about how much effort I’ve put into this?” you cried, your voice shaking with frustration. 

Before you could continue, the Asgardian who had spoken earlier came rushing in again, their face full of urgency. “The treasure hunt—there was another problem. The maps and clues were taken. We can’t find any of it!”

You stood there, your mind reeling, your entire body trembling as the weight of everything you had been carrying finally broke through. You were suffocating under the pressure.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, voice barely audible. Your chest heaved as tears began to burn at the corners of your eyes. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness—it all collided inside you, and you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Loki, standing calmly in front of you, regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and mild irritation. He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “You need to calm down, [Y/N]. It’s just a few mistakes. We’ll fix it.”

“You don’t get it!” you shouted at him, your voice cracking with emotion. “You’re the one who screwed this all up!” You were shaking now, your entire body trembling from the storm of feelings threatening to consume you. “I’ve been working so hard to make this perfect, and you—you just came in and ruined everything!”

Loki’s calm demeanor didn’t change, though there was a flash of something like annoyance in his eyes. “Enough,” he said simply. “You need a break.”

Before you could respond, Loki encased one of your arms with his hand, and suddenly, the world around you disappeared in a rush of swirling light. The noise, the chaos, the pressure—all of it vanished as you were transported far from the hall, away from the mess.

Thor, who had just returned from handing out the invitations, stepped into the hall, ready to greet the others and take in the progress. His cheerful mood faltered however when he saw the tension in the air. Brunnhilde stepped in front of him quickly, her presence a calming force.

“Thor,” she said softly, “don’t worry. We’ll take care of it. The tree and the treasure hunt will be set right.”

Thor frowned but nodded slowly, trusting her judgment. “What happened?”

“Leave it to me,” She replied with a reassuring smile. “It’s not as bad as it seems. Just give us a little time, and everything will be in order.”

Thor sighed, his face softening. “Alright. Just... make sure everything is alright.”

The valkyrie gave him a firm nod. “It’ll be fine. We’ll handle it.”

⠀

The sudden rush of magic had barely settled when your power surged inside you, raw and untamed. Your emotions, a swirling storm of anger, frustration, and fear, acted like a catalyst, and without warning, your armor materialized around you—jagged and radiant, the energy radiating from you like a tempest.

The environment was eerily quiet, isolated from the hustle of the main celebration preparations. The corner they were in was a secluded stretch of rocky outcrop nestled between tall, jagged trees that seemed to protect the area from view. The ground beneath them was soft with moss and small, scattered leaves. A few low stone walls were partly overgrown with ivy, adding to the sense that this was an untouched space, perfect for moments away from the prying eyes of others.

Your frustration boiled over. “You!” you screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Loki. “This is your fault!” Your voice was raw with rage, and the air around them crackled with your energy as you lunged at him.

Loki blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden eruption of power. He barely had time to react before you lunged at him, your armor glowing with destructive energy. “I told you to take it seriously!” you yelled, your voice hoarse, as you swung an energy-charged fist toward him.

Loki, still calm despite your fury, sidestepped the attack easily, but he wasn’t expecting the ferocity of your movements. “For Norn’s sake, calm down,” he exclaimed, dodging another strike, his voice measured. “You’re losing it!”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” you spat, your energy only intensifying. You launched yourself at him again, this time in a flurry of punches and energy blasts that tore through the air. Each time Loki parried, it only made you angrier, and you screamed in frustration, the energy from your armor flaring brighter. The surrounding trees shuddered in response to the intensity.

Loki’s face hardened with determination as he blocked your energy with his seiðr, deflecting your blows. “You need to stop this,” he said, barely dodging another attack. His voice tinged with something more serious than usual. “I know you’re angry, but this won’t solve anything.”

“I don’t care!” you shouted, charging forward again, your movements fueled by raw, uncontrolled power. Each punch you threw left ripples in the air, crackling with auroral energy. The moss beneath their feet quivered under the force, and distant birds flew away in alarm.

Loki, his expression tightening, continued to dodge your strikes, his calm demeanor beginning to crack. “You don’t need to do this. Control yourself, you’re letting your emotions take over.”

“Everything is falling apart!” you yelled back, your eyes blazing with power. “I worked so hard for this and it’s all crumbling! I don’t even know what to do anymore!”

The wind picked up around them, swirling the fallen leaves into a frenzy. Loki's stance grew more defensive, his magic weaving through the air to deflect your blows. “I understand that, but lashing out won’t make it better,” he countered, his eyes flashing as his powers met yours in the charged atmosphere. “Destroying yourself over this won’t help either.”

You recoiled slightly, eyes wild, but there was a flash of uncertainty in them now. Another blast of energy shot from your hands, missing Loki only by a hair. But this time, the force of your attack wasn’t matched by the fury you had before. The anger was still there, but it was beginning to dissipate, replaced by sheer exhaustion.

Your attacks slowed, and you found yourself dropping to your knees, the heavy weight of your emotions finally catching up to you. You were gasping for breath, your chest heaving. The power surrounding you flickered and began to fade as your energy drained. Your armor seemed to collapse in on itself, leaving only your trembling form.

You pulled your knees to your chest, your body curled inwards as your arms wrapped around yourself. Tears started to fall, hot and fast, as everything you had been bottling up poured out in sobs. You didn’t even try to stop them. You felt broken, like all the pressure and expectations had crushed you, and there was nothing left but this overwhelming, suffocating exhaustion.

Loki watched silently, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you. You had been so strong, so determined, and now you were crumpled in front of him, vulnerable in a way he had rarely seen before.

“Darling,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual edge. He took a step forward, his tone gentler than it had been all day. “I didn’t want you to get to this point. But you’re not alone. You never have to be alone in this.”

You sniffled, your voice breaking as you spoke through your tears. “Shut up. I tried so hard… But—But nothing is going right and—and I can’t keep pretending like I’ve got everything under control.”

You sat quietly, your head resting on your knees as the last remnants of your armor faded away. The hum of the distant festivities was a dull echo compared to the storm of emotions that had overwhelmed you moments ago. Loki remained beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving you, watching you carefully as if gauging when to speak.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if they were both taking a breath, letting the tension of the moment settle before moving forward.

Finally, Loki shifted slightly, lowering himself to sit beside you. He rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his usual playful demeanor absent for once.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice a comforting murmur in the quiet space between them, “I’ve seen many things in my time—more than most can fathom. But there is one thing about Yule that has always amused me.”

You glanced up at him, the exhaustion in your eyes still clear, but there was a small flicker of curiosity and apprehension in them as you met his gaze. Loki smiled faintly, leaning back slightly to get more comfortable. He seemed to take a breath before he began, his tone easing into something reminiscent of a tale he had long since retold to himself.

“When I was younger, and Asgard still celebrated Yule in its true, ancient form, there was a tradition... one that many might call ‘foolish’ now,” he began, a glint of mischief creeping into his voice. “We used to have a grand competition every year—a Yule feast, yes, but with a twist. It wasn’t just about who could decorate the best or bring the finest gifts. No, it was about who could make the best ‘Yule pudding.’”

You looked at him with a raised brow, unimpressed. “Yule pudding?”

Loki nodded, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he continued. “Yes. It was an Asgardian delicacy, made from all sorts of strange and exotic ingredients—some of which were better left unspoken of. The twist, however, was that everyone’s pudding had to be kept a secret until the feast began. The idea was that the other competitors would be surprised, even horrified, by what they found in their bowls.” He gave you a playful, knowing look. “And trust me, some of the ingredients were... less than appealing.”

You slightly tilted your head up, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “So... did anyone actually win?”

“Oh, yes,” Loki chuckled, his eyes lighting up with a familiar mischief that was comforting, even in the current tense atmosphere. “But not in the way you’d expect. The prize was a crown, yes, but the true victory came from seeing the faces of the other competitors. You know, nothing is more satisfying than watching the mightiest warriors of Asgard choke down something so vile... all for the sake of tradition.”

You couldn’t help but let out a scoff at the image he painted, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time that evening. “I can’t believe you used to get people to eat that stuff,” you said, shaking your head, though the corners of your lips twitched into a small smile.

Loki’s grin softened at the sound of your laughter, and he leaned a little closer to you, resting his arm across his knee. “I may have been a bit of a... troublemaker,” he said with a small shrug. “But the real lesson was the spirit of Yule itself—not in the feasts or the gifts, but in the laughter and joy that followed. Even in the worst moments, there is light to be found.” He glanced at you, his voice dropping to a quieter, more serious tone. “Even now, during times like this. What matters is not how perfect everything is, but how we come together, despite it all.”

You stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in, but it was the warm look in his eyes that made your heart settle. It was an understanding you hadn’t expected, and for the first time since the pressure began to mount, you felt a little less alone in your frustration.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your breath steadying. The soft comfort of his presence, the closeness, and the warmth of his energy settled the lingering chaos inside you.

Loki’s posture stiffened for a moment, surprised, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself a small smile, his fingers lightly brushing against your forearm as if offering silent reassurance. “Better?”

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment as you nodded, allowing yourself to rest in the calm space he’d created. “Yeah. Thank you, Mischief.” You paused, your voice quieter. “I’m still angry with you, though.”

He chuckled, though there was an apologetic undertone in his laughter. “I know,” he replied softly, his hand finding hers, the contact warm and comforting. “And… I apologize. I should have thought more carefully about how things would turn out, but as you know, I never could resist pushing your buttons.”

You gave a half-hearted smile, your eyes still closed as you rested your head against his shoulder. “Yeah, I noticed that alright. I guess I’ll have to be more careful around you in the future when it comes to important duty stuff.”

“I’ll consider this a compliment,” he said with a sly smirk, though the softness in his tone betrayed his true feelings. “I never did well with being ignored.”

You let out a small laugh, your shoulders relaxing fully now. The tension you’d carried for so long seemed to ease with each word he spoke, each breath he took. “I could’ve never have guessed,” you said teasingly, lifting your head to glance at him. Your gaze softened as you looked into his eyes. “But truly, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

Loki’s lips curled into a small, sly smile as he looked at you. “I suppose even I, the magnificent and benevolent god that I am, cannot resist the allure of your stubbornness,” he said with a mockingly grandiose tone.

You stayed seated, the world around you hushed, save for the gentle rustling of the snow and the occasional sound of distant footsteps. The snow blanketed everything in serene stillness, creating a peaceful atmosphere that made it feel as though you were in a world of your own, far removed from the stress of the impending festivities.

Loki, still holding your hand without realizing it, gently rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand. The touch was comforting, soothing in its quiet rhythm, as if trying to calm the lingering tension in both of you. You didn’t speak for a while, content in the peacefulness of the moment.

You sat there, side by side, the stillness of the world around you filling the space between you with an unspoken connection. The flakes of snow continued to drift down around you, their quiet dance a gentle reminder of the calm you shared.

You glanced at him, your heart beating a little faster than usual. You weren’t sure if it was the cold, or something else, but your cheeks felt warmer, and when you looked at Loki, he seemed to be feeling the same quiet shift between you. Your fingers remained intertwined, a small, unnoticed act of closeness that neither of you questioned.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both content in each other's company as the world around you continued to fall into the winter stillness. The silence felt comfortable now, and neither of you was in a hurry to leave it.

As the minutes passed, you felt the cold slowly creeping back into your bones, a shiver running through you. You glanced at Loki and saw that his eyes had softened, watching you carefully. He felt it too, the quiet coldness in the air.

Loki, still with his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, looked at you for a moment before speaking again. “I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome here. Let’s get you back before someone else decides to accidentally destroy something.”

You let out a small laugh, this time free of the weight you’d carried for so long. You felt lighter—easier. You stood up and offered him your hand, which he took with an ease that made the whole moment feel just right. “Can’t wait to see what other problem awaits us,” you answered sarcastically, a small smile on your lips.

You had said "us"—a small word, but one that meant a lot in this moment. The connection between you, the quiet bond you shared, felt even more solid in the simplicity of it.

When you finally stood, neither of you noticed how your hands were still clasped together. It was only when you began walking back toward the hall that the warmth of your intertwined hands made you realize just how natural it felt. Neither of you spoke of it, but both knew that something had shifted. Neither of you knew if your cheeks were flushed from the cold, or from something else entirely, but neither of you minded.

The sound of your footsteps blended with the soft echo of the falling snow as you made your way back, the world around you still and serene, leaving you alone in your thoughts and the shared comfort of each other's presence.

The first thing you noticed upon waking the next morning was the soft, golden light spilling through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The warmth was a welcome contrast to the cool air of the hall you’d fallen asleep in, and you slowly stretched, your body sore from the events of the previous day. Your mind was still clouded with memories of the chaos—broken decorations, missing trees, disorganized gifts. A faint sense of panic clawed at your chest, but as you sat up, you realized the quiet hum of activity had returned to the castle.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, trying to shake off the weight of the previous day’s exhaustion. It was hard to believe it had all come to a head the night before—one misstep after another, and yet, here you were, still alive and breathing.

When you pushed yourself up from the bed and stepped into the hallway, you found it quieter than usual. The usual hustle and bustle of the Yule preparations had faded into the background. Your feet carried you instinctively toward the great hall, but when you stepped inside, your breath caught in your throat. The hall had transformed overnight.

Where there had been scattered remnants of undone decorations and unfinished projects, now there were beautifully decorated trees, glowing with twinkling lights. The large, grand Yule tree, full of shimmering baubles and sparkling tinsel, stood proudly near the center of the hall, towering over the tables. Garlands of holly and ivy draped across every surface, and the sweet smell of freshly baked bread and roasting meats filled the air.

But despite the stunning transformation, your heart still raced. You looked around with wide eyes, trying to take in everything, but it only seemed to make your nerves flare up.

“Where is everything?” you muttered under your breath, mostly to yourself, but the words were tinged with a hint of anxiety. Had they truly fixed everything? The tree looked perfect—tall, regal, and sturdy—but was it the right one? You had been so frantic, you hadn’t even stopped to look at it properly.

Your footsteps quickened, and you moved to the table where the feast had been laid out. Platters of food, colorful and hearty, were stacked in layers of decadent variety. The bread, the pastries, the meats… everything looked impeccable. Had they managed to get everything right? What if something had been missed?

“[Y/N],” came Valkyrie’s voice, drawing your attention. You looked up to see her walking toward you with a teasing grin. “Good morning. I see you’re already making your rounds.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to appear calm as you turned toward her. “I just—I just want to make sure everything’s in order,” you said, though your tone was strained. “The tree... it’s the right one, isn’t it? And the feast—did we get everything? We can’t afford to make any more mistakes.”

The Valkyrie arched a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a lot of fretting to do, don’t you? You need to take a break. Everything is done. The tree is perfect, the decorations are all set, and the feast... well, the Asgardian delicacies are sure to make an impression. Relax.”

You hesitated, eyes scanning the room again, but the weight of the last few days, added to your constant sense of responsibility, didn’t allow you to settle so easily. “But what about the gifts? Did Loki handle everything? And the—the treasure hunt?”

Brunnhilde gave a small chuckle. “Oh, the treasure hunt is a... success,” she said, the way she said it making you feel slightly apprehensive. “Though, I must admit, I didn’t expect the children to raid the chocolate stash as thoroughly as they did. I’m still trying to figure out how the entire chest went missing, but they found the treasure in the end, and I think that’s what matters.”

“Wait, the chocolates—” you froze, then sighed. “Of course. Of course, they ate it all.”

She smirked. “At least they found it,” she added with a shrug. “But that’s all handled. You’ve done your part. Now, you can rest.”

“I can’t rest,” you muttered, glancing over at the corner of the hall where a few last-minute touches were still needed. “There’s still the lights to check, and the candles—what if they’re uneven? What if the guests don’t like the decorations?”

The Valkyrie watched you for a moment, her expression softening slightly. She walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, her voice becoming more serious. “Listen to me, sweet cheeks. You’ve been working nonstop for days. Everything is taken care of. It’s all ready. All that’s left for you to do is enjoy it.”

Your face flushed with embarrassment. You knew you were overthinking everything, but it was hard to shake off the anxiety that had built up during the previous days. You had put so much pressure on yourself, and the idea of something going wrong—again—made your stomach twist.

But Brunnhilde was right. Everything was perfect. You had helped put it all together, and now all you had to do was step back and enjoy it. No more fretting.

With a deep sigh, you finally nodded. “You’re right. I just... I can’t help it.” You rubbed your temples. “I’ll try to rest for a bit.”

She grinned and gave you a playful shove toward the seating area. “Good. Now go take a break. Everything is in order. We’ve got this.”

Your steps slowed, and you made your way to the chairs near the fireplace, feeling lighter with each step. It was hard to let go of the responsibility, but in that quiet moment, with everything taken care of, you could finally breathe a little easier.

As you sank into the warmth of the chair and allowed yourself to close your eyes for just a moment, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The rest of the day would be filled with festivities, joy, and laughter. The Yule festival was coming soon. And this time, you could enjoy it without the weight of worry on your shoulders.

⠀

The royal library had been deemed a perfect spot for the traditional storytelling to take place. The shelves lined with ancient tomes and scrolls seemed to add an air of mystique to the already enchanting setting. Children crowded around Loki, sitting cross-legged on the floor, their eyes wide with curiosity. Even a few of the adults had gathered, drawn in by the sheer magnetism of his presence.

You stood near the doorway, watching quietly from the sidelines. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight before you—Loki, the formidable god of mischief, captivating the room with his magic. His voice was deep and resonant, laced with humor, as he began weaving his tale.

“And so, there I was,” he began, gesturing dramatically with one hand, “standing atop the great peak of Jotunheim, facing down an entire army of giants. The cold bit at my skin, but did I flinch?” He paused, his lips curling into a playful grin. “Of course not. I am Loki, the trickster god, the one who—”

The children erupted in giggles, and Loki’s grin widened. With a snap of his fingers, the air around him shimmered with a faint green glow. He conjured an illusion of a massive ice giant, towering above the group, its icy form glowing ominously. The kids gasped in awe, eyes glued to the spectacle.

“Fear not, young ones!” Loki’s voice boomed as he summoned another flick of magic, and the giant began to shrink. “I wasn’t about to let a little thing like that scare me. With one swift move, I tricked them into thinking they’d already won. I am a god, after all.”

As he spoke, his illusions shifted with every word—mighty warriors battling against beasts, massive serpents coiling around towering castles, and fire-breathing dragons soaring across the sky. The magic seemed to come alive with every flick of his wrist, each new image more mesmerizing than the last.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. It wasn’t just the magic—though it was impressive—it was the way Loki moved, the way he commanded the room. There was something about him in these moments, his charm and wit flowing effortlessly, drawing even the adults in.

His eyes met yours for a fleeting second as he continued his tale, and you felt your heart skip a beat. There was something oddly endearing about watching him perform for the children. He was so... alive. His usual smirk softened in these moments, replaced by a deep sense of contentment as he captivated his audience.

“You know, the trick to deceiving giants,” Loki continued, his voice lowering conspiratorially as the children leaned in closer, “is not in strength, but in the art of persuasion. They believed me when I said the sun had risen on their kingdom. But I knew better. The sun? It wasn’t even close to rising.” He chuckled darkly. “I’ll spare you the details of the real trick, but let’s just say... they learned to always listen to Loki.”

A few of the children laughed and clapped, clearly entranced by the story, while the adults looked on with amused smiles. You couldn’t help but smile fondly at him from your position by the doorway, the warmth of the moment settling in your chest.

“That was quite the tale,” Brunnhilde said, stepping up behind you with a playful grin. “I didn’t realize you were so captivated by Loki’s antics.”

You turned quickly, caught off guard by her teasing. “What?” you asked, your cheeks heating slightly as you tried to hide the warmth spreading through your chest. “I’m just... enjoying the story.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the situation. “Mm-hmm, enjoying it quite a lot, I see. You know, if you’re really into the storytelling, you could always go sit on Loki’s lap, like the Midgardian children do with Santa. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She smirked, nudging you playfully.

You flushed, rolling your eyes as you tried to cover up your flustered state. “I’m fine where I am, thank you,” you said, though your gaze lingered on Loki at the center of the room. Your heart fluttered a little as you watched him, and you quickly turned away to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

As the story continued, Loki’s hands wove through the air, creating glowing, animated figures with his seiðr. He made the children laugh, gasp, and even squeal with excitement as dragons flew overhead and kingdoms were overthrown. Each tale he told seemed to be tailored to his young audience, but you couldn’t help but notice how the adults—yourself included—were just as mesmerized by him.

You shifted slightly, and your eyes caught on one of the floating illusions—a massive serpent coiling around a castle tower. For a moment, you thought it looked almost... real. You blinked and glanced at Loki, noticing the slight tilt of his head as he continued to spin his tale.

Your heart skipped again.

“So,” The Valkyrie said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “What do you think? Still not interested in the man behind the magic?”

You shot her an incredulous look. “What are you talking about?” you hissed under your breath. “I told you, I’m just here for the storytelling.”

“Sure you are,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, but deep down, you felt a quiet warmth in your chest. Brunnhilde's teasing aside, there was something undeniable about the way Loki commanded the room. You were captivated, and you didn’t think there was any shame in admitting it.

Finally, after several more stories, Loki ended his performance with a dramatic flourish. The children clapped, their cheers echoing through the grand library.

“At ease,” he said, bowing slightly, “I hope you all enjoyed the tale. It’s not every day you get to hear the true version of events, after all.” He gave the children a wink before turning toward the adults. “Now, my dear friends, it’s time to take a break and prepare for the real festivities to begin.”

You stepped back as Loki turned toward you, still basking in the glow of the applause. He caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly. He seemed so at ease in his element—charming, playful, and utterly captivating.

The Valkyrie’s teasing voice broke through your thoughts again. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club to be a part of,” she whispered with a sly grin.

You could only chuckle, shaking your head. "Oh, hush."

But as Loki’s gaze met yours once more, you felt something stir in your chest—a connection you couldn’t quite put into words. For all his mischief and tricks, something was endearing about the way he made the world around him brighter, even if it was just for a moment.

⠀

The grand hall was alive with the soft hum of conversation and laughter, but amid the lively atmosphere, you found yourself quietly drawn toward the Yule tree. Its towering branches were adorned with delicate glass ornaments, shimmering ribbons, and lights that cast a soft, magical glow throughout the room. You stood before it, mesmerized by the beauty of it all.

But as you stepped closer, your attention was caught by something unexpected. Among the glittering baubles and tinsel were small, folded papers tied with delicate strings, hanging just like ornaments. At first, you thought they were part of the decorations, but as you leaned in to examine them, you realized they were letters—each one carefully placed with intention. Curiosity piqued, you gently plucked one from the tree and unfolded it.

The first letter was simple, the handwriting of a child: I wish for a pet dragon, even if it’s small. You smiled softly, your heartwarming at the innocent wish. You moved to the next one, your fingers tracing the fragile paper. I wish for snow to never stop falling, so I can play forever. Each note seemed to carry with it a small, pure hope, a wish that felt timeless and untouched by the complications of the world.

You let out a quiet laugh, glancing at another letter. I wish for more sweets at the feast tomorrow. That one made you grin wider—something about it felt so wonderfully human, so relatable in its simplicity.

“You seem to be enjoying those.” The voice startled you, and you turned to find Loki standing just behind you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was a certain softness to his gaze as he watched you, a subtle pride that he didn’t always show.

You raised an eyebrow, still holding the letter in your hand. “What is this? Some sort of... Yule tree tradition I wasn’t aware of?”

Loki’s expression shifted, and he looked almost bashful for a moment. “It’s new. After the storytelling, I thought it might be a good idea for the children to write down their wishes. I gave them the task of hanging them on the tree, hoping the magic of the season might make them come true.”

You blinked, surprised. “You—did you get the children to do this?” You shook your head, your tone softening as you looked at him in a way you hadn’t before. “That’s... a really thoughtful gesture, Loki.”

“I may have a flair for splendor,” Loki admitted with a small shrug, his voice laced with both humility and pride, “but even I can recognize the value of sincerity. Not everything must be a grand display of power.” He gestured toward the tree, his gaze lingering on the little letters. “Their wishes deserved more than a fleeting moment. Why not bind them to the spirit of Yule? A reminder that even the smallest dreams can take root and grow into something magnificent.”

You looked back at the tree, your heart feeling full as you saw the wishes swaying gently in the breeze. For a brief moment, the disarray of the previous days, the stress, and all the uncertainty melted away. It felt peaceful, in a way you hadn’t expected. The simplicity of the wishes, the hope behind them, made everything feel just a little bit more magical.

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?” you asked softly, the weight of your words more sincere than you’d meant. “I didn’t expect this side of you. You’re a bit of a softy in disguise.”

Loki smirked, his eyes glinting with a playfulness that only he could pull off, though a hint of warmth remained in his tone. "I am many things, but I would hardly call myself soft. My genius is unrivaled, my charm is clearly undeniable, but I am far from sentimental."

He paused, the playfulness momentarily fading as he regarded you with a softer look. "But even the most enigmatic of gods can have their... moments," he added quietly, his gaze lingering on you before quickly flashing back to his usual impish grin. "Don’t tell anyone, though. It would ruin my reputation."

You tilted your head, your gaze softening as you considered his words. There was something in the way he spoke, something unguarded that made you pause. You gave him a small, knowing smile, your tone teasing but with an underlying sincerity. "I guess you do have your moments of wisdom, after all," you said, your voice warm. "I always thought you were all about grandeur and spectacle, but I guess even someone like you knows the power of the little things."

You leaned in just slightly, your smile still in place, but there was a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. "It’s funny," you mused, your words soft, "I didn’t expect this side of you. I guess we all have our layers, don’t we?"

Loki smiled, a touch of pride in his eyes, but it was a softer, more genuine pride than you were used to. “You’d be surprised how much thought I put into things sometimes.” His voice lowered a little, almost as though he was sharing something personal. “Not everything has to be grand or spectacular to matter. Sometimes, it’s the simple gestures that can mean the most.”

You turned back to the tree, your fingers lightly brushing the edges of the next letter you picked. “This is really special, Loki.” Your voice was quieter now, almost reverent as you took in the sight of all the letters hanging on the tree. “You’ve given them something to look forward to and to believe in.”

Loki stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the tree. “I suppose I’ve learned a few things over the years. Not everything has to be perfect for it to be meaningful.”

As you pulled away from the tree, your eyes lingered on the sparkling ornaments for just a moment longer. You turned to Loki, who was still standing nearby, his hands lightly brushing the branches as if contemplating something deeper. There was a warmth in your chest, a quiet understanding of the thought and care that had gone into making this Yule truly special.

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice full of sincerity. "I don’t think I ever would’ve thought of this. It’s perfect."

Loki glanced at you, his gaze softening. Before he could respond, you stood up on your tiptoes and, without thinking, placed a quick, affectionate kiss on his cheek. His eyes widened in surprise, the briefest of blushes flickering across his cheeks before he masked it with his usual playful composure.

"If I’d known something as small as this would grant me such a delicacy, I would’ve done it sooner," he teased, his voice still carrying the usual mischievous undertone, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something a little warmer, a little softer.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile as you stepped back, your face a little flushed. "Don’t push your luck, Mischief," you replied, the hint of a challenge in your tone.

He chuckled, raising a brow. "Oh, I never push, darling. I simply nudge… gently," he added with his signature smirk returning, as if he hadn’t just been caught a bit off guard by the unexpected tenderness.

As you shared that moment, something unspoken passed between you—an understanding, a shift in the air, but nothing too bold. Yet, both of your hearts seemed to beat a little faster, and the space between you felt just a little more charged than before.

The royal courtyard had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Strings of golden lights intertwined with frosted branches, casting a warm glow across the snow-covered ground. A towering evergreen stood at the center, adorned with shimmering ornaments and glowing runes that pulsed faintly with magic. Tables laden with Asgardian delicacies lined the perimeter, and a faint melody floated through the air, played by an ensemble of musicians stationed near the tree.

As the first portal shimmered open, Jane Foster stepped through, pulling her coat tighter against the chill. Her expression lit up at the sight of Thor, who bounded over with his usual exuberance. “Jane!” he called, his voice booming even in the open air. “At last! Welcome to Asgard’s Yule celebration!”

“Thor,” Jane laughed as he enveloped her in a bear hug. “You’re going to squash me before I even get to enjoy the festivities.”

Before she could say more, another portal opened with a soft hum, revealing a group of familiar faces. Tony Stark was the first to step out, his eyes immediately scanning the scene. “Interesting,” he drawled, tugging his scarf tighter. “Looks like someone’s been raiding the Hallmark aisle. Did you do this, Reindeer Games?”

Loki, who had been leaning casually against one of the pillars at the edge of the courtyard, arched an eyebrow. “Ah, Tin Man,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “I see your sense of fashion is as middling as ever. And no, I don’t sully my talents with mere decorations.”

“Sure you don’t,” Tony shot back, already making his way toward one of the tables. “But I’ll bet you were in charge of the drinks. Let’s see if they’re as pretentious as you are.”

Steve Rogers stepped through the portal next, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He took a moment to take in the scene, a small smile tugging at his lips. “This is… something alright,” he said quietly.

Thor clapped him on the back with enough force to make him stagger slightly. “Is it not magnificent? Tonight, my friends, we celebrate in true Asgardian style! Food, drink, and merriment for all!”

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton followed close behind, their sharp eyes surveying the courtyard. “This is cozy,” Natasha remarked dryly. Her gaze flicked to Loki. “I’m surprised you’re not sulking in a corner somewhere or plotting mischief.”

“I’m afraid I must disappoint you, Agent Romanoff,” Loki replied smoothly, his smirk just this side of smug. “My mischief is already in motion.”

You, who had been overseeing the final touches on the feast, approached the group with a welcoming smile. “Glad you all could make it, guys,” you said, your breath fogging slightly in the cold air. “I wasn’t sure if Asgardian traditions would be your thing.”

“Oh, traditions are fine, Skittles,” Tony replied, already holding a goblet of mead he’d managed to acquire. “But I’m here for the food. And maybe to see if Frosty over there pulls off anything entertaining.”

Bruce Banner shuffled over, his smile soft and unassuming. “Thanks for having us,” he said. “It’s… nice to get a break from everything.”

As the group began to mingle, the dynamics unfolded naturally. Jane and Bruce struck up a conversation about the science behind the glowing runes on the tree, with Thor chiming in enthusiastically about the enchantments. Natasha and Clint drifted toward the weapons display near the courtyard’s edge, their interest piqued by the craftsmanship.

Tony, meanwhile, found himself circling back to Loki. “So, puny god,” he began, taking a sip of his drink. “What’s the over-under on you pulling some kind of elaborate prank tonight?”

Loki’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smirk. “Stark, if I were to indulge in such trivialities, you would not see them coming. But I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight. I’d hate for you to feel… out of place.”

You, who had been listening from a few steps away, couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Don’t encourage him, Tony. He doesn’t need the help.”

“Oh, I’m not encouraging him, Tinkerbell,” Tony replied with a grin. “I’m just testing his limits.”

Steve, who had been quietly observing, walked over to Thor and gestured toward the massive Yule log near the tree. “So… what’s the story with that?”

Thor grinned broadly. “Ah, the Yule log! Its lighting marks the official start of the festivities. A sacred moment, my friend. You’ll see soon enough!”

Nearby, Jane sidled up to you, her tone curious. “This is your first Yule celebration, right? How are you holding up?”

You smiled, glancing toward Loki, who was now demonstrating his seiðr for a small group of curious onlookers. The green-hued magic danced in the air, forming intricate shapes that captivated everyone watching. “It’s overwhelming,” you admitted. “But it’s magical. I can see why this means so much to everyone.”

Jane followed your gaze, then smirked knowingly. “And I’m sure a certain dark prince has nothing to do with that sentiment?”

Before you could reply, Brunnhilde appeared, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Oh, she’s smitten, no doubt about it. But don’t worry, sweet cheeks, I’m sure brooding stuff over there will find some way to complicate things before the night’s over.”

“Val’,” you groaned, your cheeks warming.

“What?” she replied with a grin, lifting her goblet. “It’s Yule. A little mischief and romance are practically mandatory.”

The playful banter dissolved into laughter, and soon the courtyard was alive with the sound of merriment as more guests continued to arrive, setting the stage for a celebration no one would forget.

⠀

Soon enough, the air in the courtyard hummed with anticipation as the gathering crowd turned toward the massive Yule log stationed near the towering evergreen tree. The log, carved with intricate patterns of Norse runes and adorned with garlands of evergreen and holly, rested on an iron stand at the heart of the celebration.

Thor stood before it, Stormbreaker gripped tightly in his hand, his broad figure illuminated by the golden glow of the surrounding lights. The faint crackle of his lightning echoed in the air, a promise of the power about to be unleashed. Beside him stood Brunnhilde, her presence commanding as ever, a goblet in one hand and her other resting on the pommel of her sword.

The chatter of the crowd quieted as Brunnhilde raised her hand, signaling the beginning of the tradition. She stepped forward, her voice carrying with a regal authority that silenced even the most boisterous of guests.

“Friends, family, and honored guests,” she began, her tone strong yet warm, “we gather here tonight, under the light of the Yule tree and the vast expanse of the stars, to celebrate the turning of the season and the bonds we share. Yule is not merely a time of merriment—it is a time to reflect, to honor the past, and to look toward the future with hope.”

She raised her goblet slightly, her eyes sweeping across the crowd. “Tonight, as we light the Yule log, we kindle the fire of community, resilience, and renewal. Let this flame burn bright, a beacon in the dark, reminding us of the strength we find in each other. Let it mark the start of a celebration worthy of Asgard’s legacy.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, raising their own goblets in response. Brunnhilde stepped aside with a small, satisfied smirk, gesturing toward Thor.

“Now, who better to light the way than the God of Thunder himself?” she added, her tone laced with humor.

Thor grinned broadly, stepping forward with his usual swagger. He lifted Stormbreaker high, and the skies above seemed to darken just slightly, as though the stars themselves leaned in to watch.

“Let us welcome the light, and may it guide us through this season of joy!” He bellowed, his voice resonating through the courtyard.

With a sharp crackle, bolts of lightning arced from the axe, striking the Yule log with an explosive burst of light. The log ignited instantly, flames leaping to life and casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd. The fire danced and flickered, its light reflected in the awestruck faces of everyone present.

The warmth of the fire spread through the courtyard, both physically and metaphorically, as the crowd erupted into cheers once more. The musicians struck up a lively tune, and the celebration officially began.

You, standing toward the edge of the crowd, couldn’t help but smile in childlike wonder at the sight. The sheer spectacle, the sense of unity, and the magic of the moment were overwhelming in the best way.

Loki appeared at your side, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the scene with a faint smirk. “Thor does enjoy his dramatics,” he remarked lightly, though his tone held no malice.

You glanced at him, your smile widening. “I don’t blame him, it’s tradition,” you replied. “And it’s beautiful.”

Loki tilted his head, his gaze softening as he watched you instead of the fire. “It is,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd.

As the music picked up and the guests began to drift toward the dance floor near the Yule tree, Brunnhilde raised her goblet once more, her voice cutting through the joyous commotion.

“Let the festivities begin!” she declared, her grin wide and infectious.

With that, the courtyard came alive with laughter, music, and the sound of feet moving to the rhythm of the dance. The Yule celebration was officially underway.

⠀

The flames of the Yule log crackled and danced, casting warm golden light over the courtyard. The lively music of flutes, strings, and drums filled the air as the guests, Asgardian and Midgardian alike, joined in the festivities. Around the grand fire and beneath the glittering Yule tree, people swayed, twirled, and laughed in a joyous dance that blurred the line between realms.

You stood off to the side, catching your breath after spending most of the evening immersed in the revelry. Your cheeks were flushed from dancing—both the lively Asgardian traditional dances you had eagerly learned and the familiar Midgardian waltzes that had followed.

Your earlier conversations with the various United Nations diplomats and Midgardian guests had been engaging yet intense, requiring a level of charm and tact you hadn’t entirely realized you possessed. Between discussing Asgardian culture and bridging gaps between worlds, you had barely had a moment to yourself.

Several guests had gone out of their way to compliment you on the gifts they had received earlier in the evening. Each one was uniquely tailored: intricate wooden carvings of Yggdrasil that doubled as ornate keepsake boxes, filled with an assortment of Midgardian delicacies and Asgardian mead, or beautifully crafted quills forged from Asgardian metals, paired with sleek, modern Midgardian ink sets.

You had been stunned by their enthusiasm. The gifts, which you had initially seen in their raw, almost haphazard state under Loki’s supervision, had clearly undergone a transformation. What had once seemed overly extravagant and mismatched now carried a thoughtful elegance, seamlessly blending the traditions of both realms.

Your gaze instinctively sought Loki in the crowd. He must have changed them, you realized, your surprise mingling with an odd sense of pride. He had somehow taken what could have been a garish display and turned it into something meaningful—something that resonated with both Asgardian and Midgardian sensibilities.

Now, as you leaned lightly against a table laden with mulled wine and pastries, you allowed yourself to take it all in. The flickering light painted everything in a magical glow—the Yule tree adorned with shimmering ornaments and glowing letters, the Yule log blazing brightly, and the joyous crowd swaying in a beautiful, chaotic harmony.

You watched as an Asgardian couple paused beneath a sprig of mistletoe, sharing a quiet kiss before bursting into laughter and rejoining the dance. The sight brought a small smile to your lips, though it also sent a flutter through your chest.

“I’m surprised you’re not out there,” Loki’s voice came from behind you, smooth and teasing.

You turned to find him standing just a step away, his emerald-green tunic catching the firelight. He looked every bit the god tonight, regal and effortlessly captivating, though there was something softer in the way his eyes met yours.

“Taking a break,” you said lightly, raising an eyebrow. “Believe it or not, even I need a moment to breathe after dancing with half the delegation and learning to not trip over myself in your people’s traditional dances.”

Loki’s lips quirked into a sly smile. “I’d expect nothing less coming from you. You managed it to make it surprisingly effortless.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Flattery, Mischief? You’re slipping.”

“Am I now, darling?” Loki replied, stepping closer, his tone low and playful. “Or perhaps I’m just warming up.”

You tilted your head, curious. “And why would you need to warm up?”

Loki smirked, offering his hand. “Because the best dance of the night is yet to come.”

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “I’m not sure I trust you on this one.”

“Wise,” Loki said with a mockingly serious nod, “but not nearly as fun. Come, indulge me.”

Despite your wariness, you placed your hand in his, and he led you toward the center of the dance floor. The lively music shifted into something slower, more melodic, as you joined the other couples. Loki’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his touch surprisingly gentle, as you began to move.

As you swayed to the rhythm, you couldn’t help but glance around the crowd. Your eyes landed on Thor, Jane, and Valkyrie standing off to the side. Thor was grinning broadly, lifting his mug in a mock toast, while Jane stifled a giggle behind her hand. Valkyrie, however, made no attempt to hide her amusement, smirking as she gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up.

You rolled your eyes but felt the heat rise in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. “The Justice League is watching,” you muttered, tilting your head slightly toward the trio.

Loki followed your gaze and sighed dramatically. “Of course, they are. Discretion has never been their strong suit.”

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head. “I think they’re enjoying this more than they should.”

“Let them,” Loki said with a smirk, his voice dipping into a playful tone. “We’re far more interesting than whatever ale-induced tales Thor was spinning moments ago.”

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said softly as you swayed together, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Am I?” Loki arched an eyebrow, his smirk teasing but his gaze steady.

“You are,” you confirmed. “I know about the gifts—thank you for listening to me, by the way. This… whole thing; this isn’t what I expected from you.”

Loki chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Perhaps you haven’t been paying close enough attention. I’m more than just mischief and chaos, you know.”

As the song came to an end, you felt the faintest tug on your hand. Loki had led you just a step away from the tree, where another sprig of mistletoe dangled from its branches.

You glanced up, realization dawning as you looked back at him. “Seriously? A mistletoe prank?”

Loki’s lips curled into a sly smile, but there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze. “Oh, I assure you, this is no prank,” he replied, his voice smooth as ever.

You narrowed your eyes, your arms crossing over your chest. “If this is about everything—about me pushing you into putting all of this together—then you can save the theatrics. I know you probably still want to argue about it, but I won’t engage in some pitiful argument of pride. We both did well.” Your tone was firm, though there was an edge of exasperation beneath it.

Loki’s expression shifted, his usual air of mischief melting into something gentler. “You think I went through all this trouble merely to settle a disagreement?” He took a step closer, his voice quieter now, almost earnest. “This isn’t about proving a point or one-upping anyone. It’s about—” He paused, his gaze steady on yours. “You.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “Me?”

“You, who somehow managed to coax an entire realm into celebrating something most would have dismissed as frivolous,” Loki said, a rare softness coloring his words. “You, who demanded I find meaning in the smallest of gestures, who taught me that joy doesn’t always come in grand schemes or victories but in shared moments like this.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, you were unsure of what to say. Loki took your silence as permission to continue, his hand lifting to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “This mistletoe isn’t some clever ploy or a prank,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “It’s a reminder. A way to say ‘thank you’ for showing me that despite everything, even I am capable of something... good.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, your earlier irritation melting away under the weight of his words. “Loki...”

“Now,” he murmured as he brought you closer to him, his gaze dropping to your lips and then back to your eyes, “are you going to kiss me, or shall I be forced to endure yet another smug grin from Thor when he realizes I failed?”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I am,” Loki replied, his smirk softening into something more sincere as his voice lowered, “and I dare say I’ve been patient long enough. Now, I demand my gift for my good behavior.”

Unable to help yourself, you closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters. But as Loki’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, and your fingers brushed the back of his neck, the kiss deepened, warm and unhurried. It was as though the world around you had melted away, leaving just the two of you beneath the gently falling snow, surrounded by the golden glow of the firelight.

The moment stretched, but just as you parted, the sound of raucous cheers startled you both. Loki sighed, glancing over his shoulder to see Thor lifting Jane into the air triumphantly, having spun her around in an exaggerated display of holiday spirit. Jane, laughing but apparently exasperated, swatted at Thor to put her down, which only made the crowd cheer louder.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temple as if pained. “Leave it to my oaf of a brother to ruin a perfectly good moment.”

You laughed, your eyes bright as you leaned in and kissed him again, this time quick and playful. Pulling back, you smiled at him, your voice soft as you said, “Merry Christmas, Mischief.”

Loki’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile, his eyes alight with something tender. 

“Merry Yule, darling.”

⠀⠀

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

⠀

dividers © @angelremnants + @cafekitsune .

angelremnants ©️ 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[kassiekole22]

Joy Ride

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

Pairing: Brian O'Conner X Fem!Reader

Description: Brian finds you walking home late one night and offers you a ride, which turns into a night-long joy ride around Miami.

Warnings: Fluff, Speeding, Friends Or Future Lovers? (You Decide)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Sooooo, I watched 2 Fast 2 Furious for the first time a around a month ago and this guy has been on my mind ever since. I have always really loved Paul Walker so this was bound to happen eventually. 😂 I don't know if I plan to write more for him or if this will just be a one time thing, but I have been working on this fic for quite some time now and I'm happy to finally be posting it. More to come from other beloved characters soon! Enjoy the fic and if you want more Brian O'Conner fics in the future, let me know in the comments or inbox! 🖤 (Also did any of you get the reference in the name? 👀)

Main MasterList: 🖤

Kassie's Angels: @mornandil, @lorebite.

(If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! 🖤)

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

2002

The air is pretty cool for a night in Miami, but I don't mind. I walk with my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, protecting them from the slight chill. It's nothing too intense, but I haven't been used to being in cooler temperatures for awhile now.

I walk quickly down the sidewalk as a few cars pass from time to time. The sounds of their engines make my fingers and feet tingle a little, my body missing the feeling of the steering wheel gripped in my fingers and the gas pedal under my foot.

I wrecked pretty badly during my last race, resulting in my car becoming too banged up to drive. Most street racers have other cars to fall back on. Unfortunately for me, my girl was all I had. Now I'm left to walk on foot until I can get enough money to fix her.

The ambiance in the street is pretty calm until I hear the familiar rumble of a very specific engine approaching my side. To my surprise, that iconic silver and blue Nissan Skyline pulls up, slowing down to drive at my walking speed. But the slick paint job or glowing underbody isn't what makes it difficult to look away. The driver is none other than the man who beat me in my last race, Brian O'Conner.

I'm met with a kind smile as he rolls down his windows, his bright blue eyes glancing up at me from the shadows of the interior. There is just something about that man that draws me in. I could never tell what exactly it was, but it pulled me in his direction like a bee to a flower every time I was in the same location as him.

"Ey, need a ride?" He queries in a rasied voice, nearly shouting over the Skyline's growl.

Though it's tempting, I don't want to throw a wrench in any plans he may have. Knowing him, he has another street race or date to get to at this hour. So, despite the aching pain in my feet that is screaming in protest, I respond casually, "Nah, man. I'm good. Home's not too far away anyway, y'know?"

Even though it wouldn't take him too long, it would be pretty pointless to drive only a couple blocks anyway. He takes a mere second to let my words sink in and find an answer, his eyes hopeful as they are taken off the road and landing on me once more.

"We don't gotta take you home. The night's still—" He checks his watch, and his eyes widen slightly as he realizes the time. "—Well, middle-aged, but that don't gotta stop the fun."

I can't contain a faint chuckle at his dumb joke, rolling my eyes as I do so. The next thing I know, my feet are subconsciously coming to a stop, and he gently lays on the brakes. His car is also stopping right beside where I now stand, but the engine still purrs softly to alert all of its consciousness.

"Ah, c'mon, girl. Let's live a little, eh?" He flashes me that dangerous half-smirk that beckons me forward into mischief. It now dawns on me that he might not have the intention of taking me home, which is intriguing in a way.

I contemplate my options for a moment. The only thing waiting for me at home is a couple bottles of beer and some cold pizza left in the fridge from the night prior. It seems like I've been spending most of my time alone lately. Maybe it would be good to spend some time in good company.

"Alright," I give in with a subtle but still noticeable sigh, backing down in my mental debate.

He reaches across and opens the passenger door for me as I round the car, its headlights illuminating me for a brief moment as I cross in front of the bumper before hoping into the seat offered to me. It felt weird being in the left seat and not having a steering wheel before me. I could never get used to those foreign imported cars. 

But regardless, it sure is a beauty. The leather interior smells oddly fresh and calming, with a faint hint of exhaust filtering through the open windows. It's clear he just cleaned her up. Brian was always the type to take care of his rides.

I pull the seatbelt across my chest and lock it in securely, mentally preparing myself for the wild ride I know damn well he is about to take me on. He looks at me and flashes me that cocky yet proud smile as he revvs the engine for only a moment before taking off into the night.

With windows down and speed carrying us, I feel like I'm floating on air. The soft breeze I felt only moments ago is now a fast wind in my hair, and the soft ambiance of the nightlife in Miami is now disturbed by a machine growl.

I glance over at him, and it's as if time slows for just a minute as I take in how happy he is. He's a simple man. He doesn't need the fancy things in life, just a fast car to make the corners of his lips part into that iconic grin I have grown to love.

"Wanna get fuckin' nuts?" He asks me, his voice taking me out of my thoughts and putting me back into reality. That's when I notice that mischievous look in his ocean blue eyes, their pupils blown wide with adrenaline.

Hm... Blue and full of adrenaline, like the blood pumping in our veins.

"What?" I blurt out, not fully comprehending what he is asking, until my gaze wanders down to where his thumbs hovers over the nitro buttons.

I look at the road ahead, seeing that it is completely barren of all life, and I can't help but smirk at the thought of what he is suggesting. It's a dangerous game—playing with speed in such a way—but a thrilling one, for sure.

Taking my eyes off the road ahead to look back at him, I notice the hopeful glint once again in his eyes, only pushing my thought process toward wanting to comply. So without a second breath, I cheer, "Fuck yeah!"

With a simple click of two buttons at once, we are off like a rocket in space. Suddenly, the street lights look like comets, and the lines on the road are just blurs of colors. It's oddly beautiful in a way, and I marvel at how it ignites my soul with such a unique feeling, which I can't possibly seek from anything else. My fingers dig into the sides of my seat as my heart pounds against my ribcage like thunder, both overwhelmed but thirsty for more of this intoxicating rush.

Though Brian only lets this last for a moment, just seconds passed that will remain with me for an eternity. We laugh as the car slows to a semi-normal speed again. My smile is so wide, I can feel my face begin to hurt.

But I don't care. I am just so high on the thrill that my mind is lost in a cloudy space of euphoria. It's crazy how the night went from a quiet walk home to taking a joy ride with one of my rivals, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Once our laughter dies down, the soft purr of the engine is the only thing heard yet again as we both seemingly get lost in our own thoughts. What is he thinking? I wish I knew. The only thing on my mind is how happy I am. It isn't until a couple minutes later that he speaks his mind, taking a deep breath before his lips finally form the words he has been pondering.

"We should do this more often," he suggests in that nonchalant tone he carries quite regularly for someone with such excitement in his life. "Y'know, hang out outside the racing world? You're a cool girl."

I can't repress how my smile softens for a moment at his words as my eyes flick over in his direction while a million responses filter through my mind. This guy is a legend—a local celebrity, if you will. To have this opportunity is an honor. However, I don't necessarily get the vibe of entitlement from him. Instead, his atmosphere reflects something else—something friendly and inviting.

"And you're a cool guy. I'd love to hang with you more often." I reply, trying to sound chill but coming off way more sincere than intended. Though he doesn't seem to mind, in fact, he seems to be pleased with my response.

The next thing I know, he is pulling into a public beach. Its sands are abandoned by any human life due to the lateness of time, though the footprints of the visitors that day still remain like ghosts of the past, their memories carved in the sand until they get washed away by the waves.

He locks the car in park, unhooks his seatbelt, and gets out. I watch through the windshield as he rounds the side of it to rest back on the hood. My eyes study him as he lifts himself to sit on the hood, not once looking back to see if I leave the car as well. It's almost as if he expects me to.

So to fulfill his silent expectations, I swing my door open and hop out after freeing myself from my seatbelt, nearly stumbling as the ground is unexpectedly unsteady where I stand. My feet sink into the sand, and I'm grateful I chose to wear boots tonight over anything else.

Once out of my sticky situation, I take a moment to appreciate the freshness in the air—the sweet smell of the ocean before me for just a second. After approaching him, I rest beside him on the hood, watching the waves crash before us. It reminds me that life is quite like the sea. It's unpredictable, a little scary at times, but beautiful in many unique ways. I release a soft breath, my body relaxing in this calming moment.

"I remember the first time I saw you pull up in that black Trans Am to the race. Fuckin' engine and bass on your stereo roaring over the sound of the crowd." He chuckles while he reminisces about old memories.

"Buni," I correct him as I smile fondly, thinking about the beauty that's currently under a tarp in my garage, just waiting to be repaired and set free on the road once again.

"Yeah, Buni." He parrots me in an almost teasing way. I know he finds the fact that I named my car ridiculous, but I can see it in his eyes that it amuses him all the same. "You're something else, (L/N). A damn good racer, though."

My heart flutters at the compliment, and I feel my cheeks heat up with this familiar warmth that only he ignites in me best. The soft breeze blows through my hair as I think of a reply, running through my strains like an angel's fingertips. But it's not the breeze nor the location that has me in such a calm and joyful state.

I continue to study him—the way his blonde curls blow in the breeze, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly to show his contentment, his biceps flexing ever so slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. It amazes me how all the different shades of blue in his iris reflect the scene before us. It's like I could literally drown in them each time I gaze into them to admire their beauty.

"Yeah? You and your Skyline ain't so bad either." I finally quip with a small bit of sarcasm dripping from my tone after forcing myself out of where my mind has disappeared to for a short time. He smiles softly at my words, because it's evident how I really feel about him. He knows, and I know that, but I don't really care anymore.

We talk until sunrise and watch as the black sky fades into orange and pink, blending with the stars to make them barely visible. Though they are out of sight, I know they still shine brightly above us, like angels waiting for us in heaven. It's quite special—maybe even magical.

The sea reflects the morning sun as it rises from the horizon, its golden rays shining upon us as we remain on the hood of the car. It's just us out here in our own little world. If I learned anything from last night, it's not the place that makes a moment special, but the person you share it with.

I don't know where this road will take us. I know it will be a long one—with plenty of traffic and bumps ahead—but the ride will be an enjoyable one with a new friend in the seat next to me as we speed through it all. And if we happen to get separated some point along the way, I know in my heart that I'll see him again.

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

[anyasathenaeum]

Lover (Nanami x Reader smut)

A/N:This is my first ever writing for Nanami/JJK as a whole. Please be nice about it. I felt like the Nanami lovers deserved some goodness. Do I know what I'm doing? No. Did I at least enjoy it? Yeah. Anyways, please have this... whatever this piece is. Warnings: MINORS DNI, AFAB!reader, female terms are used, mentions of penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT, FOLKS).

Nanami is a quiet lover.

His expressions of love are never glorified or big, never flashy or particularly grandiose. He shows how much he loves you through the little, quiet things.

The attention to detail with each and every lunch that's sent with you to your place of work. A hand on your lower back, guiding you through crowded spaces. A moment of remembrance, bringing you a treat or a gift you'd briefly mentioned in passing. A gentle kiss to your knuckles when it's nobody but the two of you, with no prying eyes around to witness the small gesture of love intended just for you. The way his hazel eyes lock onto you and soften oh-so-slightly the second you enter his field of vision. The small ghost of a smile that plays on his lips when he sees you.

Nanami refuses to let the world intrude on the refuge that your love offers. His love is meant for you and you alone. Nobody else would or should be privy to the love he shares with and feels for you. And so, his declarations of love are quiet; little secrets that only the two of you know about and would ever be able to recognize. It takes time, but eventually, you realize that all these little actions scream those three little words that Nanami refuses to say except for in the privacy and safety of your shared home.

"I love you."

Nanami is a gentle lover.

He's seen so much sadness, horror and suffering in this world, and despite his blunt and cold exterior, Nanami does every possible thing to protect you from all the wickedness in the world. It may have claimed others, it may have torn some of his friends from him, but it will not take you from him so long as he draws breath on this earth and he would be damned if he would ever do something that hurt you.

His touch is so, so gentle for somebody so big and so strong, his fingers tracing the softest of patterns over your delicate skin with the lightest touch, taking in every bit of you. His grip, while firm, never tightens to the point of risking hurting you, such as when his large hands hold your hips down and your thighs apart as he uses his tongue to draw the most beautiful sounds from your lips.

"K-Kento, I-... I'm gonna cum.."

You mewl and whine as Nanami continues to use his tongue to drive you closer and closer to your orgasm, his nose rubbing oh-so-gently against your clit with every movement and a hint of a smirk on his lips as his tongue delves deep into your pussy, relishing your taste and the feeling of you squirming from the pleasure he's giving you.

"That's it, my love. Cum for me."

His low voice sends shivers down your back every time, causing your grip on his blonde hair to tighten as he pulls yet another orgasm from you, the overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through you. His hazel eyes never leave you as he continues to lick your pussy and suck gently on your clit, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible until your body finally relaxes. Once you've recovered, Nanami's kissing you with as much love and care as he can muster, the taste of your slick on his tongue making you wet all over again and the seemingly endless ache for him in your core returns immediately, making you squeeze your thighs together. Of course, nothing escapes Nanami's notice, a rumble of a chuckle escaping him at the sight of your neediness.

"That's my girl."

Nanami is a tender lover.

With every thrust to the hilt inside you, through the haze of his pleasure, Nanami still ensures to treasure you for every moment he spends with you, inside you. You're carefully encased in his arms, tucked almost protectively beneath him as he presses his lips against yours, his cock filling you and stretching you deliciously with each and every stroke.

Soft grunts and growls slip from his lips as he fucks you with surprising tenderness, his gaze often drifting to where the two of you are joined so he can watch himself sink his cock into you over and over again, claiming your body in ways nobody else ever would. His fingers often intertwine with yours against the mattress or pull your hips ever closer to his own, allowing him to thrust into you even deeper.

The sudden, loud moan that escapes you as he angles your hips lets Nanami know that his cock has found the perfect spongy spot inside you, making you see stars as his thrusts increase in speed and intensity.

"K-Kento! Lo-love you! Love you, Kento! Kento, please!"

You can't control the words slipping from your lips as Nanami continues to sink his cock deep into you, never once failing to hit that spot deep inside you. The pleasure you feel is too overwhelming, your words escaping you without a thought and without hesitation as yet another orgasm washes over you, your cunt fluttering and spasming around him. The feeling is so intense that he needs to stop his thrusts in order not to fill you up then and there.

You whine when Nanami suddenly pulls out, a frown on your lips as you gaze up at him hazily.

"You didn't cum, Kento. Why'd you stop?"

The smile he gives you in return makes your heart flip in your chest - his expression is one of pure peace and adoration, the tenderness and affection he feels for you evident in his eyes as he takes everything about you in as you lay beneath him. He doesn't answer you, instead just leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. However, unlike before, this kiss isn't hungry or desperate, but rather gentle and soft and oh-so loving, and you faintly realize that Nanami is cherishing you, your body, your very existence in this moment.

He holds you close to him for a little while, giving you some time to recover before slipping his cock back inside you and beginning his thrusts once more, pulling more beautiful sounds from your lips and more soft moans escaping him as he works you towards yet another orgasm. This time, however, he doesn't slow as you cum once again, your pleasure driving him over the edge with you. A low groan escapes Nanami as he buries himself inside you to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he spills himself deep inside you, his seed coating your walls.

'Where it's meant to be,' Nanami thinks to himself, never saying the words aloud.

As he collapses next to you in the bed, Nanami doesn't hesitate to pull you into his arms, both of you panting from your exertions. He holds you close once again, saying nothing for a while and instead just watching you as you curl up against him, his heart aching for love of you as you press your cheek against his bare chest and wrap your arms around his much larger form. This time, before you can so much as begin to form any words, Nanami leans his head down, his lips by your ear as he whispers those three little words to you softly.

"I love you, (Y/N). Never doubt that."

Nanami is a lover. And his love belongs solely to you.

[suzukiblu]

If you feel up for it, for the writing meme prompt, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, with the song You And Me by Lifehouse? If it's not your thing I totally get it though and hope you have a great time and fun writing the things that do catch your fancy!

I think we ALL knew that I was gonna do baby Kon for this, lbr. Also ngl, this came out way more cracky than the prompt would suggest it should've but it is absolutely my favorite thing I’ve written for this meme so far, as the necessity for the following cut should help attest, haha.

Unfortunately, Lex takes one look at Cadmus’s progress report on the newly-crafted Experiment Thirteen and realizes he has paternal instincts. 

Well, that’s inconvenient. And a little disgusting, honestly. Certainly a disappointment. 

He supposes it could be worse. He could be Lionel about this. 

Anyway, that’s how he has a physiological four year-old on his lap when he hears the news about Superman coming back to life and fistfighting an evil cyborg with his own face about it, because of course the man didn’t have the decency to just stay dead. Why would he, after all? 

Lex needs a drink. That would be a bad example for the physiological four year-old, though. 

Then again, Experiment Thirteen should be completely immune to the effects of Earth-based alcohol in about another four to six months of consistent yellow sun exposure, so . . . 

Lex is halfway through his second brandy when Superman shows up on his balcony at super-speed wearing a very pretentiously dramatic black suit and looking both winded and bewildered. And still alive, unfortunately. 

“Don’t you have a murderous cyborg to be ensuring is in custody?” Lex asks dryly, deciding to just not acknowledge the presence of the physiological four year-old who’s moved on to messily but methodically coloring on the floor underneath his desk. Lex didn’t actually give Experiment Thirteen either a coloring book or crayons, mind, but he appreciates the clone’s resourcefulness in breaking into the office supplies. Anyway, it’s useful for developing its hand-eye coordination and fine motor control. 

Superman’s pupils are pin-pricks, barely even there at all. Which is an unusual reaction from him, and Lex notes that fact reflexively but doesn’t particularly care about it. Meant-to-be-dead people do unusual things, especially the alien ones. And it isn’t as if–

“Baby,” Superman blurts, his eyes wide. 

Lex . . . pauses. Takes a slow sip of his brandy. 

Alright then. 

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he settles on eventually, raising an eyebrow at him. Experiment Thirteen peers out from under the desk, immediately decides Superman isn’t an interesting presence, and then goes back to coloring all over Lex’s floor. It seems to be drawing either a puppy or a chain of complex genetic sequencing, but judging by the kinds of things it’s been drawing so far, it’s fifty-fifty. Lex has been getting the impression the clone actually likes art, which is a baffling interest to find in his own progeny, but how does that quote go . . . “I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet”? 

Or something like that, anyway. 

“No, I–baby,” Superman stresses, looking bewildered as he floats down a little closer to the open balcony door. 

“. . . yes, I’ve noticed,” Lex repeats, raising his eyebrow again and taking another sip of brandy. Superman looks frazzled, bobbing up a little higher in the air again to get a better view of Experiment Thirteen under the desk. Experiment Thirteen keeps ignoring him in favor of its coloring, displaying no apparent interest in the most powerful uninvited guest in the history of illegal immigration. Lex experiences a moment of overwhelming paternal pride, which is such a bizarre and unanticipated experience that he doesn’t even know what to do with it. 

“Where’d he come from?” Superman asks with a wondering expression. Ugh.

“A cloning lab,” Lex replies dismissively, setting his near-empty glass down on the desk. It’s hardly worth lying about Experiment Thirteen’s origins at this point. He didn’t want to murder everyone in Cadmus to keep the secret. He might need them if there’s an issue with Experiment Thirteen’s genetics later, after all. “We mixed it up a couple weeks ago while you were off wasting everyone’s time being dead."

“You had my baby?” Superman says, tilting in the air and still staring at Experiment Thirteen, as if he's somehow forgotten both how much kryptonite Lex owns and how much kryptonite he keeps specifically in this office. “While I was dead. You had my baby while I was dead.” 

. . . alright then, Lex thinks again, both eyebrows raising this time. 

“I really wouldn’t put it that way, personally,” he says. “Also, I don’t recall saying it was in any way yours.”

“Baby,” Superman repeats inanely, then lands on the floor and ducks down into a crouch to peer under the desk better, his pupils still reduced to barely-there pinpricks. Lex is so mystified he doesn't even activate the security system or the weaponized red sun lamps. Experiment Thirteen frowns at Superman–Lex, again, basks in unanticipated paternal pride–and then turns its back on him and hides all its drawings from him as seriously and carefully as if they were under NDA. 

It's almost adorable, frankly. 

Not that Lex finds things adorable, of course. 

“His heartbeat's so cute,” Superman says, looking absolutely fascinated. Which is surprisingly useful of him to mention, actually, since Lex had previously been vaguely concerned that Experiment Thirteen's odd thrumming heartbeat might be a sign of a heart defect, but apparently it’s just a Kryptonian thing. A . . . “cute” Kryptonian thing, according to Superman. 

Lex is increasingly mystified by this interaction. 

“Can’t say I’ve spent much time listening to it, personally,” he lies, because he has in fact obsessed over that heartbeat’s health and stability since first finding out about its unusualness and has done a truly aggravating amount of research into heart murmurs and conditions and the like. But that’s hardly Superman’s business, now is it. 

“. . . what’s his name?” Superman asks hesitantly. Lex is possibly having an out of body experience. 

“Experiment Thirteen,” he says. Superman immediately looks offended. 

“We need to give him a name, Lex,” he says. Lex, again, has an out of body experience. 

“‘We’?” he repeats incredulously. “I made it, I get to decide what it’s called.” 

“He’s got my DNA!” Superman protests, looking indignant. Lex has absolutely no idea how to process that expression. 

“It has both our DNA, in fact, yours was too irritating to stabilize alone,” Lex informs him dubiously. More accurately it was literally impossible to stabilize alone, but he’s not mentioning that to Superman. “So it has my DNA, and I made it. And also put eight point two billion dollars into its production, as a lowball estimate. Therefore I’m the one who decides what its name is, thank you very much.” 

“Lex,” Superman says disapprovingly. “You can’t call a baby Experiment Thirteen.” 

“It’s physiologically developed enough to complain if it doesn’t like it,” Lex retorts, narrowing his eyes at him. Superman frowns at him. Lex has never had a more ridiculous conversation with the man, including all the times Superman’s tried to appeal to his nonexistent “better nature”. “Well it is.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Superman says, then ducks back down and peers at Experiment Thirteen again, gentling his voice to address it while Lex is still incredulously mouthing “ridiculous”? to himself. “Would you like a real name, kiddo?” 

Experiment Thirteen sticks its tongue out at him. 

Lex is finding parenthood to be a very rewarding experience, actually. 

[popamolly]

‘ INTERNAL REDEMPTION ’ LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. In the fiery depths, she captures the attention of Lucifer, who senses a unique purity in her soul. With his help, (Y/N) finds herself on the path to redemption and self-discovery with dangerous trouble along the way.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, valentino exists, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder

author’s note. inspired by @punching-pentagrams and their amazing ongoing story “Love In as Hopeless Place”, it encouraged me to write my own fic about Lucifer. go check out their story, it is so good and deserves more love!

In the dimly lit, pulsating world of Club Elysium, where the air was thick with anticipation and desire, a mysterious aura surrounded a captivating figure on the stage. Under the flickering neon lights, you moved with a mesmerizing grace that defied the earthly realm. Dressed in glistening attire that caught the reflections of the vibrant hues around her, you became an ethereal presence, drawing the attention of every gaze in the room.

Your movements were a dance of contradictions – an alluring blend of sensuality and innocence. You twirled and swayed to the rhythm of the music, casting a spell upon the enchanted audience.

Unbeknownst to the patrons of Club Elysium, you were more than just an exotic dancer seeking to enthrall with her physical prowess. Your celestial grace, forgotten in the afterlife coil she now inhabited, manifested in the subtle elegance of her performance. As you moved, you felt a distant echo of a certain purpose, an inexplicable connection to something beyond the neon-lit stage.

In the hazy ambiance, Valentino, the enigmatic owner of Club Elysium, watched from the shadows, his eyes reflecting one of red burning lust, but it was more than just lust for you— no, it was something more— it was a thirst for power that had him grinning from ear to ear. Valentino knew that in this corner of Hell he owned everything, even you.

As the music reached its crescendo, your dance reached its zenith. The room held its breath, suspended in a moment where hell and celestial intertwined. You were always the ballerina in the jelwery box, the beautiful antique that Valentino had in his grasp to show off and praise. Though he may own you outside the building you made sure to show him through your dancing, that you were the one that owned the stage. He hated when you went off script or changed the choreography but you made sure to do it on purpose and on nights you knew he was watching you.

That was your little dose of rebellion, a little taste of freedom you could only wish to have. You were content with your situation though, it could’ve been worse. At least with Valentino you were paid, clothed, and feed with an overall decent place to live. Being one of his toys had its perks— you couldn’t complain. Especially when there were those who had it so much worse than you.

“You jus’ love angerin’ him, don’t you doll?” Your coworker, Angel Dust, asked as you entered the dressing room that you and the other dancers shared. The smell of makeup and cheap perfume filled your senses, calming you with the sense of familiarity, “Cause last I checked, that wasn’t what we rehearsed.”

“Well,” You chuckled as you sat on the couch, its fabric ripped and white stuffing nearly popping out the sides, “I just thought that my choreo was better, and by the sound of that crowd and the money on stage, it was.”

“Heh,” Angel couldn’t help but envy your confidence when it came to Valentino, who owned you both in more ways than one and yet you always found a way to yank on the chains without consequence. A part of Angel loathed you for it.

You could sense the mood shift in Angel, not that you cared but you weren’t exactly heartless either. With a sigh, you get up from the couch, ignoring your aching feet as you join Angel’s side, looking into the vanity mirror so you could touch up your makeup, “Trust me, if my act wasn’t purity and innocence it would be a different story. Lucky for me, bruises and marks on my body wouldn’t sell too well.”

“Yeah, count it on luck shortcake.” With that Angel left, pushing another girl out the way angrily while snatching the drink out her hand. You could only sigh, not intending on upsetting him more but as always, your intentions don’t matter when your words spoke otherwise. It had been so long since you had a decent human connection, you were just a bit rusty.

“My sweets,” The sudden sound of Valentino’s voice had the room go silent, the air becoming so thick you were sure you’d might suffocate in it, “Can I have the room please?”

With hushed scared whispers and nervous glances, you and the other girls make your way to the door. You had hoped you could sneak past him under the cover of the other women who all but rushed passed Valentino but his slender hand caught your forearm quick, gripping it with such force that you were slightly shocked by the pain he caused— it wasn’t like him to be rough with you, “Not you, darling. We have to have a chat, don’t we mio caro?”

You turn to look at him with a frown, “About what? My performance?”

“Oh I would love to talk about that little stunt you pulled but I need you for something a bit more important,” Valentino yanks you further into the room, locking the door behind him with his other hand before slinging you against the vanity, bottles of perfume falling over and onto the ground as the desk shakes violently. Your employer towers over you with ease making you shudder beneath his fiery gaze, “I need something done and I need it done right, I trust that you can accomplish this task, yes?”

What shit was he getting you into now? You were done with porn, you had paid a hefty price to alter your contract with him and you weren’t going to slip back into the void now, not when you were so far ahead, “I won’t be one of your pornstars, Val. We had a deal.”

Valentino laughs, his pointy fingernail dragging along your cheek while he licks his lips, “This isn’t about that principessa, this is a more delicate matter. Think you’re up for it?”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” You yank your head away from his hands, lowering your gaze into a slight glare.

“This is why I always liked you, dove. You learn quick.”

“If you were going to tell me to send in a whore Val, I wouldv’e just asked you to send Angel Dust!” Vox glitched with anger, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he turned around in his chair, his claw like hands gripping onto the table with such force that it left a mark, “What makes this slut is any different from him?!”

It was hard to bite back your tongue but you did, unwillingly submitting to your role as you stood before the V’s with your eyes to the ground, not daring to even look as confident at you usually were. Not because you were scared of them, no, you were scared of embarrassing Valentino. Your boss might have forgiven you for your countless stunts but when it came to matters of business with the V’s, you knew your place.

“Angel dust thinks he is on this path to redemption, let him stay in his delusion but until I can break him fully he will never be loyal to me. Not as loyal as (Y/N) here…” Valentino wraps his hand around your neck, forcing your head up to look at Vox— who for a split second was taken back by your beauty, “I have broken (Y/N) time and time again, she would do anything for me, isn’t that right (Y/N)?”

You closed your eyes, “Yes, Valentino.”

“Good.” Valentino pushes you toward Vox, making you stumble into him, forcing him to catch you in his arms, “Quite the vixen, she would surely catch the eyes of any overlord.”

“Even the King of Hell himself?” Vox tips your chin up with his index finger, looking into your eyes with a devilishly grin that makes you shiver.

“Asmodeus throws the biggest parties in the Pride Ring that is filled with all kinds of debauchery, especially for his birthday.” Valentino explains, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his right leg over the other, exhaling out a long drag of pink smoke, “Every one of importance will be there since it isn’t just a party but a show of status.”

“And..what? Your pretty toy is just supposed to waltz in there and get the attention of any overlord that wants to fuck her?” Velvette finally tears her gaze away from her phone, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Well it is an important party of one of Lucifer’s friends—”

“Which means he is bound to be there.” Vox grins, “Get close to the king and we get closer to controlling Hell.”

“And what makes you so sure he’ll entertain such..” Velvette looks at you with a roll of her eyes, “From what I hear Lucifer is loyal to Lilith, no one has seen him with another woman on his arm and it’s been 7 years, hashtag faithful.”

“Ah, well, 7 years is a long time to go without intimacy…I say the man is touch starved and would like some attention.” Valentino says, “Anyone can still get lonely, no matter how faithful.”

“I like the way you think Val,” Vox grips your chin as you grit your teeth. “And I think your little whore here will do just nicely.”

Before you know it was the day of Asmodeus’ birthday party. The V’s gave you the run down of the plan and how you were supposed to get close to the King of Hell himself— who you haven’t even seen in person for as long as you been hell. Which was a few years by now. You were a simple lowlife, you kept to yourself and tried to survive, only to end up within his grasp. Was he as cruel as people say? ‘What sort of question is that? Of course he was! He was the King of fucking Hell, which last time you checked, wasn’t given to just anyone.’

Of all the people, of everyone in Hell, it just has to be you. Because of your cursed deal with Val, you were stuck in a continuous limbo that you couldn’t escape from. Damn you and your loyalty, damn it all if it will end up with you dead ( again ) on the steps of Lucifer’s palace. This wasn’t fair— but then again, when has your situation ever been fair?

“Oh, you look just like a doll.” Valentino ruffled with the fake angel wings that adorned your back, fixing and prodding with whatever to make you more presentable, “Like an angel. Hell, upon just a glance mio caro you might have been able to get away with actually being one.”

And as you glance at your reflection in the mirror you felt a sudden sharp pain in the center of your forehead. Only fragments of memories came flooding your mind like a crashing wave. It was all so blurry but the word Angel held some sort of weight on you but you couldn’t place exactly what.

You held onto your head, trying to steady your breathing and relaxing your nerves as Valentino continues to add the finishing touches to your look.

“Get it together, dove.” Valentino meets your gaze in the reflection, “I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“No..” The pain in your head quickly fades away as soon as it came, “I can do this.”

“Good, because it is just about your turn to be presented for the auction.”

The auction. Asmodeus does it for sport at every single one of his parties but now that this is his birthday party, this auction is the biggest one yet. It is where he finds Hell’s most beautiful prized possessions, not limiting to actual sinners. The hope was to capture Lucifer’s attention as he would be in the crowd through this angel facade, and pray that he would bet on you. And if that didn’t work, then you would have to move on to plan B. And you didn’t like plan b.

Valentino wished you luck as you stood behind the curtain to the center stage, disappearing into the shadows to leave you on your own and this mission that was screwed from the get go.

“And last but not least, I present to you—! what is the object’s name again?” The announcer whispers, putting his microphone away from his face to get a confirmation from another employee, “Ah! The pure and innocent, (Y/N)!”

The curtain suddenly opens, the spotlight from above blinding you in away that made you shield your eyes from the brightness. You squint, looking upon a sea of red lustful eyes looking over your figure with curiosity. You take a deep breath, as you played the part of a shy girl, slowly bringing your hands to cover yourself even though the white thin laced gown left little to the imagination.

“Hubba hubba! Would you look at that boys?” Asmodeus’ eyes nearly turn into hearts at the sight of you, “And I thought nothing could even look so angelic in Hell!”

“What a beaut’” Mammon agrees.

“Indeed.” Lucifer sat beside his friends, trying to cover his boredom with peaked interest as he looks in your direction. This whole thing was pretty fucked up to him but that was just the way of life down here, there’s no changing that— no changing people when it is just in their nature. Now usually he wouldn’t indulge such things but he was the King of Hell, and he had to play the part to maintain order even though he longed for nothing but to be constructing rubber ducks right now.

“500!” A man in the crowd closer to the stage shouts.

The announcer points in the man’s direction with enthusiasm, “I hear 500! What about 550? Do I hear 550?”

“600!” Another shouts.

“600 to the gentleman in red! But do I hear a 650? 650?”

Asmodeus sits back in his seat, taking another swig of his whiskey. Mammon looks at his friend in disbelief as the unknown sinners below them begin to shout various of numbers for you, “Is she not to the Lustful Overlords taste?”

“Ah, I have so many who do the innocent act. It gets boring after awhile. But if you’re interested…you should buy her.” Asmodeus smirks, shaking the single ice cube in his glass as he signals to the waitress for another.

“She ain’t my type, but—” Mammon gets a sudden idea, “Lucifer should have her. I’m sure he gets off to the Angel shit don’t you your highness?”

Lucifer tips his hat up with his cane, “I am married.”

“To a woman who you haven’t seen in seven years!” Asmodeus rolls his eyes with a loud groan before raising his hand to join the bid, “Lighten up! Good sir, I say 2500!”

“What a doozy! 2500! 2500! Do I hear 3000!?” The announcer nearly jumps from his stool at the amount offered, “Going once! Going twice—!”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer warned. Not wanting any part in this sinful behavior.

The sound of a gavel rang through the air, finalizing the amount, “And sold to the gentleman in VIP! Your prize will wait outback until you are ready to retrieve it! Enjoy!”

Just like that the plan was working. In just less than five minutes you were sold off like some prize. Your life being in yet another’s hands that wasn’t your own, it was a bit ironic since this life is almost just the same as the one you led on Earth. It was getting harder and harder to distinguish which one was truly Hell.

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

[aerkame]

Hi! I hope everything is okay in your life!

Please when you can, no pressure: could you do some platonic headcanons with Sun Wukong from Nezha Reborn? Thank you! ^^

Sorry this took a while to get to! I am feeling like getting back to writing and drawing again though, it used to help me feel better quite a bit and things are calming down in my life now. ❤️

As for NR Wukong? I decided to rewatch the movie again just in case. He's a complicated character, way more complicated than I realized. I'm planning to write for him more often too and that needs a lot of researching on my part. He's not exactly as he makes himself out to be sometimes (you can see who he really is around the scene when he reveals his identity, he drops the silly act and gets serious).

Sun Wukong in Nezha Reborn is very similar to his book counterpart if you pay close attention to his mannerisms and behavior. He's not a good person, but not the absolute worst either. He's a morally grey and cutthroat person who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty and he'll definitely say whatever is on his mind.

Wukong's a bit scary when you think about it. He ate another yaoguai, offered a piece of it to the guy who hired that assassin, he can move at speeds almost unseen, throw a dead dragon's body away by the whisker, and he's also a hitman... and yet, you two are somehow friends.

That being said... having a platonic relationship with him is going to be chill, overwhelming, or lively, maybe all three if you're unlucky.

It's not overwhelming for the reasons you might think it is, it's mainly because the dude needs to be in everyone's space. No seriously, when is he not close to someone that's in the same room with him? He'd be pretty clingy, probably hanging around (literally from the ceiling) near you if there's no one else around...he may or may not try to groom you if you have enough hair to do that as well. Just monkey business.

The Monkey King really lives up to his name and he acts like one too. Doing what he wants, going wherever he pleases...even if it's in your own home, he'll show up there eventually for whatever given reason, maybe he's just bored or maybe he's just trying to give you a good spook. What? He's a curious guy, he just wanted to see what his friend's place looks like. Don't ask how he knows where you live.

Oh did he ever mention he's bored and lonely? It's not good for a monkey to be alone for long, so you're gonna have to do for now! (lucky you)

Much like how he dresses, Wukong loves to show off what he has and places he goes. You've never been on a motorcycle before? Well say no more! Ol' Sun is going to show you around the place on his cool bike. It roars too! He's 100% going to make sure he's revving that thing as loud as he can just to scare you and get a reaction. Maybe scare a nearby stranger walking by too.

Probably pulls a few tricks on you here and there just cause. He may or may not have taken your favorite shirt and hid it somewhere up high in the pipes and returned it while you weren't looking just to mess with you.

At the end of the day though, he's not so bad to be around. Just try not to stir up any trouble with yaoguais or shady figures. The old king would rather not get himself involved with any affairs, but he cares, and he'll admit that if something happened to you it'd just be another scar over his heart. He's just so tired...